Freddie 1 - 0 Alice

Five blissful Freddie-free days came to a soggy, depressing end when I arrived home in London from an extended Easter weekend yesterday afternoon. The rot set in when I was still several yards from my front door. Standing outside was an ominous stack of black bin bags, and I remembered with dread Freddie’s parting remark on Good Friday that he ‘might have a bit of a clean up’.

I unlocked the door awash with anticipatory anger, head filled with images of him sweeping credit card statements and old copies of all my favourite books into trashy ignominy with his horrible used tea bags and copies of London Lite. ‘Watch out, Ally’, he bawled, as I stepped into the porch, ‘the floor’s still very wet’. My teeth on edge (good God, couldn’t he at least have been at work?), I pressed on into the living room. He was scrubbing the coffee table, using something that looked suspiciously like my Cath Kidston flannel (what next - polishing it with my Yin Yang moisturizer?) and wearing nothing except pyjama bottoms.

‘Hello Alice!’ he grinned at me, squeezing grayish water out of poor Cath. ‘Hi Freddie.’ I replied, grumpily. ‘This must be that clean up you mentioned.’ He nodded, obviously pleased with himself. ‘Day off. Bloody hell it was dirty in here.’ If he expected me to be grateful instead of insulted, he had misjudged the situation badly. ‘Right.’ I began, conscious of pouting, ‘Well, couldn’t you have used some kitchen towels?’ He walked slowly round the table towards me. ‘Used them all on the bathroom. And this was just lying around, so…’

I backed away, sensing that a molestation of my hips was brewing. ‘Well, it wasn’t lying around’, I snapped, ‘it was just in the bathroom, which is where flannels live.’ He shrugged. ‘Sorry. Looks much nicer up there now, though. Go and have a look.’ I obeyed, speechless, and found it glittering and empty. Most of my things were easily discovered either in the cabinet or turfed onto my bed (thanks, Freddie) but my toothbrush was missing. Suspicion bloomed.

‘Quick question for you, Freddie,’ I began, coming slowly back down the stairs, ‘do you know anything about the whereabouts of my toothbrush?’ He looked blank for a moment and then started to laugh. ‘Bloody hell, was that yours?’ he asked, smirking and showing off his weird double dimples. ‘I’m sorry, it looked fucked so I binned it.’ I gaped at him. ‘Could you not just have got rid of the HEAD? It was detachable. And it wasn’t - fucked. You can’t just throw things away because you don’t like the look of them!’ (squeaking). He laughed harder. ‘Well, maybe YOU should’ve thrown it away. It was disgusting.’ I could feel myself blushing, which happens rarely, and on this occasion made me hate my face quite passionately. ‘It was a WEEK OLD,’ I gasped, humiliated. ‘I CHEW them, ok? It’s just one of those habits. I CHEW them. God.’ He patted me on the arm. ‘Ahhh, well, you want to grow out of that, Ally’.

‘Look’, he went on, tone changing, ‘while you’re here. Can I have a word about housekeeping?’ Still blushing I nodded, automatically. He leaned against the sofa, arms folded across his still uncovered chest. ‘Now look, I’ve already spoken to Jamie and Laura about this, so don’t take it personally, but this place has been a bit messy. We’re paying a lot of money for it, so let’s not live like students, eh? I came down on Saturday morning and the living room smelled and there were dishes sitting on top of the dishwasher instead of in it. All you need to do is give the surfaces a little wipe and…’ The lecture continued for some time while I tried to muster words of protest, but only managed to blink at him and look anxious ‘Now, there’s some washing up in the kitchen that needs to be done, and I’m pretty sure some of it’s yours,’ he finished, ‘so if you wouldn’t mind doing that once I’ve hopped out of the shower, that’d be great’.

I phoned Cora as soon as I could hear the water running. ‘Err, well, IS the washing up yours?’ she asked, when I’d told her the story. ‘Because, when I lived with you, you did sometimes forget to do your washing up, so…’ ‘CORA!’ I wailed, hurt, ‘that is not fair, and nor is it the POINT. And NO, it’s NOT mine. Well…maybe one plate is or something, but –‘ ‘Then don’t do it.’ ‘I’m not GOING to, I only sort of said yes because I was still so embarrassed about the toothbrush,’ I hissed as I heard the water stop.

I hung up, because I could hear the sound of an aerosol being deployed and, sure enough, Freddie’s Lynxy odour wafted evilly down the stairs, followed by Freddie himself, miraculously dressed. ‘Freddie –‘ I started, intercepting him at the bottom of the steps, but he grabbed me with more than usual force by the hips and walked me several steps backward before moving me aside. ‘Sorry Ally, I’m off out. Date. Let’s chat later, ok? Thanks for taking care of those dishes, you’re sweet.’

Twenty minutes later, I called Cora back. ‘Alice, what’s that splashing sound?’ she asked, suspiciously. I sighed. ‘I’m washing the dishes’.

My hips don't lie...

Pity me, for there are many evils in my life and the greatest amongst them is a man called Freddie, and he lives in my house. He moved in on Sunday, having met Laura and Jamie on Tuesday, and somehow got rave reviews from both of them. So I arrived back from the gym on Sunday afternoon to find both of them out, and the living room hip-deep with Freddie’s boxes. Freddie himself (5’11ish, muddy-blond hair, creased face, shirt tucked in to jeans) was standing in the middle of it all, hands on hips, surveying the chaos he’d created and listening to music that I hated instantly.

‘Hi!’ I began, brightly, shouting to be heard over the ‘electro’ (or whatever), ‘I’m Alice!’ He looked round and shook my hand unnecessarily hard ‘Hi; Freddie. Uh, you have something in your teeth’. I recoiled, affronted. ‘Oh God, really?’ ‘Yup’, he replied, turning away to fiddle with his enormous surf-board bag. I ran upstairs to look at my teeth in the bathroom mirror, only to find there was nothing in them at all, but I re-brushed vigorously all the same, wondering if it was appropriate to resent him for pointing out the phantom tooth-menace so bluntly – and so early.

I was inspecting myself in the mirror ahead of further interaction, when he loomed aggressively in the doorway. Without a word, he pushed past me and dumped a ridiculously big box, apparently full of Lynx, onto my sink, knocking over my electric toothbrush and Yin Yang cleanser.

‘Um, Freddie, there are already two of us using this bathroom, so maybe you’d find it easier to share Laura’s on the second floor’, I suggested politely. He leaned against the sink and ran his hand through his blandish blondish hair impatiently. ‘No, ‘I’ll use this one. Nearer my room.’ Speechless at his failure to take my gentle hint, I leant over to pick my Braun and my Yinners out of the sink. He, irritatingly, did exactly the same, resulting in a collision of our hands over the cleanser, causing me to step back too quickly and bump into the door-frame.

‘Alright, careful’ he remarked, apparently amused, putting my things into a bathroom cabinet. ‘They don’t GO in there’ I whined, annoying even myself, and prompting a disgustingly patronizing smile from him. ‘Well…now that there’s three of us using this bathroom, we’d better be tidier’, he explained, smugly. And then he stepped into the doorway too, putting his hands on my hips to move me out of the way, and bounded off down the stairs, leaving me gaping and flushed on the landing.

An hour later, battered by more of Freddie’s tearing around the house like a Lynxy whirlwind, rearranging cupboards and hoisting his hateful boxes with obvious malice, with me fluttering ineffectually in his wake, twittering pathetically and being routinely ignored and repeatedly handled, I had fled. I was sitting in Planet Organic opposite a hastily summoned Jamie, drinking peppermint tea and nibbling distractedly on Montezuma’s Creamy White Chocolate, an excellent alternative in times of emotional need to Green and Black’s Creamy Milk.

‘Look, Alice,’ he was saying, ‘I think you’re overreacting. He seemed like a really great guy - we thought you’d get on well with him. Wait till you get to know him.’ I stared at him. ‘JAMIE!’ (through a mouthful of vanilla goodness) ‘He’s a nightmare. He HIP-SWIVELLED me. FOUR TIMES! He has overtaken our BATHROOM.’ Jamie shrugged. ‘So use the other one and tell him the touching thing isn’t cool. Either way, he lives with us so you’d better make friends with him.’ I went home in high dudgeon, steeling myself for a prolonged turf war and slightly relishing the idea, but Frightful Freddie and his horrible boxes had vanished for the night. Thus far, our meetings have since been limited to awkward encounters in and around MY bathroom. He grins, shirtless. I roll my eyes, unimpressed. Oh yes. It’s war alright. Watch this space.