‘Good point.’
‘You’ll have to take it back.’ I started trying to push the fridge over his front step, but it was too heavy. Plus, Mack was standing in the way.
‘Are you going to help?’ I asked, glasses askew, hair stuck to my forehead, aware I might have been slightly pungent after a full-on day of gardening, cycling and manhandling a fridge onto a shopping trolley (seriously, much harder than I expected).
‘No.’
I looked at him, baffled. ‘Why not?’
‘I suggest you take another look at the fridge.’ He went to close the door, only pausing to say, ‘And next time, try opening with “Hi, Mack, how are you?”’
The door slammed shut. Muttering and fuming, I had another look at the fridge. White. Shiny. A door… A fridge was a fridge, right? Some shelves inside. A note in the butter compartment… Oh. A note.
Jenny,
This has been sitting in my garage since we got a new kitchen. I’ve checked it still works. Hope it helps you feel at home,
Love
Kiko xx
I pulled the fridge back across the yard. In half the time, due to the powerful propulsion of my mortifying humiliation.
* * *
The next day, as soon as I’d dropped the kids off, I used a stash of ten-pound notes from my kitchen appliance envelope to buy milk, cheddar cheese, fresh juice, bacon, a packet of mince, salad and the second cheapest bottle of white wine in the shop.
This time the slow-cooker leftovers went in the fridge. I think a few grateful tears might have dripped in there, too, so I didn’t bother adding any salt. I did, however, lug across the yard a brown leather armchair I’d spent the previous weekend cleaning and polishing.
Mack answered first knock again. I think he was getting used to my interruptions. I hoped he didn’t hate them. A five-minute chat with an annoying neighbour must be better than no chat with anyone, ever.
‘I brought you a chair.’
His beard frowned.
‘By way of an apology.’ I gestured at the chair.
He glanced down and went back to looking at me – as if waiting for something.
‘Oh, right!’ I assumed a friendly grin. ‘Hi, Mack, and how are you?’ I then realised the grin was way too big and grinny, so I reduced it to what I hoped was a sprightly, neighbourly smile.
He closed his eyes in an extra-long blink. ‘Are you going to start bringing me your Hoard now? Transfer it here one piece at a time?’
‘Everything that isn’t burnable. That’s the plan.’ I wheeled the chair forwards until it bumped against his knees. ‘You have one chair. I have many, many chairs. I thought you would like this one. I promise I won’t bring any – many – more.’
He rolled the chair into the kitchen, stopping to crouch down and wipe the muddy wheels with a cloth. ‘I don’t need two chairs. I don’t exactly have many visitors.’
‘I’m a visitor. Look – ta-da! You need it already.’ I plonked myself in the seat, accidentally brushing his hair with my knee in the process.
Mack looked up, brow only inches from my thigh, and his eyes locked with mine. We’d been in close contact before. This was different. A spark of something – chemistry, electricity,attraction?– zapped like fire racing up a fuse. Oh, my, his eyes were mesmerising. For a long second my heart seemed to hover between beats. Then an owl hooted outside, breaking the moment. Mack scooted away so fast he nearly fell backwards. Still in a crouching position, he blinked at the slate tiles. Was it my imagination or was he breathing harder than normal?
Ah, no. The heavy breathing appeared to be me. I slowly sucked in a lungful of air, as quietly as possible. Tried to control letting it out again. Stuck on a bright smile he couldn’t see anyway, adjusted my already perfectly centred glasses and stood up.
‘Anyway, I’ll let you get back to work.’ I slunk to the door. ‘Enjoy the chair!’
‘Yeah, thanks.’ He kept his eyes on the floor, hands wringing the cloth in his hand. I continued my slink right on home.
* * *
