Page 95 of The Good Part
‘I know, I know, it’s just time for a change.’
‘She’s a big-shot grown-up now, and I couldn’t be prouder of her,’ I say, reaching over to muss up Zoya’s hair.
‘I will still hang out here all the time,’ Zoya says. ‘And I will still bring excellent playlists and half-decent vodka.’
‘I hate interviewing new flatmates,’ Julian groans.
‘Well, we might not need one immediately,’ I tell him. ‘I was thinking, until the damp situation in my room has been fixed, we might be due a rent reduction because it’s uninhabitable.’
‘What’s got into you this morning? You’re being all Erin Brockovichy. Did you listen to a motivational podcast in your sleep or something?’ Emily asks.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I just woke up feeling good and decided I want to make a few changes.’
‘Be the change you want to see in the bathroom,’ says Zoya.
‘Exactly.’
Before I leave for work, I pick up the two dying plants in my room and tell them, ‘I’m sorry. I tried, but I’m just not a plant person. You’re going to have to go.’ Maybe one day, if I ever have a garden, I will try to be my father’s green-fingered daughter, but for now, there is no shame in admitting defeat.
Outside by the bins, I find Mr Finkley stuffing a rusty animal cage into an already overflowing green bin.
‘Oh, no room for these?’ I ask, disappointed.
‘No. You’d need to black bag them anyway,’ he says, pausing to inspect the plants in my hand. ‘Why are you throwing them away?’
‘I’m not very good at caring for them. They look sad and it was making me feel depressed to look at them.’
‘I called someone about my bathroom floor, they’re coming tomorrow.’ Mr Finkley says, and I can see he’s trying to be amenable.
‘Thank you, much appreciated.’ Then, noticing the curious way he’s eyeing up the plants, I say, ‘Would you like these? Maybe you’ll have better luck with them, you might be able to revive them.’
‘Really?’ His eyes light up.
‘Of course, I was only going to throw them away anyway.’
He takes them from me, hugging one in each arm. ‘You can come and visit them whenever you like,’ he offers. ‘You know, if you ever miss them.’
Yeah, right.‘I’m good, but thanks.’ I turn to go, then pause, and say, ‘And Mr Finkley, thank you for trying to sort the bathroom, and I’m sorry for shouting at you yesterday. I was just really tired.’
He nods, then whispers, ‘Would you like a drink? I think you would.’
As I’m trying to think of a polite way to decline, I realise he is not talking to me, he’s talking to the plants, so I run to catch up with Zoya.
‘Telling the others went better than expected,’ she says on our walk to the tube, ‘and you’re sure you really don’t mind me moving out?’
‘Zoya, I will you miss you terribly, but things can’t stay the same forever.’ I pause. ‘Please tell me you’ll stay south of the river, though?’
She holds my hand and swings it back and forth. ‘Of course I’ll stay south of the river. So, tell me what happened last night. How come you got in so late, and why is there a spring in your step? Did you meet someone?’
‘It was a weird night, horrible really. I was miserable after you left, I drank too much, walked all the way home, found myself on a LondonLove date with this flasher called Dale, oh, and then I met this crazy lady in a newsagent’s, I have to tell you all about her. But what’s strange is that despite my hideous evening, I woke up this morning with this feeling that all was right with the world. Do you ever get that?’
‘I do – whenever you start a story with “I have to tell you about this crazy lady I met...”’
Flush from payday, I treat us both to a coffee from the café near the tube. A song comes on the radio as we’re waiting at the counter; I’ve never heard it before but something about it grabs my attention.
‘What’s this song?’
‘The new Lex single, “The Promise of You”,’ says Zoya. ‘Radio One are obsessed, why?’
