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Goat - A Story of Kashmir and Notting Hill
Extract - Part 2
Hot Pink of Notting Hill Continued...
Hot-pink New York came in as I was about half way through unpacking the baskets. In contrast to her house, her box trees and her housekeeper, New York was looking casual. In fact she was one of the scruffiest dressers in the neighbourhood. It was one of her redeeming features.
She was talking on a portable telephone. She mouthed ‘Hi’ and ducked down to collect some sushi and a couple of the dolly-sized blueberry muffins from their black lacquered bowls. With the telephone squashed between her ear and a hunched shoulder, and the sushi and muffins in one hand, she began to whip shawls out of bags at speed. The sushi and the muffins went into her mouth and now, with both hands free, she began to wind shawls around herself. Once draped she went over to a mirror above the large fireplace to inspect herself.
‘This colour is terrible. It does nothing for me. Look, it just dies on me, it makes me look so washed-out.’
She was washed out. The pretty summer sky shawl was cast aside.
‘Now this I quite like. No I change my mind, it’s not there, it’s just two steps off the colour I need.’
Crushed raspberry joined sky blue on the floor.
‘You know, when I say hot pink I mean really full on. That is just kinda ugh.’ She poked her toe at the now very crushed raspberry.
I gathered up the rejects and started to refold them.
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