‘Is there going to be a day when I wake up and you aren’t here with your perky face?’
‘Yes. In precisely six days. And you’ll be very sad to see me go.’
Jimmy grinned and tried to pull the covers up but I pulled them back. A tussle ensued.
‘Up you get,’ I said, giving his bare shoulder a shove. I stood and flung my arms about. ‘Places to go, people to meet, wine to drink and food to eat! Heeey, I’m a poet and I didn’t know it.’
‘You’re tiring and need rewiring,’ he said, circling his finger around his temple.
‘Very good,’ I said with admiration. ‘You’re implying insanity, but I care not. Hey!’ I gasped. ‘What happened to Flora?’
As Jimmy shot up and worriedly looked in the direction of Flora (who was absolutely fine) I yanked his covers off.
‘Sneaky,’ Jimmy said, yawning.
Flora sat delicately on her plush throne looking at me with an expression I interpreted as, ‘Don’t involve me in your petty games, silly girl.’ I shot back an expression that required no interpretation and said, ‘You’re so fluffy I don’t know which end is arse and which end is face. And I can play any games I want to, you piece of dryer fluff. You don’t get to me. Stop looking at me like that! Stop it! Stop it, you—’
‘You don’t like my dog, do you?’ Jimmy stood next to his bed in his boxers, a towel in one hand and his phone in the other, evidently taking a photo of me in a battle of wills with the canine version of Regina George from Mean Girls.
‘So, what are the plans for today?’ I asked, watching Jimmy rummage through his clothing pile.
‘Well,’ Jimmy said with another yawn, ‘we are going to have a relaxed day. Because it’s Sunday. A holy day. We shall drink wine because Jesus liked wine. And that is a religion I can get on board with.’ He located some shorts and walked towards the bathroom. ‘We shall do a little interacting with some wildlife,’ he laughed as I clapped my joy. ‘Then have lunch at a winery and, because it’s Sunday, we can nap in the sun. Do you like to nap?’
‘More than I like Jason Bateman,’ I said.
Jimmy gave me a look.
‘I like him a lot.’
I jumped in the front seat and saw a sheet of A4 taped to the dashboard in front of me.
SONGS FROM THE SHOWS ARE BANNED it said in red pen.
I turned to Jimmy, who was grinning. ‘Fine!’ I said, ripping it off and laughing.
To the soundtrack of Rock of Ages, which was both showtune-ish and 1980s, we embarked on another hot drive and arrived at another busy car park. I climbed out of the car and followed Jimmy towards a lake with swans floating beneath weeping willows. I saw a sign for wine-tasting and was just letting my homing device kick in and lead me there when Jimmy called me back.
‘We’re going here,’ he said, and pointed to a sign that said ‘Up close and personal encounters with eagles, hawks, falcons, porcupines, owls and SNAKES’.
‘Not happening,’ I said, jabbing my finger at the word snakes, the cold sweat of terror already making its way down my spine.
‘If you don’t hold a snake I won’t take you to the winery.’
‘We’re at a winery. Ha! I’ll drink here.’
‘This place is on the tour coach circuit and will be crawling with tourists in approximately . . .’ He looked at his watch. ‘Thirty minutes. You have to book way in advance. But good luck!’
We paid the entrance fee in a little wooden shack then wandered into a grassy area surrounded by pens and open cages. The first thing I saw was a fluffy rabbit bounding freely across my path.
‘Now that I will hold.’
‘If you can catch him,’ a voice said behind me. I turned and saw a guy of about twenty-five in cargo shorts and an ‘Eagle Encounter’ T-shirt. ‘You can start here if you like,’ he said, leading us to a nearby smallish tree. ‘If you can find a chameleon you can hold one.’ He pointed out where the bird show was, where we could play ‘chase’ with the porcupine, then he went back and sat under a tin roof shelter where some other tourists were holding brown owls and bearded dragons.
Jimmy and I spent a happy half hour searching for chameleons, putting them on various parts of our clothing and watching them change colour, then moved on to other birds and lizards. We fed raw meat to eagles, got chased by a ‘domesticated’ porcupine, then approached the tin shelter near the entrance where the baby owls and lizards were. Jimmy walked up to a large tank.
‘Jess,’ he said. ‘Come and see Charlie.’
The young guide, sitting on a wooden table, his sturdy boots on a chair, turned in his sitting position, a lizard on his forearm. ‘You can’t hold Charlie today. He ate recently and is still digesting.’
I walked up to the tank and saw a huge speckled brown and cream boa constrictor with a rugby-ball-shaped lump in the middle of his long body. He lay very still, just the tip of his tongue flicking REVOLTINGLY in and out. Immediately my body went into fight or flight mode. I chose flight and tried to back away and bumped into Jimmy’s firm chest.
‘What did he eat?’ I asked, wondering if that bunny was still bounding around.
‘A rat,’ the guide said. ‘We’ve got a freezer full of them.’
I shuddered with disgust.
‘But you can hold Felix if you like?’
‘Who’s Felix?’ I said, smiling and stepping towards a super-fluffy, super-cute baby owl perched on a branch next to the guide.
‘Him,’ the guide said, pointing to a super-fuzzy, super-disgusting tarantula in a tank next to Charlie.
‘Nah, I’m good,’ I said, stepping back and hitting up against Jimmy again, who laughed.
We hung out with the guide for a bit, as far from Charlie and Felix as possible, taking it in turns to pat the owls and lizards, then Jimmy looked at his watch.
‘You hungry?’
‘Do zebras have a black penis?’
Jimmy frowned. ‘Do they?’
‘They do,’ the guide said.
Jimmy turned to me. ‘You’re gross.’
I grinned. ‘Let’s eat.’
We drove for a few minutes, then Jimmy pulled off the main road and we bumped down a hot and dusty dirt track, arriving at a leafy parking area next to a large manor house. A softly rolling lawn stretched out in front of the house, with a smattering of large trees providing much-needed shady spots. There didn’t seem to be anybody around.
‘This is a winery?’ I said, looking out at the field devoid of any formal seating.
‘Yep,’ Jimmy said. ‘Find a spot and I’ll be back with our picnic.’
Jimmy came back from a building behind the manor house with a picnic basket, a chilled bottle of chardonnay and a tartan blanket. We lay on the ground in the shade of a huge tree. Only a handful of other picnickers were visible in other shady pockets so far away we couldn’t even hear their conversations. No one came to top up our wine glasses or ask us if we’d like any more smoked fish pâté. If you wanted more wine, you went to the building behind the manor house and bought some. If you wanted the bathroom, it was inside the manor house, which was full of antiques and high-ceilinged rooms but empty of people. It was just the sun, the grass, the wine and us. It felt like we were lazing about in the grounds of our own private mansion. When we’d finished eating we lay back on the blanket, the half-bottle of chardonnay and warm sun making us relaxed and sleepy, and chatted comfortably, Jimmy telling me more about the musical he was writing and what it was like growing up in Richmond.
‘When Ian and I were kids we used to bike all over Richmond Park and Wimbledon Common,’ he said, his eyes closed and his head resting back on his arm. ‘We spent nearly every weekend there kicking balls, climbing trees and looking for lizards or adders or moles. I used to give the animals personalities and make up stories about their homes. I guess the idea grew from there.’ He opened his eyes. ‘The badgers are going to be a Kiss tribute band.’
‘Music is a big part of your life, huh?’
‘Yeah. Sometimes to my detriment.’
‘How?’
Jimmy moved to lying on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. ‘I’ve only really had one serious girlfriend. Back in London. I had to break up with her though. I couldn’t see it going anywhere, and I just didn’t think it was fair to stay together when she was starting to look at bridal magazines and I was still reading Time Out and the travel section of the newspaper. I was a bit immature I guess, and didn’t know how to let her know so I just became distant, hoping she’d break up with me.’
‘How original.’
‘She went mental when she realised I was using words from Elvis’s song ‘Always on My Mind’ to break up with her.’
I frowned my non-comprehension.
He sang a few lines about not treating her as well as he should have in a gravelly voice that did goosebumpy things to the backs of my arms, and then grinned in a guilty-looking way.
I laughed. ‘She had a right to go mental.’
Jimmy went and got another bottle of wine, only having half a glass of it himself so he could still drive, then told me about how his mother had died when he was two, so it had been just his dad, Ian and him growing up. Despite not having a mother his childhood had sounded fun, albeit quite boyish, with camping and fishing and tadpoles in their drink bottles and plastic wrap over the toilet seat.
He said his dad had never remarried and I got the impression that their relationship was now strained, but he didn’t elaborate. There was a lull in the conversation while Jimmy and I both shut our eyes and appreciated the feeling of full bellies and the sunshine on our bare legs.
‘You have Mondays and Tuesdays off, right?’ I said after a short while in which we’d both dozed.
‘Yeah,’ he replied, with a curious tone.
‘Do you want to come to a game reserve with me tomorrow?’
Jimmy opened his eyes and looked directly at me. I blushed under his inquisitive gaze.
‘My boss booked it for Pete and me, but he’s off . . .’
‘Being a jerk,’ Jimmy said, his face unexpectedly and unusually hard. ‘Sorry,’ he said, looking embarrassed. ‘I didn’t mean it.’
‘Yeah you did,’ I said. ‘It’s OK. He is being a jerk. But I think I have to take some responsibility.’
I told Jimmy about Annabelle and how I’d sort of put a hold on my life, and by default on Pete’s as well, to help her out and it seemed Pete may have decided I wasn’t worth waiting for.
‘Fool,’ Jimmy said, emphatically.
‘You think?’ I said, unconvinced. ‘It’s hard to figure out who’s in the wrong. He’s waited around while I’ve spent all my time with Annabelle, so maybe I don’t have a right to be upset about him doing his own thing now.’ I shrugged. ‘I don’t know . . . It’s like my relationship has become one big grey area.’
Jimmy looked at me.
‘So, what do you think?’ I said, lifting my voice to raise the mood. ‘You want to come and bother some more wildlife with me?’
‘Maybe . . .’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We’d better head off, I’ve got my class to get to,’ he said, standing up and stretching, the muscles in his arms flexing.
Forty-five minutes of companionable banter later, we pulled up at the apartment.
‘So, what do you think about the safari?’ I said, gathering my things from the floor of the car. ‘You want to come?’
Jimmy smiled. ‘Yeah, why not.’ He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. ‘See you tomorrow then.’
I looked at him, eager for me to get out of the car so he could get to his scriptwriting class before his bartending shift.
‘What?’ he said with an inquisitive half-smile.
‘I just always thought of musicians as . . .’
‘Struggling? Tortured? In possession of great forearms from all the “rock”?’ He said the last word with a single thrash at his air guitar.
‘Losers.’ I grinned. ‘But you’re really—’
‘Hot? Sexy? Talented?’
‘Motivated.’ I patted his rock ’n’ roll forearm then jumped out of the car.
Jimmy smirked and swung the car out through the security gates with a wave out of the window.
Once inside and showered I sat on the balcony with an ice-cold rosé and got comfy for a nice long chat with Annabelle. While the phone rang and rang I let out a long, easy sigh. Then got the excited fizzies because I realised I was content. The phone kept ringing. Eventually I ended the call and fought back anxieties that Annabelle and Hunter and Katie were in some kind of boating strife. Mainly because a) they didn’t own a boat, b) I was sure Annabelle would call me if she were drowning, and c) it was madness, and I had only very recently let out a long, easy sigh with excited fizzies and I wanted to get back into that blissful state.
My phone buzzed with a text.
Cant anser fone. Having peepel for diner.
Hands in minst. This is hunter.
Followed by at least thirty-five random emojis.
Hands in minst? Before I had a chance to reply another one came through.
Mince.
And a further ten emojis all of the skull, fire and poo variety.
Having people over for dinner? Who was this Annabelle, who was coping and having coffees on the common with Marcus the property magnate and putting on dinner parties for friends I didn’t know she had? I sent a text saying, ‘Have a good time’ then lay back on my lounger, drumming my fingertips on the edge of the wine glass, contemplating what to do with my evening. I could email Lana and see if there was any work I could catch up on? I could work on Mum and Dad’s party? Who was I kidding, the party was 110 per cent organised months ago. What to do . . .
‘More lady friends?’ shouted Sylvie, Jimmy’s scary little boss, as she stalked past me in the open doorway, a lit cigarette in her hand.
Jimmy looked up from behind the bar. ‘She’s no lady,’ he said with a grin.
I quickly skipped inside, away from Sylvie’s scary, scowling form and grinned as I approached the bar. ‘I don’t know why I keep coming here.’
‘I do!’ Jimmy sauntered over to the piano and broke into the song from Cheers about everybody knowing your name and always being glad you came. ‘Ricki, in with the harmonies!’
Ricki, polishing glasses, raised an unenthused eyebrow.
‘Only you know my name. And you mostly call me “Oi”.’
‘Ricki knows your name, don’t you Ricki?’
Ricki raised his unenthused eyebrow again.
Later, round about the time Heather liked to get on the table tops and give her anatomical demonstration, Jimmy, at the piano, launched into a gravel-voiced version of Tom Jones’ ‘Sex Bomb’, but changed the words to Jess Bomb and sang the whole song with his sparkly eyes on me. I’ve always loved watching people do what they’re good at. I find it intensely attractive. Michael J. Fox in all those Back to the Futures really gave it his all with his youthful cheekbones and the bounce in his tiny step; a scientist hovering intently over his petri dish; Jimmy at the piano, enjoying himself so effortlessly whether the audience was there or not. I wondered if I looked attractive hunched over the computer entering catering numbers, my brow creased and my tongue probably sticking out.
Just before 1 a.m. I got tired and called an Uber. I waved goodbye to Jimmy, who was still at the piano. He winked, mouthed ‘see you tomorrow’ then launched into a Billy Joel song that had Heather writhing around a man I recognised from the local news channel.
