LITMIR.BIZ

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get a ladder from the garage and notice a very elegant old banger standing on blocks.

      ‘That’s Henry’s,’ says Sandra when I ask her about it later. ‘He used to spend hours tinkering with it. I made some for you. Is that all right?’ She is referring to a plateful of sausages, kidneys and bacon and that is definitely all right. ‘I always get ravenous when I’m on the set,’ she continues. ‘It’s funny really because I don’t use up a lot of energy.’

      ‘Don’t you have to watch your figure?’ I ask.

      ‘I’ve got enough people doing that for me,’ says witty Sandra. ‘That’s one of the reasons my old man pushed off. That and the fact that I was making twice as much money as he was. I should have told him I suppose.’

      ‘You mean he didn’t know the kind of films you were acting in?’

      ‘Not really, no. Well, he knew the kind of films, but he didn’t know the parts I was playing. You see, I started off as an extra and then I got noticed.’

      ‘I’m not surprised,’ I say, watching her bristols bobbing up and down behind the tea pot. ‘You aren’t a serious threat to Twiggy, are you?’

      ‘Justin noticed my potential and gave me a small part in Sex in the Suburbs.’

      ‘A small big part,’ I say. ‘I’m afraid I missed that one.’

      ‘Henry caught up with me in Titty, Titty, Gang Bang. I don’t know why he kicked up so much fuss because he sneaked off to see it without me knowing. He didn’t realise I was in it, you see. Thought he was going to get a crafty thrill on the side. Fido! Stop doing that! He’s taken a fancy to you, hasn’t he?’ Fido is also trying to get a crafty thrill on the side. ‘I tried to tell him that he was being ridiculous but it didn’t do any good. He said he could never feel the same about me again. I said what’s the difference between watching sexy films and appearing in them? But he could never see that. Then one of his friends saw me and that was it. He couldn’t bear the thought of all his mates “lapping me up”, as he put it.’

      I nod in agreement but secretly I have more than a little sympathy for Henry. I mean, I would not care for the thought of my old lady frisking about in the altogether while a cinema full of dirty old geezers fidgeted easily with the fronts of their plastic macs.

      ‘It must have been a bit difficult with you bringing in more money than him. I can sympathise there,’ I say, trying not to be too much of a fink to my principles.

      ‘I don’t see the difference it makes. Ooh, Fido! You are a naughty boy, aren’t you? Leave Mr Lea alone. He wants affection, you see.’

      ‘He’s quite good at dishing it out too, isn’t he?’ I say, trying to close my legs and push Fido’s calf head away. Fido flashes his teeth at me again and I do not think he is practising a friendly grin.

      ‘You’re a marvellous cook,’ I say. ‘This is great.’

      ‘Go on with you. That’s just a fry-up. Anybody could do that.’

      ‘My Mum couldn’t,’ I say with feeling. ‘She fries bread without using a pan. She thinks Cordon Bleu is a French swear word.’

      ‘Not taken the plunge then?’ says Sandra. ‘Still living at home?’

      ‘Yes, and I’m not married. And most of the work I’ve been doing lately has taken me round the country so it hasn’t been worth looking for a flat.’

      ‘I need a lodger in this place, really,’ says Sandra, avoiding my eye. ‘It’s ridiculous, Fido and me sharing all this.’

      ‘Yes. A feller would be handy sometimes, too, wouldn’t he? I mean –’ I say hurriedly, ‘– in case you had burglars or wanted a fuse mended.’

      ‘That as well,’ smiles Sandra readjusting the tea cosy over the pot in a way that for some reason I find dead sexy. ‘Have you finished?’

      ‘Yes. You should be able to see what’s happening outside now.’ It’s not exactly vintage Noel Coward is it? If only there was some subtle way of suggesting that a spot of the other would be much appreciated, apart from shoving my hand up her knicks. Fido would probably have it off faster than you can say plastic surgery – have my arm off, I mean.

      Sandra is showing no signs of eagerness to conduct me to the door and is in the process of refilling our cups.

      ‘Didn’t take you long, did it?’

      ‘It’s a knack,’ I say modestly. ‘What did your old man do?’

      ‘He’s a butcher. It came in very handy for feeding Fido.’ I look across to where the dirty great brute is crunching up bones, and nod slowly. I hope Sandra’s better half is not the resentful type. ‘He wanted to take Fido with him but I put my foot down. It suddenly came to me that I preferred the dog to him. You know what I mean?’

      ‘I think so,’ I say, wondering what Clement Freud would make of it all. I never reckon dogs much myself so it is difficult for me to be enthusiastic. Give me a budgerigar every time. You don’t have to take them for walks and they are much easier to clean up after.

      ‘Are you serious about taking in lodgers?’ I say, deciding that the time has come to try and bring a little flow and movement into our relationship. ‘You have got a lot of bedrooms haven’t you? I noticed them while I was doing the windows.’

      ‘Six,’ says Sandra proudly. ‘The house used to belong to Henry’s father. He was quite a prosperous man in his way. There’s one end of the house completely empty at the moment. I’m very glad to have Fido here to look after me sometimes.’

      ‘Yes. It must get a bit spooky, I suppose.’

      ‘Would you be interested in having a look round? I wasn’t quite certain whether you were looking for something?’

      ‘I haven’t quite made up my mind yet,’ I drag my eyes off her caged boobs and try and calm myself with a sip of tea. It is strange but when they are locked up I find them much more compelling than when they had the freedom of the film set. Like Christmas presents. The moment you start getting the wrapping paper off, the excitement begins to disappear.

      ‘Are you ready then?’

      I gulp down the rest of my tea and scramble to my feet.

      ‘You stay there, Fido. We don’t need you.’ Sandra points a stern finger at her pooch and the brute slouches over to a basket that looks more like one of those things ancient Britons used to go fishing in. She is dead right. We do not want Fido padding round after us.

      ‘You could have your own key, of course,’ says Sandra helpfully. ‘Come and go as you please.’

      ‘Sounds very nice,’ I say, running my fingers lightly over the large wooden ball at the bottom of the bannisters.

      ‘Have to mind that when you slide down,’ says Sandra. I favour her with a light laugh and we ascend to the first floor.

      ‘There’s a room at the end of the corridor which might suit you.’

      Before we get to it I pause outside a half open door and take a gander at what surely must be the nuptial couch.

      ‘Big bed,’ I say, trying not to load the words with too much significance.

      ‘I like a bit of room. Don’t want to keep bumping into people, do you? I’m a restless sleeper.’

      I can imagine. Her and those enormous knockers thrashing from side to side all night. You would need extra large sheets.

      ‘I wouldn’t know,’ I say innocently, giving her the opportunity to say that she bets I do, which she does not take.

      ‘You’d have your own bathroom,’ she says, throwing open a door. ‘How does that grab you?’

      ‘Marvellous. Dad never got around to applying for the grant.’

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