The House Guest by Mark Edwards(2)

Ruth cut me off. ‘We can’t send her back out into that rain.’ She exchanged a ‘typical men’ look with Eden. ‘What is he like? Why don’t you have a drink with us, wait for the rain to stop?’

‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘Of course not.’

‘That would be so kind. But can I use your bathroom to get changed into some dry clothes?’

‘I’ll show you where it is,’ I said.

‘And I’ll open some wine,’ said Ruth. ‘Red okay?’

‘Whatever you’ve got. I’m easy.’

The downstairs bathroom was a bit of a mess, so I led Eden up the creaky staircase to the upper floor, where there was a second bathroom.

‘Your girlfriend’s lovely,’ she said.

‘I know. And I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to send you back into the rain.’

She smiled and touched my shoulder, leaving a damp handprint on my T-shirt. ‘It’s cool. I get it. You don’t know me from Adam.’ She realised what she’d said. ‘I guess that expression doesn’t work with you, does it?’

She took her backpack into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Back downstairs, I found Ruth pouring red wine into three glasses.

‘It’s nice to have a guest, isn’t it?’ I said.

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Especially one who’s hot.’

‘What? I don’t think—’

‘I’m teasing you, Adam. She is cute, though. Your type.’

I pulled her into my arms and kissed the top of her head. ‘You’re my type. The most typical of my type.’

She squirmed away, laughing. ‘Oh my God, you’re so corny.’

It was good to see her laugh; to joke around with her like this. Since arriving in New York a few weeks ago she’d been busy and distracted, and everything had been so intense that there had been very little time for us and the way we used to be. I’d been worrying about it.

‘Ruth—’ I began.

But I didn’t get to finish the sentence. Eden had reappeared already, dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Her feet were bare and she’d wrapped the towel I’d given her around her head. She had come down the stairs as quietly as a cat.

She took the glass of wine Ruth offered her and looked from Ruth to me then back again. Ruth was right – Eden was pretty. But she had nothing on my girlfriend.

‘Cheers!’ Eden said, raising her glass. ‘Thank you for inviting me in.’





Chapter 2

‘Where have you come from?’ Ruth asked as we went into the living room and sat down. The two women took the sofa, and I sat in the armchair that looked and smelled like it should have been condemned years ago, but which was, apparently, Jack’s favourite.

‘California,’ Eden said. ‘Bakersfield? But the last couple of years I’ve been living in LA.’ She shifted in her seat as she said this, and a frown flitted across her face as if she’d been reminded of something unpleasant. Maybe she didn’t like thinking about home.

‘LA? Are you an actress?’ I asked.

‘God, no.’ She laughed. ‘I couldn’t act to save my life. I’m not in the entertainment industry at all, which I guess makes me pretty rare for someone who moved to LA, right? Except I went there for a guy.’

‘Uh-oh,’ said Ruth.

‘Yeah. And guess what? He turned out to be a loser. The latest in a long line of them. And that’s why I decided I needed to get away for a while. I figured New York was just about far enough.’ She got up and began looking around the room. ‘This place is awesome. I mean, a whole house in Williamsburg? I knew Mona and Jack were loaded but this is ridiculous. Though I’m kind of surprised, to be honest. I thought they’d live somewhere totally minimalist. All, like, polished surfaces and pebbles.’

‘Pebbles?’

‘Yeah, you know. A smooth granite counter with just a polished grey pebble sitting on it. Maybe a fancy-schmancy candle? I wasn’t expecting clutter and old books with broken spines and peeling paint and this.’ She lay her hand on the vintage jukebox that was the focal point of the room. ‘This is, like, the sickest thing I’ve ever seen. Does it actually work?’

‘It does.’ I got up to show her. ‘What do you want to listen to?’

She bent forward to read the names of the seven-inch singles that were stored inside the jukebox.

‘How about the Eagles?’ she said.

I pressed a couple of buttons, and the jukebox, which according to Jack and Mona had been here since the mid-seventies, whirred into life. The needle dropped and ‘Witchy Woman’ began to play.

‘Oh my God, I love this,’ Eden said. ‘My mom used to play it all the time.’ She nodded her head along to the song, one bare foot tapping on the wooden floor. I found myself grinning, and turned to see Ruth smiling too. It was hard not to be swept up in Eden’s enthusiasm.

‘Want me to put something on for you, Ruth?’ Eden asked as the Eagles track ended. ‘What’s your jam? Wait, let me guess.’

A moment later, Bob Dylan started singing ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’ and Ruth said, ‘How did you know?’

‘You’ve got that look about you,’ Eden said. ‘A poetic soul.’