Jenny looked fine. As beautiful as ever. Arthur was still surprised she'd agreed to see him, doubly amazed that she hadagreed to dinner at his flat. ``Oh, yes, I'm sorry. It startled me. The cricket. In your sink,'' Jenny said.
Arthur looked a bit sad, but didn't reply.
``It jumped at me just as I reached at the water, and I didn't know there was anything there. It's just a cricket.'' Arthur looked as if he had no clue what was happening. ``In your sink.'' She pointed.
Arthur looked distinctly uncomfortable. ``Um, er, yes. I know.''
Jenny cocked her head to the right. It had always taken his breath away, made her seem even more beautiful, her dark red hair falling on one shoulder. ``Um, er, yes?' Hmmm.' She smiled. ``So you know there's a cricket in your sink, then? Has he been there long?''
Arthur gazed at her, then past her shoulder, then at the sink, then out the window. Not that there was much of a view, just the British Rail tracks, and Mrs. McGillicutty's garden, and her laundry, flapping in the light breeze. But it was somewhere to look besides Jenny's face. He'd forgotten about the cricket.
``Well, you see...'' Where to begin? ``Um, yes. A long time, Fact is, there's always been a cricket in my sink. At least as far back as I can recall.''
Jenny's face softened. The poor dear must be afraid of crickets! ``Well, that's all right, I can get rid of it for you.'' She turned and reached for a cup.
``No! Please!'' He grabbed her arm, and thought just in time to be gentle. He didn't pull her away from the sink, just sort of held her arm. Arthur took a deep breath. ``He belongs there.'' Out the window, in the sink, over her shoulder, back at her face, just for a peek, half expecting that look he knew too well. He let go of her arm, dropped his hand.
``Does he now?'' She was smiling, ever so slightly, her head again cocked to the right. ``Just the one? Is he like a pet?'' She looked in the sink, at the cricket. Her eyebrows tightened slightly, making a cute, little furrow above her nose. ``But why the sink?''
``Well, not exactly like a pet.'' He, too, glanced into the sink, then back at her, then at the sink again. ``In fact, not at all. There's always been a cricket, just one. I've no idea whether it's the same cricket, mind you, and after several years, well, I don't expect they live that long.''
In fact, Arthur knew quite well how long a cricket lived. Naturally, he'd read up on them at the library. Jenny also knew, but didn't mention it.
``It's more like he just belongs there. Sort of, well, almost...'' Arthur's voice trailed off to a near whisper. ``...like family. Or maybe it's just that this is his home. You see?''
``I think I do see. And how long have you lived here?''
``Seven years. No, nearly eight.''
``And there's always been a cricket?'' Only a little dubious. How odd. By now Arthur expected her to be looking rather nervous. They always did by this point. `` What does it do?'' She was looking straight at him, patiently awaiting the answer.
``Yes, always. Well, at first, I, uh, I washed it down the drain, or threw it outdoors, but it was always in the sink again, the next time I looked. As for what it does, well, it's a cricket. It sits there, it hops around occasionally, it chirps, it makes those cricket sorts of song noises. What else would it do?''
Jenny regarded him thoughtfully. ``Doesn't that make it hard to wash the dishes?''
``Well, there are two sinks. I just wash and rinse in the same one.''
``I see. Most people have a cat, or a dog, or a budgie, or a live-in companion, and you, Arthur, have a cricket.''
Uncomfortable again, Arthur's gaze slipped from her face, over her shoulder, down to the cricket, out the window. Back to the cricket, which seemed to be regarding him, it's head cocked slightly to the right. ``Something like that. Or maybe the cricket has me. I don't know.'' Out the window, where Mrs. McGillicutty's extremely purple lingerie was now dancing a sprightly jig in the wind of a passing train. He had to talk a bit louder with the train there.
``But we don't have mice...'' He stopped... time slowed to a crawl. Why had he mentioned that?
``We?''
``Um, er, the cricket. And me. Everyone else in the building has them. Has mice, I mean. Everyone else has mice. We don't.''
Jenny stared openly at the cricket, which seemed to stare back. ``Does he eat mice? Chase them off? Steal their cheese? Or what?''
Arthur cringed, and Jenny winced. She hadn't meant to sound that way. Sighing, Arthur replied. ``No, he just... sits there. Like I said. In the sink. I don't know... I don't know that the two things are related. But nobody else has crickets. At least, not like I do. I mean, they might have a cricket occasionally. Or one summer, we had a plague. At least, everyone else did. But I just had the one in the sink. As usual. And no mice. Not one. ever. Not so much as a dropping, or a whisker.'' He gazed sadly at the end of the train, passengers silhouetted in the windows, with no idea what went on past the gardens, past the laundry, in the flats. No idea of his loneliness. Of the cricket in the sink.
``Arthur,'' she began. She hesitated. She started washing a cucumber in the other sink (the one without the cricket). keeping her eyes on the task at hand. ``Arthur, do you go out much?''
His heart sank a bit. ``No, not really. Very little, in fact.'' Especially since I moved in here, he thought glumly. Mr. McGillicutty's striped boxers wafted off the line, fell across a rose. Somehow, it seemed appropriate just then. Thorns. Ants. Arthur felt a sudden need to scratch around his underwear, make sure there were no ants. ``Jenny...'' He had no idea what to say, so he didn't.
After a moment of listening to the vegetable brush rasping against the cucumber, Jenny broke the silence. ``You don't have a girl, do you, Arthur?''
``I seldom get a second date.'' The cricket, he thought forlornly. He'd tried to move, but somehow it never worked out. His lease never seemed to run out, and nothing was ever available, or it had something much worse than a cricket wrong with it. Although he was beginning to suspect that perhaps a cricket was a far worse thing than he'd ever guessed.
``I understand,'' she replied.
His heart fell still farther. He wondered, vaguely, whether it was finally fed up with his life, and was trying to escape. Not that he would blame it.
This was it, he thought, she was leaving. She was going to drop the cucumber and the brush, slip past him, walk out the door, and never talk to him again. It would make things awkward at work, since they clerked together.
Still leaning over the sink, she turned her head slightly, to smile sweetly through her hair at him. ``I'm glad, because I think I should like you all to myself. Here.'' She held out an amazingly clean cucumber. ``Would you hand me the mushrooms?''
Outside, Mrs. McGillicutty's lingerie got loose in the wind, and blew over onto a rose next to the boxers.