Free Nobody Loves a Ginger Baby by Laura Marney Page A

acceptance of their lot in life, their honesty.
    ‘Every one of you has passed.’
    *
    Sunday lunchtime and Daphne is silently sliding down the wall. She wants to go back to the bedroom and hide under the duvet but she’s frightened that they’ll hear her if she moves. Her friends are at the door. She’s been ignoring their phone calls for weeks and now Lucy, Colette, Mark and Joe are standing waiting for herto open the door and let them in. But she can’t do that, she’s not dressed, not ready, not able to explain.
    She hears the outside door slam, they’ve given up, at last.
    On the front step there is a jokey card signed by everyone. There’s also a cake in a box. It’s a Star Trek cake with a picture of Captain James T Kirk and the crew of the Starship Enterprise on the front. It’s funny, a reference to her party piece. Once, drunk at a party she challenged them to sing the theme tune to the original Star Trek series. She knew she’d be the only one who could do it properly. They all tried, some more successfully than others and none without laughing, to hit the high note at the end.
    ‘Aah ahh,
    ahh ahh ahh ahh ahhh,
    Ahh ahhh,
    ahh ahh ah ahh ahh ahhh,
    Ahh ahh ahh ahh ahh ahh ahh ah ahh
    Ahhh ahh ahh ahh
    Ahhh ahh ahh aahhhhhh!’
    Daphne keeks out from behind the curtain and sees them at the bottom of the street. She considers opening the window and calling them back, she can pretend she was asleep or in the shower but she knows they’ll ask questions. They’ll ask where Donnie is and she can’t tell them.
    As they disappear out of view she wishes she had opened the door, brought them in, gave them a cup of tea and a slice of cake. They could have had a laugh about who got the bit with Captain Kirk’s face on it.
    She cuts herself a slice, taking care not to chop Mr Spock’s ear off. Underneath the vivid icing, the cake is a jam sponge. She wants to, but she can’t eat it. It’s making her gag. She opens the kitchen window and sits at the table breaking pieces off and throwing them into the backcourt for the birds, although there are no birds at the moment. The big lime tree, which in the limited space has had to bend and twist it’s way up as far as Daphne’s window, isn’t dressedyet either. Its naked branches offer no cover for small vulnerable city birds. But spring is coming, only another few weeks. Then the hard knobbly buds will relax. They are bashful, they won’t do it while she’s looking, but eventually, while Daphne is sleeping or making tea, while she’s doing anything other than watching for them, the leaves, tightly folded and concentrate, like green seahorses, will unfurl. Daphne has the feeling that something is going to change, all she has to do, all she can do, is wait. Bit by bit she crumbles the cake with her fingers and throws it out the window, each piece she breaks off getting smaller and smaller until she’s only throwing crumbs.

Chapter 9
    ‘Yeah okay, I’ll come back with you but I’m not doing anything.’
    ‘Sure, that’s fine, whatever you want.’
    ‘Just for a cuddle, okay?’
    ‘Whatever you want, baby.’
    How many times has he heard that? Just for a cuddle . Pierce is not so cynical as to think that ladies are lying when they say it. But he knows that after two spliffs, The Best Of Marvin Gaye and a half-hour of snogging, fondling, licking, nibbling, sucking and dry riding it’s often a different story.
    ‘Great flat, you’ve got it lovely.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    Pierce smiles as he remembers one of his precoital preparations: tidying the flat. In determining the likelihood of getting one’s hole an important factor was location, location, location. The flat with its understated furnishings and tasteful décor was a leg-opener for most ladies.
    ‘I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.’
    ‘It’s Pierce.’
    ‘I’m really sorry, I’m a bit drunk.’
    She is half sitting, half lying on Pierce’s couch with her bra flipped up and her tights