Billygean.co.uk

“You haven’t updated your blog very much lately,” MindReader says, taking the STILTON INFUSED BURGERS out of the wrapper.

“I know,” I say. “I’ve spent a lot of time with you, and I find it hard to do justice to you on there.”

“That’s fair,” MindReader says, a smirk playing on his face.

“Mm, you are brilliant,” I say, sarcastic.

“Fuck, I hate this oven,” he says , walking across the stone floor and into the hall.

“I suspect you don’t understand it,” I say, putting my tea down on the large country table.

“I do, it’s just an old oven.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” he says.

“Oh.” He pauses. “I have.”

“So how’d she get it so cheap?” I say to MindReader.

“Someone who knows someone who knows someone,” he says, leaning against the countertop and stirring the rice. “She knows literally everyone in Shrewsbury.”

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Not literally, I take that back,” he says. “Anyway it’s because she just chats to anyone about anything.”

He pauses.

“She’s a bit like you actually.”

I smile. “I don’t talk to anyone! Sometimes I avoid talking to people.”

He stares right at me. “You’ve spoken to a lot of people about my bleeding penis.”

“Only people I know,” I say, straining the rice. He catches the sieve as it tumbles into the sink and looks at me again.

“And, okay,” I say, “the Internet.”

He smirks.

“I take your point,” I say.

“I need cake,” I say to MindReader on the motorway. It is a dreaded Sunday and we have about an hour before he leaves.

I know I see him on Tuesday but this is beside the point.

“Ooh, I would love cake,” he says, coming off the slip road. “I bet you can’t guess which cake I want?”

“Coffee and walnut,” I say smirking at his disgust at my favourite cake.

“No. It’s obscure.”

“Oh, ummm…”

“White chocolate and lemon,” he says, raising an eyebrow poncily.

I roll my eyes.

We go to Morrisons and pick up a very stodgy toffee cake and take it to the check out.

And that’s where it happens.

MindReader’s arm encircles my waist and I tilt my head to kiss him. He smiles down at me and pulls me nearer to him, whispering something into my ear.

“MindReader,” I say.

“Mmm?”

“We’re one of those couples.”

“My God,” he says, his eyes wide. “We are one of the couples that I hate.”

But we don’t stop, can’t seem to.

Last week MindReader and I decided that we don’t see each other enough. This is no secret to anyone since I whine constantly but we decided to attempt to do something about it.

Such is the nature of the course we’re on that we’re both in the same building on a Tuesday and don’t see each other. So we decided to do something every Tuesday. Something sickeningly couply, because we’re good at that.

Only, last Tuesday, we ended up in A&E (ER to all you Americans), in short, because MindReader peed blood. Lots of blood. And then some more.

So we got a cab to A&E because I am useless and cannot drive, and MindReader actually convulsed in the waiting room.

I went and had a cry at the coffee machine, because this is how helpful I am, and, on my return, MindReader was white. He opened one eye and looked directly at me.

“What do you want to do next Tuesday?” he says, slowly.

And this is when we realised he is never going to stop being sarcastic.