The first visitor to arrive was extremely punctual. At the dot of 7 o’clock, there came a knock on the door. Rosa rushed to open it, pausing to check her reflection in the hall mirror and fluffing her blonde hair before opening the door.
On the other side of the door stood a young man, a bit geeky looking, pale, with dark, floppy hair. He was holding a bunch of mixed carnations and roses and a bottle of wine.
“Oh,” he said, somewhat taken aback. “Um, I’m looking for Morwen? Are you her housemate? Rosa, right?”
Rosa looked slightly disappointed.
“You must be Richard,” she said. “Mor’s told me a lot about you.”
“Only good things, I hope,” he said.
“Actually, she’s said bugger all to me about you, but that’s the sort of thing you’re supposed to say on meeting someone, right?”
“Oh,” said Richard. “Um.”
“Good call on the flowers,” said Rosa, eyeing them up. “Next time though, don’t be afraid to be adventurous. Roses are good, she likes them, but carnations are a bit tame, aren’t they?”
Morwen called from the kitchen:
“For goodness sake Rosa, let the poor man in!”
Rosa stepped aside as Richard came in, and made his way to the kitchen. Before she closed the door, she looked out and down both sides of the street, and sighed.
As she closed the door, a pigeon landed on the gutter immediately above it, and started preening itself.
In the kitchen, Morwen was scowling and carefully stirring a large steaming saucepan. The steam had turned her sandy brown curls frizzy and had given her a flushed face. She put the lid on the saucepan, and turned to Richard.
Slightly awkwardly, he offered her the bunch of flowers and the bottle of wine. She smiled at him then and took the flowers.
“Why don’t you stick that in the fridge behind you?” she said, waving the flowers at the wine bottle. “There’s some white already in there if you’d like some.”
“Thanks,” said Richard, swapping one bottle for another, pouring himself a glass and topping up the one on the counter next to Morwen.
“Ignore Rosa,” said Morwen, smiling at him as she unwrapped the flowers and put them in a vase. “These are lovely.”
Richard looked around the homely kitchen, paying special attention to the series of pot plants lined up on the windowsill.
“Is that a Venus flytrap?” he asked. “And a pitcher plant?”
“Well done,” smiled Morwen. “Most people don’t notice.”
“Rosa was right,” he said, “makes my carnations and roses seem really boring now. Can I help with anything?”
Morwen hunted around in a cupboard for a few moments and sighed.
As she straightened up, she said:
“Actually, yes. In the back garden, under the window, there’s a frying pan. You couldn’t fetch it for me, could you?”
“No problem,” said Richard.
He was back in less than a minute, holding said frying pan.
“Do you have rabbits?” he asked. “Only I saw the run in the back garden.”
“Nope,” said Morwen. “Chickens. Just as entertaining and cuddly and with the benefit of fresh eggs most days. They’re officially Rosa’s, but I’ve gotten fond of them. They’re probably asleep now. It being nearly dark and all.”
“Do they have names?” he asked.
“Gingernut, Bourboun, Snowball, Kimberley, Mikado and Coconut Cream.”
“Are they all named after biscuits?”
“Well, it was less cruel than calling them Korma, Jalfreezi, or Chow Mein. And there’s only so many egg-related pun-based names like Eggwina that I can think of.”
Richard looked quizzically at the frying pan’s charred contents.
“Um, why was this out in the garden?”
“Honestly, you don’t want to know.”
“Is that popcorn in there?”
Further conversation was stopped by another knock at the door.
“I’ve got it!” carolled Rosa, as she raced down the hall.
This time the visitor was a young woman. A very tiny, very pretty in a doll-like way, Asian young woman, who nearly got knocked over when Rosa enthusiastically hugged her. A close observer would have noted the minute dodge that the woman supressed in order to let Rosa hug her, and the six inch long silver hair sticks that held her long hair back in a bun. A not so observant observer would have seen the expression of exasperated fondness on her face.
“Fel!” Rosa shrieked9. “I’m so glad you could make it! Come in, come in!”
Richard and Morwen looked at each other and winced.
The evening started ok, with everyone being on their best behaviour. It went downhill though, as soon as the potato, leek, root veg and ginger casserole was served.
Felindre stared at Richard intently. He squirmed a bit and looked uncomfortable.
“Do I know you?” she asked him outright. “I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before…”
“I don’t think so,” Richard said thoughtfully.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he said firmly.
Felindre looked unconvinced.
“It’ll come to me,” she said determinedly.
There was a moment of quiet while everyone took their first tastes of the casserole.
At least in part to avoid putting any more casserole into his mouth, Richard was the first to put his foot in it.
“So, Rosa, Felindre, got anyone special in your lives?”
Felindre glared at him while Rosa giggled, and put her hand on Felindre’s.
Richard turns a very entertaining shade of red when he’s embarrassed. He covered by gulping some more casserole, and then some water. It was anyone’s guess as whether the red face was then caused by the embarrassment, or the casserole.
“The casserole’s, er, very nice,” said Rosa, carefully putting her spoon on the table next to her bowl. “New recipe?”
“Yes,” said Morwen, blowing on her casserole to cool it. “New book. Not sure about the flavour combination and proportions though.”
“Not surprised,” muttered Felindre. “I think my mouth is on fire from the ginger.”
Morwen glared at her, and Rosa jumped in with:
“Fel, did you see your horoscope today? Because I checked it and it said,” and here she put down her casserole spoon to fish her mobile out of her pocket again to read:
“Some exciting possibility open could up for you, perhaps out of blue sky, perhaps doing something out of character. True, Mercury does start to rewind, so be careful of practicalities.”
There was a moment of silence.
Felindre rolled her eyes and took another mouthful of the casserole. A look of pain crossed her face as she forced herself to swallow. Almost to relieve the pain, she snapped:
“For pity’s sake Rosa, what have I told you about horoscopes! I can’t believe you’re so gullible!”
“You’re such an unbeliever, Fel! Science doesn’t mean you know everything. There are things that science can’t explain!”
“Rosa, horoscopes are bunk, and I know this because a) I’ve studied physics and astronomy, and therefore can mathematically prove that the midwife present at your birth had more of a gravitational effect on you than Jupiter did. And b) you write the blasted things for work, so you know exactly how vague and woolly they are!”
Rosa pushed her bowl of casserole away quickly, spilling some over the side of the bowl, and stood up from the table.
“That’s so like a Taurus!”
And with that, she ran out of the room and up the stairs.
Everyone stared at the spilled casserole as it steamed gently. Around the spill’s edges the table varnish was peeling.
Morwen fetched a cloth and wiped up the spill10. Then she started gathering up the bowls into a stack in front of her. No one had finished the casserole, in fact most looked hardly touched.
“Well, I guess I won’t be bothering with that recipe again,” she said.
Everyone could hear the sound of sobbing coming from upstairs. Morwen gave Felindre a look.
“What?” said Felindre. “I’ve had words with her before about horoscopes – she knows they drive me mad.”
“Felindre,” warned Morwen. “You know what’ll happen otherwise…”
“Oh, all right,” Felindre grumbled. And she too got up from the table and followed Rosa upstairs, muttering to herself about gravitational fields.
“Are they always like that?” asked Richard, when she was safely out of the room.
Morwen gloomily took another slug of wine and stared at the unfinished casserole, still steaming slightly in its dish on the table.
“No,” she said. “Most of the time they’re worse. At least no one started throwing plates this time around.”
“Oh,” said Richard.
“I think they’ve both bought into the whole ‘love is a battlefield’ trope thing. One thing for sure, they’re certainly passionate about each other.”
She sighed, and looked at Richard.
“But they’ve been together for more than a year now, which by Rosa’s standards is practically a lifetime, so something must be working.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, broken by a quacking sound. Richard jumped and looked around nervously.
“That’s my phone,” said Morwen. “It’s been making strange noises recently. And I can’t seem to get it to stop.”
“Oh,” said Richard again. Then, brightening, he suggested:
“Maybe I could take a look? I’m good with mechanical things.”
His bright look faded dramatically when Morwen fished her phone out of her bag and handed it over to him.
The phone was a blackened mass of plastic, with scorch marks on the back. The screen had a small crack in the corner, and the power on button had melted11.
“What on earth happened to this?” he asked, turning it over and over in his hands.
“Oh, it got hit by lightning,” said Morwen.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“How did that happen?”
“Long story,” said Morwen. “More wine?”
And she topped their glasses up, clearly not intending to elaborate on said long story.
Richard waited a moment, in case she did feel like explaining further, turning the phone over in his hands.
“I can’t seem to get it to work,” he said, poking at the screen.
“There’s a knack to it,” said Morwen, taking it from him.
The phone came to life with a musical chord (A minor), and the screen lit up.
“Hello, my name is SISE, how may I help you?” came from the phone in a melodious, female voice12.
“Not now Sissy, just checking texts.”
“You have one new text message. Would you like to read it?”
“Not now, thanks. Go back to sleep.”
“Ok,” said Sissy.
“Your phone talks to you?” asked Richard, somewhat redundantly.
“It does now,” said Morwen. “And it still works, pretty well. I figure, from the look of it, no one’s going to try stealing it. Plus, ever since it was hit by lightning, I don’t need to charge it up anymore.”
Richard looked at the phone suspiciously.
“Why ducks quacking as a text alert?”
“Dunno,” said Morwen. “It just seems to choose sounds at random. Last time it was an elephant call, the time before that the opening bars of Beethoven’s fifth. It’s fond of the latest viral video song though.”
“Oh,” said Richard.
“’Gangnam style’ I could handle,” said Morwen. “’What does the Fox say’ was ok too. Even the bagpipers playing the Hokey Cokey13. But I was glad when it stopped being the screaming goat, I can tell you!”
A loud bang came from the room above them, followed by some more clattering, and a peal of giggles.
“Sounds like Felindre and Rosa are putting their differences aside,” said Morwen. “I’ll hold off on dessert for a while. More wine?”
Richard helped her carry the casserole bowls into the kitchen, empty wine glasses in other hand. Neither of their glasses stayed empty for long.
___
9 Rosa does that – indicates enthusiasm via volume. You get used to it.
10 Adding another suspicious burned and brown patch to the collection of burns already on it.
11 Hey, it’s not like it was needed anymore.
12 A very sexy voice too, I hasten to add.
13 Maybe the Hokey Cokey is what it’s all about. But probably not.
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