And this is Barney, Barney said, while tickling his hamster’s nose. I’ve had him for a year now and – But how rude of me. Barney – say hello to my friend Frieda.
Frieda removed her coat and tried to decide which of the two sofas to sit on: the powder blue one with the lilac scatter cushions or the lilac one with the powder blue cushions. She sat on the powder blue one and handed her coat to Barney.
So, you call your hamster Barney? she said, drawing her handbag close.
You like the name, right?
She adjusted her skirt, which was the colour match for her emerald heels. It’s a great name, she said. Short for?
Nothing because it’s my given. Smack dab on my birth certificate. By the way – I love the name Frieda. It means peaceful, right?
Maybe. Possibly. I don’t really know.
Barney smiled as he returned Barney to the floor. So, what can I get you – red or white? I have a chilled Italian –
Just a coffee, Frieda said. Two glasses are more than enough for a work night.
Frieda smiled as Barney left for the kitchen but watching him leave she told herself that it was over. For despite having been on three great dates – the second at his very exclusive tennis club – she could not go out with a man who named his hamster after himself. There was just something too unsettling, too disturbing – just plain weird – about that. Obviously not in the same way as those men who named their son Junior or who kept their late wife’s clothes under their bed – laid out as she would have worn them – and she had dated both types during the previous eight months.
Milk? Barney called from the kitchen. Or would you prefer soya?
Neither, thanks, she replied, watching Barney scurry around the room, first one way, then another across the impossibly spotless cream coloured carpet.
I have some muffins if you’d like one.
Just a coffee, she said.
Baked them earlier!
May I use your bathroom?
Down the way, turn left. Watch out for the rowing machine.
Frieda got up from the sofa, took several steps towards the hall and cried out.
Barney came running. What is it? he said. What’s wrong?
Frieda clenched and unclenched her fingers. She winced and took a trembling breath. My back, she said. Just when I thought it was okay.
Oh no, Barney said. Let’s think this through. How can I help?
Frieda watched Barney dart under a brown leather footstool and come out the other side. I need to sit, she said and wrinkled her nose. Do you have a firm chair? Something upright?
A dining chair?
Yes please.
Let me go get one, Barney said. Would you like an ice pack? Or a cold spray? I have both.
An ice pack please.
My friend Anita is a physio. She lives two minutes away. I could ask her to pop over.
That’s very kind but an ice pack will do.
You need painkillers?
No thanks.
Touched by his concern, Frieda was thinking that maybe she should just come right out and ask him why he called his hamster after himself – at least give him the benefit of the doubt – when she noticed a portrait among the dozen or so framed photographs on the mantlepiece. A close-up that was the only picture of somebody other than him. Is that me? she said, wondering where he might have obtained it, for she never posted images of herself if she could help it, and certainly not in black and white.
Barney followed Frieda’s gaze. You? he said. No. No. That’s my mother, a photo from the year before she died. She would have been thirty-two then, give or take. County singles champion four years in a row. A backhand as deadly as a karate chop. Now, what was I doing? A chair and an icepack. Back in a sec.
There’s a strong resemblance.
Between who?
Your mother and me. Frieda winced as she massaged her lower back with her thumb. Don’t you think I look like her?
Barney looked at the photograph and at Frieda, the photograph and Frieda. Now that you mention it, he said and laughed. Let me get what you need.
Frieda forced a smile as Barney left the room but watching him leave she told herself that she had to draw the line somewhere. For despite having been on three memorable dates she could not go out with a man who thought it funny that she looked like his mother. There was something not quite right about that. But the thing was, she really liked him too. She thought he was smart and funny, and his hair smelled the way she had always imagined nice hair should smell. He had a fantastic laugh and a wonderful smile and he treated her with respect. He was also a really good tennis and badminton player – much better than she could ever be at either one – and he enjoyed cooking too.
She looked down at Barney who had paused halfway between herself and the door. For the first time in her life she really did not know what to do.
Short stories and flash fiction by Gary Martin Hughes have appeared online and in magazines, including Necessary Fiction, The Honest Ulsterman, Slippage Lit, New Feathers Anthology and The Cabinet of Heed, with others forthcoming. He was born in Northern Ireland but now lives in England. Tweets @GaryMartinHugh1.
871 words.