But Jax was great. He made her laugh, and she fancied the bones of him. Like her, he wasn’t interested in commitment. They had talked it through at various points in their relationship and concluded that they were both singing from the same hymn sheet as far as that was concerned. Commitment was bourgeois and unnecessary, but they were happy to carry on as they were for the time being in an uncommitted but monogamous relationship.
She busied herself cleaning the flat, which felt mildly ironic, given the squalid conditions where they had first met and spent time together. It was different now, though, and if she had a flat, she might as well do what she could to make it welcoming.
She ran a cloth around the basin and heard herself humming ‘Things Can Only Get Better’。 The wretched tune had been stuck in her head forever, and even though the election had taken place over a week ago with Labour romping home to victory, not least, no doubt, because the theme tune was stuck in heads across the nation, she couldn’t seem to shift it. It was driving her nuts.
She looked around the flat and nodded to herself in satisfaction. Everything was ready. She had no client bookings for the next twenty-four hours, the fridge was full and the bed was clean. There was nothing to do but spend time enjoying each other’s company. It was going to be a perfect weekend.
Jax was hitching up to Yorkshire and so his ETA was a little vague, but he had rung her from a phone box on the A61 just outside Leeds and so, assuming he could pick up a lift for the last stretch without too much bother, she wouldn’t have much longer to wait. She was struggling to settle to anything, though. If she’d had a television, she could have turned it on for some mindless tea-time drivel, but the third-hand set she had borrowed from a friend had finally given up the ghost. It now sat in the corner of her lounge, hidden beneath a tie-dyed scarf, and was currently serving as a plant stand.
Her fluttery brain turned an unexpected cartwheel towards Leon. He once told her that he’d pick up his saxophone in moments of nervous tension and lose himself in his music. Angie had always envied him that escape. She wondered idly if he still did that or whether Becky had put paid to it.
She hadn’t seen him for ages. Their lives had headed off in opposite directions after he’d met Becky. He was married now. Married! She and Maggie had been invited to the wedding and they had gone as each other’s plus one. It had all felt very grown up and middle class to her and she couldn’t quite believe it was happening, or that her friend had chosen to marry Becky. Leon had seemed radiantly happy and so Angie had had to conclude that she was missing something about his bride. There had been precious few meetings since that first dinner party – Becky’s doing, she imagined – and so Angie hadn’t had a chance to review her initial opinion of her; but Becky clearly made Leon happy and that would have to be enough. In the Christmas card that had as usual arrived promptly at the beginning of December, written in the neat girlish script Angie had come to recognise, it said that they had had a baby – a boy. Leon had a son! This had been such a surprise that Angie had shouted out loud when she read the news. It made her sad, though, that Leon hadn’t thought to tell them that Becky was even pregnant. There had been a time when she and Maggie would have been top of the list, but days turn into weeks, months and finally years and you can lose the habit of keeping in touch.
She wasn’t surprised by Leon’s tumble into conventional life. If any of them was going to do the two-point-four children thing, then she supposed it was going to be Leon, although she had never quite given up on the hope that he would eventually drop it all for the smoky Blues clubs of New Orleans. Never say never.
But Leon and his sax were of no use to her now. She needed to find something to do to pass the time whilst she waited for Jax to arrive. Perhaps she could do some meditation. That might help calm her down. But just as she settled herself cross-legged on the sofa, there was a knock at the door. He was here, and faster than she had thought. He must have picked up the last lift easily.
She bounced up, heart drumming, and raced down the stairs to answer the front door, ready to hurl herself into Jax’s arms, but as the door swung open she saw that it wasn’t him but Tiger standing on the doorstep. Every fibre of her being sagged in disappointment.
‘Surprise!’ he beamed, but then his smile slipped as he took in her expression. ‘Well, that’s a great welcome, I must say,’ he added.
Angie managed a small smile. ‘Hi, Tiger,’ she said.
‘Well, you could look the tiniest bit pleased to see me,’ he said. ‘Can I come in?’