And, despite not being particularly house-proud, I will admit that I’m genuinely excited about painting Bookends ourselves. Corny name, I know, but it seemed to fit, and even Si had to admit it was probably right.
Lucy and I have been to Homebase. Have selected the perfect shade of sunshine yellow for the walls. Have contacted local hire companies for huge, professional sanding machines to sand down the floor ourselves. Have found a ‘carpenter from heaven’ – Lucy’s words, naturally – who’s building the bar in the middle of the room for a knockdown price.
Lucy’s been developing new recipes, although no one’s allowed to taste until she’s absolutely ready, and I’ve run up huge phone bills calling Edward – a distant cousin who works in sales at one of the major publishers – and picking his brains about the how, what, when and where of stocking a bookshop.
Even Si, loath though he is to admit it, is impressed, although I know he won’t actually come out and say so until we’re up and running.
‘Have you seen their house? Have you seen what’s happened to their house?’ Si’s borrowed a huge, shaggy mutt called Mouse to walk in the park. Except we’re not walking in the park simply to enjoy the pleasures that nature can offer. I know what it means when Si borrows Mouse for the park, or the hill, or the heath. It means that Si’s on the hunt for Mr Right. Si has this theory that every woman, and/or gay man, should have a dog. This is because, he says, most men go weak at the knees over dogs. Not small dogs, though. Big, strapping dogs. Alsatians, Labradors, Retrievers. Real dogs.
Mouse belongs to Steve and Joe, and Si discovered the joys of Mouse when Steve and Joe bought a holiday home in Tenerife. Northern Tenerife, they said, and therefore far, far away from all the lager louts. Simply divine, they said, the only catch being that they couldn’t take Mouse.
So Si, naturally, was enlisted to dog sit. We went together to pick up Mouse. Si drove his sparkling classic Beetle up to Steve and Joe’s flat – both of whom I’d met several times, although I wouldn’t classify them as friends of mine – and before we’d even made it halfway up the path we heard Mouse.
‘Are you quite sure about this?’ I said, looking at Si’s face as we stood on the doorstep listening to what sounded like a Rottweiler hurling himself at the door.
‘Quite sure,’ Si said, but I could see he was having serious second thoughts, and then the door was open and this great big teddy bear of a dog launched himself upon us, covering Si’s face with huge wet kisses, whirling round in ecstasy, crying and barking with joy.
Si phoned me the next morning, breathless with excitement. ‘This is it,’ he said. ‘I have to get a dog of my own.’
‘Because?’
‘Because I’ve never met so many gorgeous men in my life!’
Apparently Si and Mouse had been minding their own business, walking up Frith Street, when three – three! – gorgeous men stopped to pat Mouse and say what a handsome dog he was. Never mind the fact that none of them had gone on to invite Si out on a date. It was enough, and Si decided that the only thing standing between him and Mr Right was the lack of a canine friend.
Of course a week later it all changed.
‘Oh my God,’ Si hissed down the phone. ‘The bloody hair gets everywhere.’
‘He’s a shaggy dog,’ I laugh. ‘What did you expect?’
‘I did not expect a carpet of hair over all my furniture. Christ. I’ve spent the last week hoovering and it still hasn’t helped. Mouse! Get Down!’
‘So you’re not going out to buy Mouse Junior, then?’
‘I don’t think so. Except Mouse did find me a rather nice young man in Hampstead yesterday.’
Si no longer dog sits for Mouse, but he does take him out regularly for walks, trying to guess where the gay population of North London might be. And yes, I know you’re thinking behind Spaniards Inn at the top of the heath, but, as Si says, he’s not looking for a quick fuck. Plus, he wouldn’t want to corrupt Mouse.
‘What’s happened to their house?’ I ask Si, as I pull off my cardigan and tie it round my waist, thanking God I had the foresight to wear a T-shirt underneath, as the sun has finally managed to break through the clouds and it’s turning into a beautiful day.
Confused, I look at Si, wondering exactly what he’s talking about, although harbouring a strong suspicion he’s talking about Josh and Lucy.
‘The place looks like a bomb’s hit it. Those book catalogues! Piles and piles of the bloody things all over the sofas. You can hardly move in there for catalogues.’
I shrug. ‘That’s the new business, I’m afraid.’
We slow down a bit to catch our breath, because beautiful as Primrose Hill is it’s not called Primrose Hill for nothing, and when we reach the top we collapse on a bench to admire the view.
‘So.’ Si reaches into his pocket for a treat for Mouse, who gobbles it up, then bounds over to a mad Old English Sheepdog called Dylan for a spot of harassment. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me about my date?’
‘Oh my God!’ I’m absolutely mortified that I’ve forgotten – that last night Si saw Will again, and that, despite Si having cooked him dinner, Will does seem to be rather interested after all.
‘I am that evil witch friend of yours, and I’m sorry. I want to know everything.’
‘Everything?’
I roll my eyes. ‘You can leave out the gory details. Start with your menu.’
‘Fresh asparagus to start with. Garlic bread, naturally…’
‘God, Si, you really must learn to outgrow that, it seriously is becoming increasingly naff. Wait! Let me guess. You consulted Queen Delia for the main course.’
‘But of course,’ he sniffs. ‘Since when have I consulted anyone other than Queen Delia for my seduction dinners?’
‘Hmm. Let me think. I’m guessing… fish?’
A faint smile spreads over Si’s face.
‘Okay. So… it was either the coulibiac or the salmon with a cous cous crust.’
‘Good,’ he says, eyebrows raised. ‘But which one?’
‘Well, I know you would have wanted to impress him, and, although both are equally impressive, the coulibiac is one step ahead on the presentation front, so I’m guessing coulibiac.’
Si laughs. ‘If you’re so bloody clever, what did I make for pudding?’
‘I know what you didn’t make.’ I nudge him, and we both laugh at the memory of the chocolate mousse.
‘Okay,’ I say, thinking hard. ‘I’m doubting a proper pudding because the coulibiac’s pretty heavy, with all that rice and pastry. Am I right?’
‘If you mean, did I make treacle sponge, then yes, you’re right.’
I suddenly remember Si’s last Queen Delia success, and I smile to myself as I say breezily, ‘It was hot last night, wasn’t it? Hot enough for’ – I pause dramatically – ‘a strawberry granita.’
‘God, you really are a witch, aren’t you?’ Si hits me. ‘Anyway, he now thinks I should give up my job in films and open a restaurant.’
‘Yeah. You could call it Delia’s Den.’
‘Or Delia’s Dinners.’
‘Because of course she wouldn’t have a copyright problem with that, would she?’ We both snort with laughter at the thought.
‘So we didn’t stop talking all night,’ Si says, itching to keep on the subject of Will. ‘He is fantastic, you know. He’s handsome, and bright, and funny, and charming. You’d love him, I can’t wait for you to meet him.’
I look at Si with eyebrow raised sardonically. ‘Si, you know what that means. It means I’ll hate him.’