Biting on a straw, eyes narrowed mischievously, Aldridge stared at Melanie Chisholm with a smile. He let the straw slip from his lips, licked the juice from the corner of his mouth, and said softly:
"Melanie, defamation is a crime."
Melanie covered her mouth and laughed. "You said it would rain in Manchester today. I just called my friend over there, Aldridge. The sun is shining! Not a drop of rain!"
Aldridge smacked his forehead in mock frustration, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed Victoria in the distance, excitedly chatting on her mobile phone, her voice deliberately exaggerated as she showed off: "Guess who I am…"
Turning back to Melanie's sly, playful gaze, Aldridge spread his hands. "It's only three in the afternoon. Can you guarantee that Manchester won't see rain before midnight?"
Melanie shook her head, still smiling. "No."
The corner of Aldridge's mouth curled upwards. "So you're still slandering me."
"But I have a hunch you're lying! And today I'll expose your lie."
Melanie raised the phone in her hand triumphantly. Her meaning was clear: if it rained in Manchester, she would know instantly.
Aldridge shook his head and let a silence linger before smiling again. "Fine. That means I've gained a new follower today. Let's go."
He raised his right elbow slightly. Melanie blinked in confusion. "What are you doing?"
"Look around you," Aldridge said, nodding towards the street.
Melanie glanced up and noticed that on Bond Street, most men and women were walking arm in arm as couples. She covered her mouth again, a shy laugh escaping her lips. After a brief hesitation, she inhaled deeply, then hooked her arm through his in a bold yet almost nervous gesture, lifting her chin as if to show she was unfazed.
They had barely walked a few steps when Melanie was distracted by an elegant shop window and moved towards the entrance. But just as she placed one foot on the stairs, the shop clerk peeked out, spotted them, and immediately shut the door with haste.
"Do we look like robbers?" Melanie exclaimed, startled.
Aldridge chuckled and pulled her away gently. "Most likely a big star just walked in. That's how it is on Bond Street—if you suddenly see a shop close its doors, it usually means someone famous is inside."
"Oh? In that case, let's go peek through the window! They didn't put up curtains."
"Better not," Aldridge replied, grinning. "We'd only lose face."
For over an hour they wandered down Bond Street, laughing and chatting, neither of them spending a penny. When boredom finally set in, Melanie tugged him eagerly towards a London health club.
To Aldridge's surprise, once inside she quickly changed into a sports vest, pulled on gloves, and climbed into the boxing ring, glaring at him with playful provocation.
Aldridge slipped into gloves as well. Melanie pounded her fists together, laughing. "Mr. Liar, I heard you're a coach. Show me what you can do!"
Although Aldridge was no natural athlete, years of training and discipline had kept him in excellent shape. At first, he thought Melanie was simply playing around, but when he saw the way she lowered her stance, guarded her chin, and moved with light, quick steps, he realized she had received real training.
Within moments, a rapid flurry of punches sent him back against the ropes, his arms raised high to shield his head.
"Is that all you've got, Aldridge?" Melanie taunted, backing away with her chin lifted and eyes sparkling in mock disappointment.
Aldridge twisted his neck and smirked. "What are you talking about? Do you really think I'd let you knock me around? Be serious. It would be far too easy to put you on the floor."
"Boaster!"
She launched another punch, but this time Aldridge slipped low, ducking beneath her swing. In one swift motion he wrapped his arms around her waist and drove forward. Melanie let out a startled cry as her feet left the ground, and with a heavy thud she landed flat on her back, Aldridge pinning her to the canvas.
"Looks like that's game over."
He looked down at her flushed cheeks, her eyes darting nervously. She bit her lip before shouting, embarrassed: "Cheater!"
Aldridge blinked in surprise. "What? That was a clean move! Did you want me to hit your face instead? If I ruined that beautiful face of yours, you'd be the one angry, not me."
Melanie's blush deepened as she snapped, "Your arm is pressing on my chest! Pervert!"
Aldridge suddenly realized where his arm rested. He leapt up quickly, scratching his head with an awkward laugh. "That wasn't intentional! I may not be the perfect gentleman, but I don't go around taking cheap advantage either."
Melanie pushed herself up with an indignant huff, clearly flustered. Before Aldridge could tease her again, she turned on her heel and rushed off to change clothes, then insisted he leave with her.
As the evening sun set over the Thames, Aldridge and Melanie sat side by side on the benches, facing the well-known Taylor Gallery across the river.
Melanie asked softly, almost lazily, "Do you go there often?"
Aldridge sneered. "Of course not. I've never been there even once. What a joke. How could a vulgar soul like mine appreciate a master's work? And suppose I really did become enlightened in there, if my soul was sublimated by art to the level of the masters—then I'd stop swearing, stop speaking crudely, and live like a saint. That would be the end of me. My life isn't meant to be elegant."
Melanie turned to him helplessly. "You're so shameless. It sounds as if you're boasting, like walking in there would instantly make you a saint."
Aldridge replied seriously, "Who knows? Only God would know. But I don't believe him either."
"I don't believe it at all! Come on, let's go in. If you don't sprout wings or a halo, I'll hit you!"
She started to head towards the Taylor Gallery, but Aldridge calmly rolled up his sleeve, looked at his watch, and said, "Too late. Only two minutes left. The Taylor Gallery's about to close. Look—there's the guard locking up."
Melanie turned and saw he was right. The doors were being closed. She dropped back onto the bench, frustrated, and said angrily, "Aldridge, why are you so cunning?"
"Work requirement."
"Aren't you a football coach?"
"Why do you keep doubting my profession?"
"You win. I'm hungry now. Let's go eat. And since Manchester still hasn't rained, as punishment for cheating, you're the one inviting me to dinner."
Aldridge raised his head and looked up at the darkening sky. "But it's not midnight yet, is it?"
"I don't care, I'm already hungry…"
"Alright, you win. What do you want to eat?"
"You guess."
"Then let's wait. Maybe it'll rain in Manchester within the hour."
Melanie glared at him, puffing out her cheeks. "So whatever I say, we'll eat that?"
"No. It's whatever you actually plan to eat, and I'll come with you. But if you say you want… stool, of course I'm not going along. And if you insist, then you'll be eating it alone."
"Aldridge! You're disgusting!" She stomped her foot lightly, then huffed. "Chinese food. Let's eat Chinese food. You probably won't be used to it anyway. My mother makes amazing Chinese dishes."
This time Aldridge was genuinely surprised. He turned to look at her. "You like Chinese food? Interesting. But the proper word isn't 'Chinese cuisine.' That's a Japanese expression. Real Chinese people never call it that."
"Huh? Oh, are you scared?"
"Scared? Hardly. But I doubt you've ever had truly authentic Chinese food. It's endlessly diverse—sweet and salty, spicy and rich. You've probably never seen the real variety. In front of me, when it comes to Chinese food, you're still tender—waving your axe in front of a master carpenter."
Melanie's eyes suddenly lit up. She grabbed his arm with a grin. "Oh, so you're experienced? Rare to meet a friend with the same taste. Perfect! Let's go eat and drink…"
That night, after wandering all day, Aldridge returned home in high spirits. While showering, he turned on the radio, humming in a buoyant mood. The day with Melanie and the meal they had shared had left him almost floating.
"Manchester had two more showers today," the newsreader's voice announced. "Rainy weather is expected to continue until the weekend. With the Premier League title race intensifying, a rain-soaked Old Trafford is hardly what Ferguson will be hoping for…"
Aldridge's humming stopped instantly. His expression froze before he let out a cry from the bathroom.
"Damn it! Melanie, you're the real liar!"
Meanwhile, in her London apartment, Melanie lay on her small bed in pajamas, her mobile phone in her hand. Her thumb hovered over the dial key, hesitating. At last she pulled back, the day's memories flooding her mind. Blushing fiercely, she buried her face in the pillow, her smile hidden but impossible to suppress.