Another Country by Anjali Joseph Page B

cooking for you.’
    â€˜Practically speaking I cook for you more often.’
    â€˜You virtually live here.’
    â€˜Is that supposed to be some sort of favour?’ She shot up from the sofa.
    â€˜Well,’ he said, quietly indignant, ‘you probably have a better lifestyle than you otherwise would because of it.’
    â€˜What’s wrong with my lifestyle ?’
    â€˜This flat. It’s nicer than yours.’
    â€˜There’s nothing wrong with my flat. At least I don’t have to shunt out of it every time your dad comes to town.’
    He folded his arms. The oval glass table, which he’d coveted for weeks before he bought it from the antiques market, stood between them like a punctuation mark.

    â€˜Oh, hi. I thought I heard you come in last night.’ Jon walked past a still-sleeping Leela, fumbling for the coffee powder in the kitchen, and opened the fridge. The phone began to ring. He bounded out. ‘Jesus! More people trying to sell me something.’
    It struck Leela that these calls were the result of marketing strategies like those Richard and his colleagues put in place, with much plying of PowerPoint, for their clients. Jon, she heard, was having an animated conversation.
    â€˜No, he’s not. He’s away. Where? Uh … he’s skiing. Yes. Well, in Colorado. It’s a different season there.’
    Leela grinned.
    â€˜But what’s it about?’ Jon enquired tensely, a man on the scent of a falsehood.
    The kettle boiled. Leela tipped a small mountain of coffee into her individual-sized cafetière. A bird sang outside. The day was grey.
    â€˜Okay, I’ll tell him, but he’s pretty fucking acute, yeah?’ Jon ended. Leela giggled, spilling coffee powder. The kitchen needed cleaning.
    â€˜Did you mean “astute”?’
    â€˜Thank you,’ said Jon reprovingly. He took the kettle from her and poured hot water into a mug containing a single round tea bag. Immediately the water became dark and rank-smelling.
    Leela sat on the counter, rubbing her eyes and waiting for coffee powder and water to turn into coffee.
    â€˜Time for a drastic change?’ Jon said.
    She started. His face was innocent of anything sly.
    There was a long pause. Leela ran a hand through her short hair. ‘Oh. You mean the hair. Yeah – dunno. It seemed like a good idea.’
    â€˜Well, it’ll grow,’ Jon pointed out. He looked at her again, as though deciding whether to speak. ‘So Richard’s away?’
    Leela felt herself blush. ‘His dad’s here, so he’s spending time with him.’ She wondered if she’d left any of her plastic bags in the hall.
    Jon nodded, and smiled at her. He stopped stirring his tea, and went back to his room.

    Leela spent a quiet day, each part unfolding with tedious languor. She regarded the bags she’d deposited in her room, and considered unpacking. She cleaned the bath. She went to the small supermarket on the High Road, and bought avocadoes, bread, butter, lemons, coffee, milk, cereal. She came home and put away the food. She phoned Amy.

    â€˜It’s not so much that I miss him. It’s that I resent that he doesn’t miss me.’
    â€˜Maybe he’s just not as insecure as you.’
    Leela brooded. She sipped her tea. ‘Can I have sugar?’
    â€˜Oh, sorry. It’s in the kitchen.’
    Amy was often free at weekends, because the man she was seeing was attached. Leela, however, was usually busy, having an absorbing, miserable weekend of social engagements, arguing, and sex, with the odd good meal thrown in.
    â€˜Do you actually want to spend all your time with him?’ Amy asked.
    â€˜No. I just feel better when he’s there.’
    Richard usually took Leela along when he met his friends. ‘There’s nothing I’d say to them if you weren’t here that I wouldn’t say when you are,’ he said. As if in