My Single friend by Jane Costello

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

            You know those apartments in Elle Decoration with elegant soft-furnishings, hand-cut flowers and room schemes that juxtapose striking colour with clean lines? Well, our apartment is nothing like those.

            I’d like it to be. It’s just never worked out like that, despite my considerable efforts. When we moved in, fired up with creative zeal, I attempted in earnest to recreate such a look.

            Only, when I painted the hall ‘Ochre’, it looked brown. So I painted over it with ‘Sienna’ and that looked brown too. I followed with a ‘Wheat’, a ‘Fallow’ and an ‘Ecru’, but the most appealing shade I ever managed just looked like the unwashed shorts of a grubby Boy Scout. When Henry pointed out that the walls mightn’t withstand much more, I went for broke and painted it ‘Duck Egg’. Every time I walk in now, I feel as if I’m being committed to a prison cell. Still, we’ve learned to live with it.

            The other reason our apartment is some way off those in Elle Decoration is that it isn’t exactly clutter-free, and for that Henry is as much to blame as me. Every room boasts floor-to-ceiling shelves straining under the weight of his books; they’re piled high on side tables, the bureau in the hall and the piano in the living room – his piano, not mine, in case you’re wondering. And this isn’t even his complete collection: the majority is at his parents’ house.

            These are just his favourites. I don’t know why anyone needs four editions of Darwin’s Voyage of the Beagle, or three of Genetic and Evolutionary Aspects of Malaria and Other Blood Parasites (they’re classics apparently). But then, Henry doesn’t see being a scientist as just a job; it defines him.

            Henry – or Dr Henry Fox, to give him his full title – works at the Tropical Medicine Research Centre with a team of boffins (a word I can’t resist using, despite knowing how much he hates it) studying malaria and ways of preventing its spread across Africa. It’s the noblest profession I can think of and makes me feel rather humble when constructing press releases about half-price bathroom sales.

            Anyway, Henry doesn’t just read books about science. He has more first editions of classic and contemporary fiction than Russell Brand has split ends. All of which means our flat has some way to go before it features on Grand Designs.

            ‘Have you opened the chocolate trifle yet?’ I ask casually, curling up on the sofa.

            Henry looks up from his paperback. ‘I don’t fancy it tonight.’

            Panic registers in my brain, but I allow him to return to his book.

            ‘Why not?’ I laugh lightly. ‘It looks lovely.’

            He scrutinizes my expression.

            ‘If I wasn’t on a diet, and didn’t have a date in three days’ time, I’d definitely want to eat it,’ I continue.

            ‘Who do you have a date with?’

            I can’t help smiling. ‘He’s called Jake. I met him at the opening night of the new play at the Circle. He’s gorgeous. Which is why I couldn’t possibly have any trifle. Though I’d scoff the lot under normal circumstances.’

            He shrugs. ‘I might have some later.’

            ‘At what time?’ I ask.