Magic Sometimes Happens Part 18

February.

PATRICK.

As soon as I was through with immigration, I got out my cell and called her up. 'Hi, Rosie, this is Pat. How are you doing?'

'I I'm very well.' She seemed to take a great, deep, gasping breath. 'I mean I'm good. I mean I'm fine. Patrick, I-'

The way she said my name was like a blessing, even though she sounded kind of like she might be choking. 'Rosie, you okay?'

'I've just run up a flight of stairs. So I'm a little out of breath. Pat, it's great to hear from you!'

'It's great to talk to you.'

'How was your flight? Okay, I hope?'

'My flight was fine. I saw some real bad movies. I ate some awful food. What do they do to eggs on airplanes? How do they turn them into rubber string?' I want so much to see you, I couldn't seem to say. 'It would be good to meet some time,' I added.

'Yes, it would be lovely.'

'Then let's do it.'

'Pat, where are you now?'

'Still at the airport. Where are you?'

'I'm at home. Why don't you come round to my flat? I mean, to my apartment?'

'Today?'

'Yes, if you like.'

'How do I come into central London?'

'The most convenient way is train or taxi. Or I could pick you up? But by the time I get there, you could have been here, if you see what I mean? I think the train would probably be best. You follow the directions to the Piccadilly line. Get yourself an Oyster card and stick on twenty quid, change at Earl's Court for Paddington.'

Get myself an Oyster card and stick on twenty quid yeah, right. So what was this Oyster card? How much was twenty quid? What was the Piccasomething line? I knew nothing about trains. I'd never ridden one.

I guess I should have read my guide to Europe on the plane, but when I looked it wasn't in my carry-on. I must have put it in my case or left it on the couch back home in Minneapolis.

'What's your address, Rosie?'

'It's 18 Trenton Gardens, ground floor flat. You'll be about an hour on the tube. Or only fifteen minutes, that's if you get the Paddington Express. You'll need a special ticket. You can't use an Oyster card because it's just for buses and the London Underground.'

I took a cab.

ROSIE.

Okay, I lied to him.

I was not at home and I hadn't run up any stairs. I left my office, and then I drove like somebody possessed back to my flat in Paddington, cutting up black cabs, white vans and silver limousines with tinted windows, and even big red London buses, which was beyond stupid I knew that.

But I couldn't seem to help myself. I slewed my poor long-suffering Fiesta into a tiny s.p.a.ce between some skips and then I raced into my flat, got showered and washed my hair. As I was scrambling into my most flattering pair of jeans, the doorbell rang. I dragged my fingers through my still-wet hair. I flung open the door. I beamed at him. I couldn't help myself. I was so pleased to see him.

Did I say h.e.l.lo? You found me, then? Did you have any trouble getting here? It's great to see you? I'll put the kettle on?

No none of that.

'You said you'd sort my laptop,' I began, still grinning like a loon.

'Yeah, I did. What's wrong with it?'

'It's running very slowly. It takes half an hour to boot up. Okay, that's a slight exaggeration. But it takes a long, long time. It's like it's an old man of a computer. But it's only two years old, and-'

Oh, for heaven's sake, fool stop blethering on! Say something smart and witty, don't rabbit on about your ruddy laptop! Scintillate, why don't you?

'Ah um have you eaten recently?'

'No, not since breakfast,' he replied. 'So maybe you could fix me something while I fix your laptop?'

'Oh right it's a deal.'

'This is a most attractive lobby.' He gazed up at the dusty cornicing and then down at the scuffed and sc.r.a.ped and grubby skirting boards, at the piles of junk mail on the staircase, at the universal mess and clutter of communal entrances in all converted houses everywhere. 'But it's kind of chilly.'

I blushed. I felt the blood rush up my neck. I felt it flood my face. 'Where are my manners?' I stepped back a pace or two. 'Do please come inside.'

He followed me into the flat. He stood there in the middle of the sitting room, his luggage heaped around him, looking like a refugee.

'I'm sorry it's so cold in here,' I said. 'My boiler's b.u.g.g.e.red.'

'Pardon me?'

'My furnace, it's not working like it should. I'm getting plenty of hot water, but the radiators are stone cold. The landlord says he'll send a plumber round tomorrow morning. I do have an electric fire.'

I flicked the switch. This was a big mistake. The flat filled with the stink of burning dust. 'I'm sure you'd like some coffee,' I continued stupidly. 'Why don't you take your outdoor things off and make yourself at home?'

'Where's this old man laptop?' As he shrugged his coat off, he looked like he was trying not to laugh.

'It's on the bookcase over there.' I felt my face begin to glow again and so I went into the kitchen. Making coffee for us both then starting to get dinner meant that I was doing something useful with my hands, and this was just as well.

While I was in the kitchen peeling spuds and coating cod in batter I was making good old British fish and chips, I was doing my domestic G.o.ddess stuff tonight, thanks to Waitrose and the G.o.d of freezers I would not be able to touch him.

He came up to the kitchen door to ask me for some pa.s.swords and check it was okay to see my personal files and folders.

'If there's a bunch of private stuff in here, perhaps you ought to take your laptop to some guy who doesn't actually know you?' he suggested tactfully.

'It's all right, there's nothing cla.s.sified. It's just work stuff mostly. You can open anything. Where will you be staying while you're here in London?'

'I don't recall the name of the hotel. But I have the address on my phone.'

It turned out he'd been booked by QAC into a very smart hotel, one of those in a private square just north of Oxford Street near f.a.n.n.y's office. But as I lit the gas I made my mind up. He wasn't going anywhere for hours.

Or maybe days.

PATRICK.

As I was fixing her computer, she fixed me fish and fries and something she called mushy peas. She said they were a British specialty. They looked like the kind of thing a sick coyote leaves in a backyard.

'What do you think?' she asked.

'The fish is excellent, the fries are great, but this green mess is pretty d.a.m.n disgusting.'

'I bet you haven't even tasted it.'

'You would bet right.'

'Go on, be brave?'

'I guess I'll pa.s.s.'

'You ought to try it just the once.' She smiled at me, her lovely grey eyes bright. 'You might find you like it.'

'Yeah?' I took a mouthful. I chewed it, swallowed it, decided I had made a big mistake. 'I never tasted anything so foul.'

'Okay, I'll have yours.' She grabbed a spoon, she scooped it up and dumped it on her plate.

I watched her eat.

I never thought I'd live to see the day when I'd be jealous of a blob of is there a polite expression for a food the colour and texture of a pile of radioactive s.h.i.t?

'You could finish fixing my computer while I do the dishes,' she said briskly in that lovely British accent which did weird stuff to my inside and made me feel about thirteen years old.

I could imagine Rosie as a what is it Victorian memsahib out in British India, when Britannia ruled the waves the viceroy's lady, the collector's wife or some such dignitary.

'Yes, ma'am,' I replied and watched her blush. She looked amazing when she blushed. It was like the sun came up on a cold winter morning, like summer roses blooming in the snow.

I uninstalled some stuff she didn't need, like half a dozen browsers she clearly never used and which were slow and useless anyway, ditto a bunch of other applications, then I opened up some folders.

'Why are you keeping all this trash?' I asked.

'What do you mean?'

'You have duplicated files all over, downloads you could probably delete, a thousand photographs you could resize you surely don't need these three, for example, they're about as big as billboards and what's with all these images of cupcakes?'

'They're for work.'

'You need three hundred photographs of cupcakes?'

'Well maybe not three hundred.'

'Why is your antivirus software out of date?'

'I didn't realise it was out of date.'

What is it with these people? Why are they determined to be functionally non-technological? If I'd never heard of William Shakespeare, they would laugh at me and say I was sub-literate. But do they know the first thing about Linux? What is Linux that's what they would say.

'Do you always leave all this stuff open?' I demanded, moving on.

'Yes,' she replied and shrugged. 'Why shouldn't I?'

'Twitter, Facebook, Gmail I asked you for your pa.s.swords, but you were logged in to all of them. When you're done posting, tweeting or whatever, why don't you log out?'

'Does it really matter?'

'So when you head out shopping or to work, you leave your front door open, do you, keys still in the lock and a notice Scotch-taped to the bell-push saying hey guys, come right in, take what you want?'

'Of course I don't.'

'So always, always, always log out of your email, website, Dropbox, Facebook, Twitter all that stuff, okay?'

'Yes, Professor Riley.'

'I'm not kidding, Rosie. You don't want strangers prowling round your private stuff and spying on you, do you? Or sending dirty emails to your friends who might think they really came from you?'

'No, of course I don't.' She made a rueful face. It was the cutest thing I ever saw, big-eyed and mock-repentant. 'So both wrists slapped and lesson learned, all right?'

ROSIE.

'When do you start work?' I asked, as we sat on the sofa cradling mugs of coffee and I so much wanted to kick my slippers off and put my feet up on his lap.

'Tomorrow morning. I have a breakfast meeting with the head of the department.'

'I think it's very mean of them, to get you working straight away. They should let you get over your jet lag.'

'I don't have jet lag. Or I don't think I do. But I've never flown this far before. My longest trip until today was from Salt Lake City home to Minneapolis.'

'How are you feeling, are you very tired?'

'No, I'm wide awake.'

'Shall we take in a movie, then?'

'You mean go to the cinema?'