SxyGrrl: It’s my job to know. May I point out that “KentNP”, you haven’t said who YOU are.
KentNP: I’m not going to. “SxyGrrl”, you’re purporting to know things members of the public don’t, which must mean you work for the police, Local Authority or even the paper.
Ribtool: I’ve just seen this thread. I heard her throat was slit and her mouth cut open. I know someone who knows someone who works for the police.
KentNP: Do you have to make it sound so awful? Have some compassion.
Ribtool: How can I make murder sound nice? I’m only stating what I’ve heard *shrugs* it doesn’t mean I’m not compassionate. The way I see it, the more information people have about these types of atrocities the better off they are. You wouldn’t want to pick your way through a cow field without being able to see the shit, would you?
SxyGrrl: Thanks “Ribtool”, I applaud your honesty and agree. It’s better to know than to be kept in the dark.
***
Saturday, 16th February 2013
Heaven or Hell?
Mr Him remained comatose while I hauled myself and my moaning mini-me to the supermarket for bread. We were met by shelves of crust-less loaves and wholegrain ones, but none of Daughter’s favourite variety. Sighing, I tossed two of the crust-less loaves into the trolley.
‘Muuum,’ Daughter wailed, in a tone of voice much copied from her father. ‘You know I don’t like that.’
I shrugged at her. ‘It’s this or that.’ I pointed at the wholegrain bread, already knowing what the response would be.
‘No way.’ Daughter proceeded to roll her brown eyes. Again, something much copied from her father. ‘Dad doesn’t like that bread either. You’re the only who does ‘cos you’re weird. Dad says so.’
Storming to the tinned can aisle I flung in a four-packet of tomato soup, more than likely denting all of the cans in one fell swoop. Somewhere in the next aisle a baby erupted into wails.
‘Dad doesn’t like that.’ Daughter stamped her foot. ‘We like chicken soup.’
‘I like tomato soup. Besides, who is paying for this?’ I snapped.
Daughter shook her mass of wavy hair, one thing she had inherited from me. ‘Dad.’
I stopped abruptly and Daughter cannonballed into my back. ‘Your father,’ I raised my voice to be heard above the wailing of the baby, ‘has never paid for the shopping.’
14:20
‘Babe,’ Mr Him’s voice wafted down the hallway from the bedroom. ‘I’m thirsty.’
Ignoring him I creamed butter and sugar in my mixing bowl.
‘I can hear you doing stuff out there!’ he bellowed. ‘I know you can hear me. Get me a drink seeing as you’re already in the kitchen.’
‘I’m making a cake.’
‘Not another poxy fruit cake?’ Mr Him shouted. ‘We still have the Christmas cake, which was crap.’
Through crossness I accidentally upended a whole bottle of almond essence in the cake mixture. I fished it out and threw it into the sink.
‘Get me some water!’ He shouted again. ‘My mouth’s drier than a granny’s crusty big toe!’
‘You’re an idiot,’ I muttered.
Daughter poked her head out of her room. ‘Shall I do it, Mum?’ A game controller dangled from her fingertips. ‘I can pause my game.’
‘No,’ I conceded. ‘I’ll do it.’
***
‘Finally.’ Mr Him’s head poked out from underneath the duvet. ‘Why can’t you help me when I ask? I’m always helping you.’
I offered the glass to him. ‘Like when do you help me?’
Without taking the glass he gestured feebly to the bedside table. ‘Put it there so I can reach it. Have you made breakfast?’
‘It’s after two in the afternoon.’ I held onto the glass.
‘Make me a chicken sarnie then, I’m starving.’
Thoughtfully, I sipped the water.
‘Hey, you brought that in for me!’ Mr Him protested. ‘Actually make me a coffee to go with the sarnie and cut me some of that Swiss roll you made. Don’t skimp on the slice either. I don’t need to diet like you do.’
‘Anything else?’ My mind whirred.
‘What cake are you baking?’ Mr Him stretched languidly in the bed. ‘Do I smell almond? You know it’s not my favourite. Why couldn’t you have made shortbread biscuits? I like them.’
I ground my teeth. ‘So, you don’t want this?’ I held up the glass.
‘Nah, it’ll be warm because you’ve been holding it. Oh, and pop to the newsagent for a box of twenty cigs.’ Mr Him rubbed his eyes. ‘I really fancy one and I’ve run out.’
‘You’re not smoking in the flat,’ I told him. ‘You know I don’t like it.’
‘You’re such a moaner!’ Mr Him sat up. ‘I’ll open the pissing window if I must.’
‘Not in the flat,’ I repeated.
He collapsed onto the pillows. ‘Just go and buy them.’
‘Give me the money.’
‘I’m clean out. I’ll have to owe you.’
‘Is that quite all?’ I growled.
‘And a magazine. The one with the hot girls in it. I need something nice if I can’t smoke in my own bleeding flat.’ He laughed before dissolving into a coughing fit.
The glass was unyielding in my grasp as I sharply spun around and flung its contents over the bed. With an almighty roar Mr Him jumped up, became entangled in the duvet and landed in a heap on the floor.
‘For fuck’s sake, why’d you do that?’ His eyes blazed from his pinched face. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘What isn’t?’ I burst into tears and ran out of the bedroom.
Posted: 15:00 0 Sazements
***
Sunday, 17th February 2013
Mr Him – Golf Extraordinaire?
I was at the dining room table preparing my portfolio for a job interview I’d completely forgotten about, when Mr Him interrupted me.
‘Is that stuff for the computer job?’ Mr Him rubbed an apple on his top in an attempt to make it shiny.
I nodded distractedly. ‘I stuck the letter on the fridge but it’s disappeared. Did you move it?’
‘How do you expect me to remember?’ Mr Him bit into his apple and munched noisily. ‘You’re not very organised, even I remembered you have an interview tomorrow.’
‘Then why didn’t you remind me?’
Mr Him snorted. ‘You were hoping I’d tell you not to bother. You’d love to stay at home sitting on your sizeable arse while I work hard.’
I thumped the top of the table. ‘I do have a job. You make it sound as if I don’t do anything.’
Mr Him’s lip curled. ‘You have a job in admin. It’s not much. You’ve only had two jobs, the first in that poxy little dive of a bar and now your admin job. You haven’t had much experience.’
I hoped Mr Him didn’t notice how I held my breath at the mention of “Viola’s”. Even the mention of the bar made me think of him, of Smith. I was lost on a wave of sad memories and almost missed what Mr Him said next.
‘I hope this other job you’re going for is more money. You can’t rely on me for financial support for ever.’ He bit the apple again.
I wanted to shove the piece of fruit down Mr Him’s throat so no amount of fairy tale kissing or, more realistically, medical intervention, would dislodge it. I decided to turn the argument back around. ‘Maybe I could rely on you to decorate the flat instead. You’ve been saying this kitchen ceiling needs painting. There’s a tin of emulsion in the hall cupboard. It’s been there for years.’
‘Nah.’ Mr Him dropped his apple core on my paperwork. ‘I’m off to play golf.’
Holding the slimy apple core by the stem, I closed my gaping mouth. I don’t know what shocked me more: the golf comment or the apple core dropping. ‘You’ve never played golf in your life. You said it was a game for unfit people with bad fashion taste!’
‘I’m starting now.’ Mr Him shrugged on his jacket and told me his mate
from work, Mr Dry, had persuaded him to join the club at which he played. While I silently fumed, he yelled goodbye to Daughter, tossed a scowl in my direction and left me flabbergasted.
A few minutes later the intercom buzzed and his disembodied voice wafted through. ‘Forgot to tell you I’ll have lunch at the club and a few drinks after so don’t cook anything else for me. Unless you’re making doughnuts, save me some of those. And put custard in them.’
Posted: 10:20 0 Sazements
***
Man Made of Hot Air?
20:00
Mr Him missed kissing Daughter goodnight as she was already fast asleep by the time he returned. With his jacket slung over his shoulder, long sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he was clearly not a man who had walked anywhere in the cold weather. Just to be certain, I placed a hand on his smooth arm. Instead of feeling cool, as would be expected, it was warm to the touch. I leant in and kissed him; he smelt, once again, of alcohol and perfume.
‘Did you have a good time?’ I asked. ‘You’ve been ages.’
‘Yeah, yeah it was a good session.’ He nodded, a half smile dancing on his lips.
‘The golf or the drinking? Was it just the two of you?’
‘Saaayze, do you have to question me as soon as I’ve walked in?’ Mr Him stomped into the kitchen and wrenched open the fridge door. ‘It was the two of us, if you must know. I’m allowed to have a best mate; it’s not against the fucking law. Where’s the wine?’
I wondered why he was swearing so much. ‘Right there.’ I looked at him.
Mr Him shoved aside the jars in the fridge. ‘I can’t see it.’
‘It’s right in front of me and it’s the largest whine I’ve ever seen.’
‘What?’ Mr Him slammed the fridge door shut.
I pointed innocently at the cupboard.
Mr Him rifled through it and extracted a sizeable carton of wine.
‘Where’ve all the bottles gone?’ he wailed. ‘This boxed stuff is pants.’
‘You drank them.’
‘Not all ten.’
‘No, only nine. I had the sparkling bottle on Valentine’s.’
‘Do you want to cause an argument?’
‘Do you want to tell me the truth?’ I countered.
Mr Him busied himself with opening the carton of wine and didn’t answer.
‘Well?’ I probed. He was obviously thinking; which was bound to take a while. ‘What was a good session, the golf, the drinking or,’ I paused, ‘the sex?’
Mr Him tossed me a dirty look before hot-footing it out of the kitchen and retreating to his favourite chair in the lounge.
‘You know what?’ He glared at me as I followed him in. ‘You’ve some serious problems. I think you need to talk to someone about your jealousy issues.’
‘The only jealousy issue I have,’ I retorted, ‘is you. You treat this flat like a hotel. You never spend time with us or help with anything.’
‘I work,’ said Mr Him with a snort. ‘I pay the bills.’
‘You pay one bill,’ I spat.
‘At least it’s something.’
‘You pay the digi subscription, big whoop!’
‘You watch it,’ Mr Him yelled. ‘So don’t moan.’
‘You live in the flat,’ I countered.
‘And?’ asked Mr Him, clearly confused.
‘You don’t pay for it.’
‘You’re such a moaner!’
‘You’re such a liar.’
‘MUM!’ Daughter shouted from her room down the hall. ‘I can’t sleep.’
‘Now look what you’ve done,’ I hissed. ‘You’ve woken her.’
I slipped in to see Daughter. When I returned to the lounge, Mr Him looked a little contrite. ‘Sorry. Come here and give me a cuddle.’
I knew that look in his eye far too well and told him only after he’d listened to me practise for the interview. Of course he grumbled and whined some more but eventually he agreed.
Posted: 21:00 9 Sazements
SxyGrrl: Re: Bills. I’m on the look-out for a sugar-daddy to help me pay my bills! And really, boxed wine? Yurgh.
GeoffBD: Don’t settle for such an A-hole! You need to find someone else someone who will appreciate you for YOU.
SxyGrrl: Hello “GeoffBD”, are you a sugar-daddy? LOL!
GeoffBD: LMAO “SxyGrrl”, have checked out your blog. Is that you in pics? If it is, you’re HOT!! I could be YOUR sugar-daddy! Mail me on gbd at geoffbdoown dot megbd.
Saze Monnivan: Hey! This isn’t a dating site!
SxyGrrl: *Grins* sheepishly…sorry!
GeoffBD: Both you girls look hot in your profile pics. Enjoying reading this blog, will recommend to all my female friends.
Anonymous: Pass me the puke bucket. Crap writing from a fat bitch, whineing and now old perves.
Saze Monnivan: Oh “Anonymous”, I have missed you and your comments.
***
Monday, 18th February 2013
Cut the Fat.
Okay, it was my own fault I stayed up baking cookies last night and couldn’t bear to drag myself out of bed this morning. I’d returned from dropping Daughter at school when Mr Him strolled into the kitchen.
‘Can I do anything?’ He suppressed a yawn.
‘You’re too late,’ I replied. ‘It’s all done. Can you give me a lift to the interview?’
Mr Him shook his head and helped himself to a cookie. ‘Can’t. Got to be somewhere in ten minutes.’
I shoved my portfolio into my handbag. ‘You have the day off. Surely you can take the time to drop me in town?’
He licked his fingers. ‘I have plans.’
Angrily I pulled a comb through my curls. ‘You can’t spare a few minutes for me?’
Mr Him consulted the clock. ‘Nah. Gotta go now. You’ll have to catch the bus. Don’t be so lazy. You’re capable of taking the bleeding bus.’
18:15
‘What’s that?’ Mr Him briefly peered over my shoulder as I stood at the kitchen side.
‘A cake I baked earlier.’ I shook the sieve over the cake so icing sugar covered its golden top.
Mr Him, head in the fridge, replied, ‘I don’t understand your fascination with baking. What’s the gunk in the middle of it?’
I washed my hands. ‘Buttercream.’
‘Made with real butter?’ He re-emerged from the fridge. ‘You need to be careful.’ He eyed me up and down. ‘Cakes are fattening and you make way too many.’
I pointed at the carton of wine in his hand. ‘And that isn’t fattening?’
He patted his stomach. ‘Still the same size it was when we met.’ He looked pointedly at mine.
Soapy water dripped from my fingertips onto my fluffy dog-faced slippers. ‘Are you calling me fat?’
‘No,’ Mr Him tossed over his shoulder. ‘Not yet.’
Posted: 20:00 1 Sazement
GeoffBD: Hope you get the job! You are worth it!
***
Tuesday, 19th February 2013
Digression to Childhood.
07:30
Mr Him feigned exhaustion as he dressed for work. Seriously, I didn’t know why he made such a big deal out of life. I never complained about dropping Daughter at school, Holiday School Club, or collecting her from After School Club, about feeding us all, and keeping a clean flat. Of course not, if I did I’d be labelled as a grumpy cow.
‘Have you made my lunch?’ Mr Him slung on his coat and peered expectantly in the fridge.
‘Nope.’ I watched him from my seat at the kitchen table.
He turned an angry face to me. ‘What am I supposed to eat?’
I turned my attention to my laptop on the table in front of me. ‘You can make yourself a sandwich.’
Mr Him slammed the fridge door shut and hunted for the biscuit jar. ‘You know I have to leave.’ He shoved a fistful of cookies into a food bag.
‘Maybe,’ I suggested. ‘You should get out of bed earlier then you’d have time to make lunch.’
&
nbsp; ‘You’ve made your own; you could’ve made mine at the same time.’ He jabbed angrily at Daughter’s lunch box. ‘You’ve made hers. All I have is measly cookies.’
‘You’re a grown up,’ I pointed out. ‘You don’t have to have the cookies. You could buy something if you can’t be bothered to make yourself anything.’
Mr Him shook his head. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with you,’ he snarled. ‘You’re turning into a right bitch.’
‘That’s what comes from living with a bastard who wouldn’t even drive his fiancée to her job interview.’
‘Oh, fuck off!’ Mr Him shouted before storming out of the flat minus the cookies.
Posted: 07:45 1 Sazement
SxyGrrl: Clamp a lunch-box around his testicles and tell him that’s his meat sandwich for the day… if he can find the sausage.
***
I Thought This Only Happened in Sci-Fi Films…
A Mr Him doppelganger invaded the flat. He positively glowed and even organised dinner. Hurrah, maybe my Mr Him finally realised he loves us! Okay, he’d only bought fish and chips from the chippie but he paid for them with his own money.
We ate in the comfort of the dining room and Daughter chatted happily about her day at school. Mr Him told us a tale of a bumptious chap who spent a good hour sitting in a showroom car before deciding it really wasn’t for him.
The evening grew weirder by the minute. Mr Him cleared the plates while Daughter and I watched television. He even whistled.
Posted: 19:05 0 Sazements
***
Tomato Murder; Teenage Girl Killed in Eastcove.
I was distracted from television by the front page of the local Tuesday paper which I hadn’t yet read. The allotment tomato girl was murdered. Never thought something like that would happen in Eastcove. Definitely wouldn’t be letting Daughter out alone until she’s at least thirty.
Lies Love Tells (Eastcove Lies Book 1) Page 4
