'No …' I replied, staring into the mirror. There was no doubt about it. I was starting to put on a small amount of girth. I stared at it this way and that and Lola did the same, trying to figure out what I was looking at.
Catalogue shopping from the inside was a lot more fun than I had thought. Lola squeaked with delight at all the clothes on offer and tried about thirty different types of perfume before deciding not to buy any at all – she, in common with nearly all bookpeople, had no sense of smell. Watching her was like letting a child loose in a toy store – and her energy for shopping was almost unbelievable. It was while we were on the lingerie page that she asked me about Randolph.
'What do you think of him?'
'Oh, he's fine,' I replied non-committally, sitting on a chair and thinking of babies while Lola tried on one bra after another, each of which she seemed to love to bits until the next one. 'Why do you ask?'
'Well, I rather like him in a funny kind of way.'
'Does he like you?'
'I'm not sure. I think that's why he ignores me and makes jokes about my weight. Men always do that when they're interested. It's called subtext, Thursday – I'll tell you all about it some day.'
'Okay,' I said slowly, 'so what's the problem?'
'He doesn't really have a lot of, well, charisma.'
'There are lots of men out there, Lola,' I told her. 'Don't hurry. W
hen I was seventeen I had the hots for this complete and utter flake named Darren. My mother disapproved, which made him into something of a magnet.'
'Ah!' said Lola. 'What about this bra?'
'I thought the pink suited you better.'
'Which pink? There were twelve.'
'The sixth pink, just after the tenth black and nineteenth lacy.'
'Okay, let's look at that one again.'
She rummaged through the pile, found what she wanted and said:
'Thursday?'
'Yes?'
'Randolph calls me a tart because I like boys. Do you think that's fair?'
'It's one of the great injustices of life,' I told her. 'If he did the same he'd be toasted as a "ladies' man". But Lola, have you met anyone who you really liked, someone with whom you'd like to spend more exclusive time?'
'You mean – a boyfriend?'
'Yes.'
She paused and looked at herself in the mirror.
'I don't think I'm written that way, Thurs. But you know, sometimes, just afterwards, you know, when there is that really nice moment and I'm in his big strong arms and feeling sleepy and warm and contented, I can feel there is something that I need just outside my grasp – something I want but can't have.'
'You mean love?'
'No – a Mercedes.'
She wasn't joking.16
It was my footnoterphone.
'Hang on, Lola – Thursday speaking.'17