Chapter 2; Louise
Humbert shut the door behind Louise and, being reminded of his cooking, rushed back to the kitchen, hanging the gardening gloves on their hook by the back door as he went.
"How's Greg?" Humbert asked, raising his voice to be heard over the combined humming whoosh of the vacuum and the whirr of the mixer. Greg was Louise's boyfriend. He'd taken remarkably well to their friendship, he'd said it was something like deciding to have a brother and picking a good one.
"He's acting all suspicious, sneaking about being secretive. I don't know if I should worry that he's seeing someone else, or hope that he's planning to propose," Louise called back.
Humbert smiled. It had to be the latter. Greg would have to be mad to not ask Louise to marry him. The girl was smart, practical, had wonderful blue eyes and the longest, straightest, palest blond hair Humbert had ever seen. Louise looked like an elf queen out of the old storybooks, but she was nearly as tough as nails, and loved Greg very much. Greg was an adventure-tours guide, with plain brown hair and grey-blue eyes.
Perhaps they were a strange couple, but they were really great together.
The vacuum stopped, and the humming started. Louise always hummed when she dusted. Humbert winced. Louise's one great fault – she thought she could sing. Everyone else knew that she was tone-deaf. Humbert set the rounds of dough on the trays and set the timer.
"Louise," he said, interrupting what might once have been Proud Mary, as he began to remove his apron. "I've just put the scones in, will you take them out when the timer goes? I'm going to have that shower."
"Yeah, no worries. I ought to be done dusting by then too, so I'll be gone by the time you get out of the shower and your mother gets here," she answered, smiling as she paused in the swishing of the feather duster.
Humbert nodded his thanks and, dropping the apron into the laundry basket, ran up the stairs away from Louise's humming and, collecting the suit he wore when his mother visited – it was her favourite, and his very best – took refuge in the bathroom.
The kitten was still there, cowering in the bottom of the bath.
Humbert closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to calm his fraying nerves. Andrea didn't approve of pets, they shed and they had no real notion of hygiene. Shedding his clothes, Humbert climbed into the bath and turned the tap so the water flowed out of the showerhead that was hanging above. The kitten got wet when he did, and he soaped her down when he had finished covering himself in suds. Rinsed, dried, and wearing a towel, Humbert combed his orange hair and shaved off any hairs that might have been sprouting from his face.
The kitten had been surprisingly docile as he washed her, even polite – she had kept her back turned rather than staring at him when he undressed. It hadn't occurred to Humbert to be shy of the kitten, but that she was a female, and had shared his shower, brought a blush to his cheeks as he dried himself and thought about it.
Humbert dressed himself, then combed the kitten. Then he brushed the fur off his sleeves. Examining his appearance in the mirror, Humbert was able to declare himself as perfect as possible when the doorbell rang.
His mother was here.
