Furry Pink Slippers

‘Good Morning, fellow student!’ Ron cried as I walked into the kitchen the following morning.

‘Hello, how long have you been up?’ As I filled the kettle, I risked a glance inside it. Was that stuff moving? It was certainly growing. I shuddered and turned the kettle on.

‘Not long, but long enough to meet Margot. She's gone out to run a marathon, or practice to run a marathon, or to be run over by a marathon… something involving a marathon, anyway. She was talking for ages; she just goes on and on. You stop listening after a while and you drift off. When you come back she's still going.’

‘So, I see you have a lot in common then?’

‘Bollocks!’

‘You both have bollocks? Well, that's something else you have in common then.’ I gave Ron a mug of coffee and sat down with my own. I rolled a cigarette. Ron picked up my tin, glancing up at me. I nodded and Ron rolled himself a cigarette and lit it.

‘I'm going to buy a paper,’ Ron said a few minutes later as he finished his coffee.

I put my empty cup down next to his. ‘I'll come for a walk with you. I'll get myself a paper as well.’

*

Ron bought milk and sugar from the shop along with his paper. Back at the house again, we sat each side of the kitchen table and sorted out the readable sections of our newspapers. When we had done this, the discarded pile was higher than the piles in front of each of us. For a while, we read, drank coffee and smoked in near silence. The only sound was turning pages and the sigh of relief at the end of each section.

I could feel the traditional Sunday torpor creeping over me. I leaned back against the wall and lit a cigarette. Ron was reading the Business section. I thought about commenting on it. How anyone could find anything of interest in that section amazed me. But Ron was studying Economics, maybe that explained it. Dismal reading for dismal scientists.

Alison came in, her hair wet from the shower. She was wearing an old white dressing gown and bright pink fluffy slippers. Ron looked up from his paper and noticed the slippers. He opened his mouth to speak. She wagged her finger at him and he closed his mouth.

Alison turned on the kettle and sat down next to me. ‘Oh, there's a pub up the road a bit that does Sunday lunches. It's very good and very cheap. Do you two want to go?’

‘Cheap?’ Ron said. ‘My favourite word. Yes, I'll go.’

‘Yes, okay,’ I said. ‘I don't fancy cooking anything, anyway.’

Ron closed his paper and stood up. ‘I suppose the bathroom is free now?’ He said to Alison. She nodded as Ron walked around the table to take a closer look at her furry pink slippers.

‘Ron,’ she warned.

‘Not a word. Not a word,’ Ron said as he walked to the door. At the door, he turned and pointed. Covering his face with his hand, he bent double and shook as if in laughter. He glanced up and saw Alison searching for something to throw. He ran and the door slammed behind him.

[Extract from Hanging Around Until]