Page 51 of Am I Allergic to Men?
‘She’s perfect, mate. She says hello. She’s glad you’re OK.’
I smile and take a mouthful of frittata. It is hot as balls but, damn, this is tasty shit. Bill then pushes a mug in my direction. I pause to see the quote on the mug:Strong as Tits. Meg smiles to see it too. It’s a family motto of sorts, one I’m glad I put out into the world in my teens.
‘This is mine?’ I ask.
‘One of our housemates is a potter. She got a special set made for your birthday once,’ explains Cass.
Bill clinks my mug and smiles broadly. I think his gums may also be tattooed with crucifixes but I say nothing.
‘Damn you, Bill,’ says a voice from behind us. ‘You made frittata and didn’t say anything?’
The tone of the voice is posh old man and I turn to introduce myself, but not before Meg shoots a mouthful of egg across the table. The old man is naked. Not a thing on him, sixty-year-old balls out in the kitchen.
‘I’m Nigel. I’m a lawyer.’
‘And a nudist,’ Cass mumbles. We hadn’t noticed.
After we meet the very lovely nudist and eat the frittata, Meg uses the toilet and gets all judgy (It smells of weed and fruity shampoo, Lucy) and we finally climb a ladder and get to see my room, which as imagined does look slightly like a modern art installation where bras seem to be hanging off every conceivable door, radiator and chair. What is quite warming is to see the many photos I have all over the walls and a seventies floral duvet on my bed that I had as a teen so some things stayed, the best things. Meg stands in the middle of the room, looking properly mumsy, hands on hips, not knowing whether to gather the dirty laundry or have a go at me.
‘Looks like your cat slept in here too,’ she says, rolling a toe through the cat hair on the floor but pointing to a cat bed on the window sill. It overlooks the garden next door so I like the idea Pussy watched over the neighbours and possibly laughed about using their sandpit as her toilet. Meg walks over to a makeshift dressing table and picks up stacks of paper on it. ‘I see there was a very good filing system in place here.’
I grit my teeth, more distracted by a very nice vintage Reebok zip-up top that I want to take home with me. Meg picks up a receipt that I used to dispose some gum in.
‘Grace was going through your accounts by the way. You should keep some of these receipts if you’re self-employed, it’s all tax-deductible.’
Scrap everything – that is possibly the most grown-up thing a sister has ever said to me. My blank look tells her everything she needs to know there and she sifts through the pieces of paper.
‘You spend a lot of money at ASOS,’ she tells me before pausing. ‘And you got a distinction in your master’s… this is a certificate! Hell, why isn’t this in a frame, Luce?’
I shrug, silently impressed by my latent genius though.
‘This is also a handwritten letter…’ she says, scanning the words. I go over and put my head over her shoulder.
‘Is it from the mystery Oscar?’ I ask jokingly.
‘No, Christ – my eyes… It’s a love letter. The boy’s grammar is appalling. I’d be the first to object if you wanted to date this… Who refers to their penis as a member…?’
I yank it from her hands as she then opens drawers in the dresser, all stuffed with similar random pieces of paper. She sighs then opens the wardrobe but takes a step back as half of it seems to be human hair.
‘For the love of crap, I thought that was filled with cats.’
She pulls one out and it seems to be a wig. It’s bright red with shells attached so I will assume this was part of my party princess stash. She shakes it out and puts it on, looking at herself in the mirror.
‘I look like Ariel in her baby-weight-and-takeaway years…’
I saunter over and pull out a brown one with a built-in beehive to the top. I put it on and brown tresses fall about my shoulders.
‘Belle.Beauty and the Beast. The joy of having three daughters is that these things are now my specialist subject,’ Meg informs me.
I glare at myself in the mirror. ‘I look like Marie Antoinette.’
‘The Topshop version.’
I want to laugh but it’s a strange thing to see me in hair and my eye is drawn to all the wigs and costumes inside that wardrobe. Reminders that I’ve spent the last decade just playing dress-up. Meg has a look through all the other costumes until she gets to a leather catsuit.
‘I never saw a princess dressed like this.’
‘Apparently, I also diversify. The agency told me I did the occasional superhero party and I’m a very good Black Widow, whoever that is.’
