Fenella jogs into Beckford Gardens. She runs straight past Miriam’s house and knocks on Boo’s front door.
“Hello there,” he says. He has met Fenella several times, mainly out in the street, but he can’t remember her name. “You’re Miriam’s friend.”
“Fenella.”
“Oh yes, of course. I’m Boo Hodgkinson.”
“That’s right. May I have a quick word with you in private?”
“Of course, come in. Please excuse the mess.”
Fenella follows him through the hallway into the dining room, where he offers her a seat. “What mess?” she says, sitting down. “This place is immaculate.”
“If only that were true,” he says.
“It is true.”
“You’re very kind. Can I get you a cup of tea or coffee?”
“No thanks, I’m on my way to Zumba.”
“Zumba?”
“It’s an exercise class—you dance to music.”
“Do they play Chumbawamba at Zumba?” he says, then blushes. It’s a silly joke, a bad joke, he has no idea where it came from. He doesn’t even like Chumbawamba—too much swearing. They look at each other for what feels like a long time, their faces serious. Then Fenella laughs as though she is blowing air through her lips while trying to keep her mouth closed. In the air, saliva and song. She sings about getting knocked down and getting up again, it must be a Chumbawamba song, but Boo doesn’t know it. He strokes his moustache, a moustache with many purposes—a transitional object, a hairy comfort blanket, a symbol of masculinity (or so he believes, which is the important thing), a bit of curly fun.
“I can’t wait to tell my Zumba teacher about this,” she says. “They should start every class with that song.”
“Mmnn,” he says.
“Anyway, I’d like to talk to you about Miriam.”
The room smells of lavender. Recently polished, the dining table reflects their faces.
“Is she all right?”
“She’s not like other women.”
“That’s true.”
Fenella eyes the red velour tracksuit hanging in the kitchen and wonders if it would suit her. “She tells me you have feelings for her. Is that correct or is she confused?”
“She told you that already?”
Who pressed the turbocharge button on my slow-motion life?
“So you do like her?”
“Yes.”
“Right. Well, the thing is, Miriam’s never had a relationship before.”
“I see.”
“She’s unusual.”
“I know, that’s why I like her.”
“If you’re going to ask her out we need a plan.”
“A plan?”
“I’m Miriam’s planner.” Fenella sniffs, sits up straight, leans forward. “I laminate things,” she says. “And I’d like to laminate something for you.”
Boo looks nervous. Is she hitting on him?
“Project M&B should be slow and delicate. I’m thinking that phase one could be consistent friendliness and compassion—you need to show her you’re a good person.”
“I’ve completed that phase. I cleaned her windows and mowed her lawn.”
“Okay, so straight to phase two: old-fashioned courting. Do you think you can do that?”
Boo snorts, which Fenella finds comforting. “Was that a yes?” she says.
“Courting is my middle name,” he says.
“Oh really.”
“Yes really.”
Fenella pauses. She mentally undresses Boo from the waist up. Funny what’s in front of you all the time. Funny how she never really noticed him before. He’s an old-fashioned tin of boiled sweets and other men are loose jelly babies. He will do nicely for Miriam.
“Well, I was thinking that you could take her to an exhibition or an Italian restaurant,” she says. “She likes cheese and cold meats.”
“All good ideas,” he says.
“If things go well, we could start to improvise.”
“How many of us will there be in this relationship?”
“Think of me as a silent partner.”
“You are very caring, but also slightly disturbing.”
Fenella beams. “I think this could work,” she says.