The Doris Day Vintage Film Club: A hilarious, feel-good romantic comedy. Fiona Harper
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Esq.
Any goodwill her neighbour had created during his mostly reasonable letter evaporated. Not a pig? She was right about that! This guy was a fully blown warthog.
Mr D Arden Esquire? He was mocking her, just with those three little letters. It made her insides burn and her head spin. Before she had a chance to think it through, she ripped the little green cap off the plastic carton of milk and poured the whole lot down the sink. She didn’t want any of his milk! She’d go out and buy her own. She didn’t want to have any connection to him at all.
There were a few moments of satisfaction as she watched the last of it gurgle down the drain, but then she realised she’d run out of bread and the only thing she had left in the cupboard was cereal. She squashed the empty plastic container to put in the recycling with slightly more force than necessary. There was no way she was going to attempt Weetabix now. It would be like eating hamster bedding. There was only one thing for it.
She threw the carton in her recycling bin and stomped off towards her bedroom. She was going to have to go out for breakfast but, to be honest, the further away she got from here right now the better, otherwise there’d be blue lights and sirens and a puzzled Scenes of Crime Officer wondering how a man could drown in a pint-sized puddle of milk!
Dominic rang the doorbell, balancing a bunch of carnations and a bottle of wine from the petrol station in one hand. A few seconds later, the door opened and there stood Pete, all bearded six foot five of him, grinning. He slapped Dominic on the shoulder. ‘Nic! Mate … come in. We’re a bit behind schedule. Hope you don’t mind if we eat a little—’
He was cut off by a high-pitched female shriek from the living room. ‘Sammy! Nooooo! Don’t you dare—’
Pete took off running, Dominic hot on his heels. They both burst down the hallway and through the living room door. There they found Pete’s wife Ellen, who was close to tears, and a small boy completely naked from the waist down.
Ellen put her hands on her hips, but her defiant stance was spoiled by the wobbling of her bottom lip. She looked at her husband accusingly. ‘He pooed on the carpet. I told him not to but he pooed on the carpet.’
Dominic stifled a smile as he spotted the offending article right in the middle of the rug.
Pete shook his head. ‘Sam … Mate … You know you’re supposed to do it in the potty. Where’s the potty?’
Sammy, wide-eyed and silent, pointed at the corner of the room, to a gleamingly clean Lightning McQueen potty. Dominic didn’t blame him. Who wants to poop in a cool car? They should have got him Hello Kitty to do his business in.
Dominic looked at Ellen again. Her eyes were wild and she looked as if she was about to crack. Her hair was hanging out of what might once have been a ponytail, and her T-shirt was doused with ketchup stains. What had happened to the cool, slick girl he and the rest of his mates had envied Pete for snaffling first?
Obviously, Pete saw what he saw too. He scooped up his son and handed him to Ellen. ‘Look, you deal with him and I’ll deal with—’ he nodded towards the lump of brown on the carpet ‘—that. Okay?’
Ellen nodded gratefully, then swept swiftly out of the room and upstairs.
Dominic couldn’t help grinning as Pete dealt with his son’s ‘accident’. ‘Nice work if you can get it,’ he quipped, as Pete went to fetch a pair of hot pink rubber gloves from under the sink. Dominic dumped the flowers on the counter, put the wine in the fridge, then watched, smirking, as his best friend dealt very efficiently with the mess, disinfectant and everything.
Pete just shook his head. ‘You wait,’ was all he said, and, despite the fact he had just had to clean up someone else’s poo, he was still relaxed and smiling. Dominic would have expected at least a couple of swear words. ‘Well, that pretty much sums up my life at the moment,’ he added as he peeled off the rubber gloves and disposed of them. ‘What’s new with you?’
Dominic launched into the tale of the bike and notes and the snotty upstairs neighbour. He’d only got to the bit where he’d tripped over the bike when Ellen returned, this time in a clean T-shirt, her hair down and with Sammy in his pyjamas. ‘There,’ she said, handing the boy back to his father, ‘you can deal with your son.’
Dominic raised his eyebrows in lieu of a question.
Pete grinned. ‘Anything smelly and revolting he does is apparently down to my genes. Ellie takes no responsibility for it whatsoever.’
Dominic chuckled. Ellen certainly had a point. He’d known Pete for ten years and there had definitely been a lot of smells and noises and other disgusting things at times.
‘Right, ‘Pete said, and hung his son upside down by the ankles. ‘We’re going to settle it once and for all … Where do poos go?’
‘Potty!’ Sammy yelled back. And then there was lots of giggling and shouting and squealing, mostly from the kid, as he tried to wriggle free of his father’s grasp.
‘So flipping well do them in there!’ Pete said, dropping his son head first onto the sofa and proceeding to tickle him.
‘Pete!’ Ellen yelled, from the kitchen that joined on to their large living room. ‘He’s never going to go to sleep if you get him all worked up like that!’
‘Okay,’ Pete called back breezily, continuing to tickle Sammy, but putting a finger in front of his mouth to indicate they should carry on quietly. Father and son grinned at each other, then Sammy surprised Pete by launching himself at his father and clinging round his neck like his life depended on it.
‘Luff you,’ he whispered into Pete’s neck.
‘Love you too, mate,’ Pete replied, his voice taking on a scratchy quality.
For some reason, Dominic found a bit of a lump in his throat.
‘Come on then, trouble,’ Pete said, standing then picking Sammy up round his middle. ‘Time to say goodnight. Mummy first …’
He disappeared into the kitchen and the clattering of pans stopped for a few seconds, then returned. ‘Don’t forget Uncle Nic,’ he said. Dominic expected Sammy to be shy, like he was last time he’d visited. Maybe a fist bump or a high-five would have done. But when Pete put Sammy down, Sammy rushed at him and gave him a hug almost as tight as he had done his father.
For a moment, Dominic wanted to just close his eyes and feel the warmth of Sam’s small body. ‘‘Night, monster,’ he said gruffly, as Pete picked Sammy up once more and headed upstairs. While he was gone, Dominic drifted in the direction of the kitchen in search of a drink.
He found Ellen in there wrestling a heap of pasta into a pan of boiling water. ‘Spag bol again, I’m afraid,’ she said, smiling ruefully at him. ‘I think we had that last time you came.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s home-cooked and I don’t have to reheat it in the microwave, so it wins on both counts. Besides, you make the best spag bol in Islington!’
‘Aw, you’re so sweet,’ Ellen said and left her sauce to come and give him a big squeezy hug. ‘We’ve missed you.’
Dominic hugged back. ‘I’ve missed you both too,’ he replied. And he really had. As much as he moaned about Pete, he and his wife were the one constant in his ever-changing world. He gave Ellen a kiss on the cheek and, as she pulled away, he said, ‘Can I help myself to a drink?’
Her mouth dropped open. ‘Oh, God. What must you think of me? I haven’t even offered you anything to drink! What do you want? Wine? Beer? Both?’
He smiled