Read Online A Flash in the Pan by Lilian Kendrick - Free Book Online
Authors: Lilian Kendrick
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you?”
I didn’t attempt to answer, so he repeated the question.
“Lyrics,” I mumbled.
“They’re … cheesy.” He paused long enough for me to know he had intended to use a stronger word.
“Well I like them.” I turned away again and was surprised to find his hand on my shoulder. “What? Do you want to continue to lecture me on my musical taste or can I go and get a drink?”
“They’re not mutually exclusive, Doll. I can lecture you while you drink.”
“Wouldn’t you be better off talking to someone who wants to listen?” I moved off through the crowd. He followed.
“Ooh, draw your claws in, Kitten.” I was getting madder by the second.
The red mist descended. “My name isn’t Kitten, or Doll, or Honey. You are seriously annoying me now with your arrogant sexist crap, so can you go away and leave me in peace?”
Chastened, he left, but I found no peace. I was more than a little pissed-off. I emptied a champagne glass and took up another. It’s no fun being stranded at an event you didn’t even want to attend. I took my drink into the garden and stood watching the moonlight play on the fish pond as I lit a cigarette.
I phoned Andy.” When are you gonna be here? I don’t know anyone, and there’s a creep bothering me.”
“Er, I’m kinda caught up, love. I’m not gonna make it after all. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Don’t bother. This is the last time, Andy. I’ve had enough.”
I ended the call.
“Strong words shouldn’t be used unless you mean them.” The ‘creep’ was beside me, topping up my glass with more champagne. I raised no objection. I wanted to drink.
“I thought I told you to leave me alone?” I said as I raised the glass to my lips.
“You did, but you didn’t mean it.” He took the cigarette from my hand and put it to his lips. “You don’t mind, do you? I’ve given up, but I get the urge every once in a while.”
I tried to protest; I didn’t succeed. The rest, as they say, is history. Andy was history, John Denver was history and, within half an hour, the party was history and I was in Russell’s flat with the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted, and a background of some positively evil ‘Dubstep’ tracks. Don’t ask – I couldn’t begin to describe it. I hated it, but in some ways it was hypnotic. Well, that was my excuse.
Anyway, that was then and times have changed. I still can’t explain how music brought us together, but I know what’s going to drive us apart now, three years down the line. He wants to have children. So do I, but not his children. There, I’ve said it and it doesn’t sound so bad.
Last Saturday, he was recording. The room was crammed with his equipment. I was sitting in the corner, keeping a low profile. Russell was in a world of his own as he mixed his set for the evening’s gig. After a while, I realised he’d stopped and turned everything off. I looked up. He had this strange expression on his face.
“What’s up?”
“It’s time, babe. I’ve decided.” Now he looked excited. “We should have a baby.” That was it – no preamble, no proposal and, worse still no words of love or commitment.
“You’ve decided?” I put my book down. “Do I even get a say in this?”
The beginning of the end. We had a long ‘discussion’. (That’s his word; I’d have said ‘row’.) Maybe I was wrong, who knows? I wanted him to convince me – but certain words were missing from his arguments in favour of parenthood : words I needed to hear. I didn’t get to hear his ‘set’. He went to the gig alone.
Tuesday afternoon and we still haven’t spoken. I’m waiting for him to tell me to leave. I can’t have a child with a man who has never said he loves me and he won’t want me to stay around while his biological clock keeps ticking away.
Sitting at the kitchen table, as evening falls, I hear him in the living room. He’s shuffling through the CDs. Now I’m to be punished with death by drum and
I didn’t attempt to answer, so he repeated the question.
“Lyrics,” I mumbled.
“They’re … cheesy.” He paused long enough for me to know he had intended to use a stronger word.
“Well I like them.” I turned away again and was surprised to find his hand on my shoulder. “What? Do you want to continue to lecture me on my musical taste or can I go and get a drink?”
“They’re not mutually exclusive, Doll. I can lecture you while you drink.”
“Wouldn’t you be better off talking to someone who wants to listen?” I moved off through the crowd. He followed.
“Ooh, draw your claws in, Kitten.” I was getting madder by the second.
The red mist descended. “My name isn’t Kitten, or Doll, or Honey. You are seriously annoying me now with your arrogant sexist crap, so can you go away and leave me in peace?”
Chastened, he left, but I found no peace. I was more than a little pissed-off. I emptied a champagne glass and took up another. It’s no fun being stranded at an event you didn’t even want to attend. I took my drink into the garden and stood watching the moonlight play on the fish pond as I lit a cigarette.
I phoned Andy.” When are you gonna be here? I don’t know anyone, and there’s a creep bothering me.”
“Er, I’m kinda caught up, love. I’m not gonna make it after all. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Don’t bother. This is the last time, Andy. I’ve had enough.”
I ended the call.
“Strong words shouldn’t be used unless you mean them.” The ‘creep’ was beside me, topping up my glass with more champagne. I raised no objection. I wanted to drink.
“I thought I told you to leave me alone?” I said as I raised the glass to my lips.
“You did, but you didn’t mean it.” He took the cigarette from my hand and put it to his lips. “You don’t mind, do you? I’ve given up, but I get the urge every once in a while.”
I tried to protest; I didn’t succeed. The rest, as they say, is history. Andy was history, John Denver was history and, within half an hour, the party was history and I was in Russell’s flat with the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted, and a background of some positively evil ‘Dubstep’ tracks. Don’t ask – I couldn’t begin to describe it. I hated it, but in some ways it was hypnotic. Well, that was my excuse.
Anyway, that was then and times have changed. I still can’t explain how music brought us together, but I know what’s going to drive us apart now, three years down the line. He wants to have children. So do I, but not his children. There, I’ve said it and it doesn’t sound so bad.
Last Saturday, he was recording. The room was crammed with his equipment. I was sitting in the corner, keeping a low profile. Russell was in a world of his own as he mixed his set for the evening’s gig. After a while, I realised he’d stopped and turned everything off. I looked up. He had this strange expression on his face.
“What’s up?”
“It’s time, babe. I’ve decided.” Now he looked excited. “We should have a baby.” That was it – no preamble, no proposal and, worse still no words of love or commitment.
“You’ve decided?” I put my book down. “Do I even get a say in this?”
The beginning of the end. We had a long ‘discussion’. (That’s his word; I’d have said ‘row’.) Maybe I was wrong, who knows? I wanted him to convince me – but certain words were missing from his arguments in favour of parenthood : words I needed to hear. I didn’t get to hear his ‘set’. He went to the gig alone.
Tuesday afternoon and we still haven’t spoken. I’m waiting for him to tell me to leave. I can’t have a child with a man who has never said he loves me and he won’t want me to stay around while his biological clock keeps ticking away.
Sitting at the kitchen table, as evening falls, I hear him in the living room. He’s shuffling through the CDs. Now I’m to be punished with death by drum and
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