Lodgers

RACIST.

2.

RACIST.

in which aaliyah is right (for once)

Butter-yellow afternoon sunshine washed over the kitchen. The woody crooning of Louis Prima swirled through the spices on the wooden rack and stumbled over the chequered table cloth. Carmen's fluffy slippers skirted lightly over the floor as she hummed along, throwing a dash of pepper into her eggs. She cracked another one into the pan and it hissed gently.

Aaliyah opened a can of sweet corn directly onto a piece of white bread and threw a second slice right on top. She slammed it down on the table and hurled herself into the chair.

"That's disgusting," Carmen commented, not even bothering to look. She didn't need to at this point. She just knew.

Aaliyah nodded in sad agreement, tearing a bite into her soggy filth sandwich.

"So," began Carmen. "You know men?"

She groaned. "Unfortunately I do know a few."

"Yes, well you know the ones I date."

"I make a deep and meaningful effort not to."

Carmen rolled her eyes, scraping her egg onto a plate with a spatula so clean it could be used to perform heart surgery, if spatulas could be used for heart surgery. "Can you not for a moment just pretend to care about my love life?"

Aaliyah tried. "Um." She stopped. "No?"

"You're always arguing with my boyfriends!" Carmen whined. "I even dated that French guy just so you wouldn't be able to goad him!"

"À goupil endormi rien ne tombe en la gueule," Aaliyah replied smugly.

"Well I found someone so perfect that even you won't be able to drive him away!" she declared. "He's a biologist, and he's tall, and he's really good at public speaking! He's in a debating society."

"Is he fourteen?"

Carmen rolled her eyes, getting to her feet. "He's twenty-four so actually you're a decade out. Can you at least try and be supportive of me? He's coming over in three minutes."

"Three minutes? Why so early?"

"So you wouldn't have time to read the news and use it against him," Carmen replied starchily. "Anyway it's one in the afternoon."

"You mean 'morning'."

"I honestly do not."

The doorbell rang, and Judy screeched like a banshee with a tumour. There was a sound that sounded oddly like a cannon blast from her bedroom.

Carmen slammed her coffee mug onto the table and sprinted to the door, when she pulled it open, she smiled. In front of her was Hermann Bedford Forrest.

Aaliyah was grudgingly surprised. Hermann cut an impressive figure. He was tall and broad, with a face straight from a 1930s propaganda film and the body of someone who worked out more frequently than he read. His blonde hair had been parted to the side, and his clothes were smart and neat, just as Carmen liked.

Aaliyah hated him.

"This is Hermann Bedford Forrest," Carmen beamed, letting him in and gesturing towards him like a magician's assistant.

"Hello Hermann Bedford Forrest," replied Aaliyah reluctantly.

Carmen seemed satisfied. "Hermann," she said, "this is Aaliyah. I don't actually know her last name, or if she has one."