Not for the first time, I get stuck in the kitchen with the husband of a woman I'm pursuing.
I had been in a pleasant state after having one of the special biscuits that me and Wendy made the other night. From bed, I texted her. "Got a bit peckish so have had one of those biscuits. Thank you for turning my hash into them, and for looking as sexy as fuck while you were doing it."
The next afternoon, I'm at Kitty's. She's been spending half term week wisely, by drinking, mainly. A couple of hours and a few bottles later, we decided it would be a merry jape to turn up unannounced at Wendy's.
We stopped at the off-licence then went round and knocked on the back door. Wendy, husband, and daughter are having tea but Wendy welcomes us in. She whispers to us that they've had a massive row.
Everyone has a drink, and me and Kitty repair to the front room, before somehow, the configuration is changed, and I am in the kitchen with the estranged husband. This calls for a degree of simulation. I fence around what I want to ask him, but eventually broach the subject as casually as I can.
"So, still looking forward to Japan then?"
There's a silence during which makes me worried that he's going to say that he's decided against it. It's quite a move for someone who isn't very curious about other cultures, despite his desultory employment as a part-time temporary Lecturer in Howsthatgoigntogetyouajob Studies at Ribbleside Cosmopolitan University.
At last, he says that his work permit has come through; but that he's still looking at other countries. I conceal my relief.
We move into the front room, and he plays with his daughter for half an hour or so, before doing one of the those elongated goodbyes that are quite eloquent in what is not spoken.
Eventually the front door closes. We all look at each other and sigh. "Was it OK, us coming round?" asks Kitty. "Yes, yes! It broke up the atmosphere. He was going on and on at me about me being still pissed the other morning. It's fucking half term! And even if it isn't it's none of his business."
Back at home, Trina arrives. We go to my room and put some house music on. She's staying overnight before we go out this weekend.
In a repeat of her bizarre behaviour of a couple of weeks ago, she takes her trousers and knickers off, and starts dancing bottomless. I gently ask her about this but she says she's alright. It's strange, even allowing for us having had a little bash at the old serotonergic N-benzyl derivative of the substituted phenethylamine 2C-I.
She gets a bit tearful and in this half-clothed state, hugs me and says repeatedly, "it doesn't matter. It really doesn't matter." I am arching backwards slightly to avoid any contact with her cunt.
After a while, I say that I'm going to have a little nap. "Oh yes? A 'nap'? There's only reason why you want to go to bed."
"Pardon?"
She starts accusing me of wanting to take her to bed. That is the furthest thing from my my mind, but she won't have it, so, as I have done before, I say "OK, well you believe what you want. I'm telling you the truth about my motives, but if you want to believe something else, nothing I can say will stop you."
She won't let me sleep. "You could have saved up your tiredness for when I'm not around." I am laying there, being nagged and berated by someone who a few minutes earlier has told me she loves me.
