Fast Fiction: Dropping In
Richard Mallinson’s story confirms that some visitors are never likely to receive a welcome.
‘There’s somebody here to see you,’ said Miranda.
‘Male or female?’ I asked, without looking up.
‘Oh, female. A bit over the top, if you ask me.’
‘Over the top?’
‘Yes, flashy in dress and manner. Tarty, I would say.’
‘I don’t know anybody like that,’ I lied.
‘What’s wrong with the little bitch?’ This was said after Miranda had left us alone in my office.
‘Nothing at all. She’s very efficient.’
‘Hm, I bet she is.’
‘Now, now,’ I said, ‘there’s no need for that. Anyway, what do you want? I told you to stay away from here, didn’t I? You’re not good for my image.’
‘Not good for your image! Christ, you do talk like a pompous twit. And to me, of all people.’
‘Well, you make me nervous,’ I said. ‘At least Miranda doesn’t know that you’re my ex-wife. She probably thinks –‘
‘What? What does she probably think? Come on, tell me.’
‘Well, that you’re on the game or something.’
‘What? Do I look as if I’m on the game?. . . No, don’t answer that.’
I poured her a large whisky and gave her a cigarette, which I lit for her.
‘Do you need money?’ I asked.
‘No. I just dropped in to see you. I didn’t come to beg. There’s nothing wrong with dropping in to see you, is there?’
‘Yes, there is,’ I said. ‘We could easily have met in a pub if you’d taken the trouble to ring me. I don’t like you coming here. You unsettle everybody.’
‘Everybody? How many of you are there, then, for god’s sake?’
‘Well, just Miranda and myself at the moment but – ‘
‘Oh, how cosy,’ she said, dropping her cigarette on the carpet.
