‘I’ll collect my other things later.’
I turned my attention to him. Although his figure was familiar an air hung from him which I hadn’t breathed before. ‘What other things? Where are you living?’ I slopped a measure of milk into the bowl.
‘Stop questioning me.’ Mr Him raised a commanding hand. ‘It’s nothing to do with you. Why are you baking at this hour?’
‘Because I’m upset. What if your daughter needs to contact you?’ I turned the mixture out onto a chopping board and ferreted in the drawer for the rolling pin.
Mr Him strode from his sentry at the door. I heard him moving things in the bedroom. Several minutes later he reappeared, suitcase trailing, hold-all over one shoulder and a lamp tucked under the crook of an arm. ‘I’m off.’ His eyes skirted over me.
My mind felt foggy. ‘That’s my lamp.’ I pointed a floury finger in his direction.
‘Our lamp.’
Irritation bit at me. ‘I bought it.’
Mr Him made a noise which sounded like a horse. ‘It’s as fucking ugly as you.’ He allowed it to drop. I watched mutely as the faux-crystal base clunked and shattered on the wooden flooring.
Posted: 23:15 14 Sazements
SxyGrrl: Hope you’re okay. You’ve made me crave cheese scones!
GeoffBD: And me! Hi “SxyGrrl”, looking forward to meeting you on Friday!
Saze Monnivan: Can’t believe you two are going to meet! How romantic. I’m jealous!
SxyGrrl: All he’s said is I have to be ready for 7pm and he’ll send a car to collect me!
GeoffBD: Don’t forget a suitcase.
Saze Monnivan: Don’t forget to come back and tell me all about it! A blossoming Blomance!
SxyGrrl: Maybe not everything…I like the new word! Blomance, yay!
SukIt: Gross. The old pussy perve wants 2 shag the slut. She been shagged so many times he’s gonna catch dikrot.
GeoffBD: Watch your mouth, or you’ll end up in trouble.
SukIt: Ooooo scary! Wot u gonna do, old man? Hit me with ur walking stik?
GeoffBD: I don’t know why you’re under the assumption I’m old. Older than you, probably, too old to kick your scrawny arse? No.
SukIt: U pafthetik prick. U don’t no who I am. No-1 no’s who I am.
Hey8tr: U’ve lost your mind and your man, next’ll be your kid. Ha ha ha.
GeoffBD: This post has been deleted by the originator.
***
Tuesday, 26th February 2013
Who Has The Right?
Daughter dragged her feet all the way home. I shoved a pizza in the oven in an attempt to placate her. Unfortunately it did not work and she complained the pizza wasn’t of the variety she enjoys (it is, she asked for it when we last went shopping). I resisted throwing it out of the window in a strop as must appear to be grown-up even if I don’t feel it.
Daughter had consumed her pizza portion when the hall phone rang. Half of my meal was congealing on the plate and the other half in my throat so she beat me to answering it. Her laughter rang clear before her voice lowered and the words were muffled. I tossed my unwanted pizza in the bin and piled the washing up beside the sink.
‘Mum.’ Daughter prodded me in the back with the cordless telephone. ‘Dad wants to talk to you.’
I waited until she’d left the kitchen before I raised the phone to my ear.
‘I’ll pick her up from the club tomorrow,’ Mr Him’s voice snapped. ‘I’m gonna take her bowling.’
I could’ve strangled him; he’d never collected her before.
‘Did you hear?’ He sighed sharply. ‘I want to see her every Monday and Wednesday. I’ll pick her up from you at six and bring her home for eight.’
‘Is that it?’ My palm was hot, the phone slippery in my grasp. ‘Any other dictations?’
Mr Him sounded cross. ‘I want her on Saturdays from six in the evening; I’ll bring her back Sunday lunchtime.’
‘I’ve contacted a solicitor.’
‘Whoopee. I’ve spoken to the child money organisation thingy. I’m not giving you a penny until they tell me how much I should pay. I want the necklace back I gave you for Christmas. I’m still paying for it on my catalogue.’
‘Who was paying for it on the catalogue? Anything else? A list of operating instructions on how to work your child? The newspaper you forgot to read the other day? How about returning the bracelet I bought you for Christmas? It cost two hundred pounds, which is double the price of the necklace. At least I won’t be paying your catalogue bill from now on. You’ll finally realise what it’s like to pay for the things you want.’
‘Why do you have to be so picky?’ There was an unpleasant whinge to Mr Him’s voice. ‘You’ve already paid for the bracelet.’
‘If you want the necklace, I want the bracelet.’
The phone line went dead.
My top lip carried its smirk until I opened the newspaper. Two more Eastcove young women had gone missing. Both under twenty years of age and both bore resemblance to the murdered allotment girl. I feared for them. Would their youthful limbs be discovered in a horticultural bed?
The night suddenly seemed darker.
Posted: 20:00 5 Sazements
KentNP: How many more young women are going to disappear? Eastcove needs to step up the number of Officers on the street.
Orange Michelle: Take the asshole to court and let them decide visitation rights. Just caught up on your last posts. What’s this about murders? It’s everywhere –some joggers in my town fell over a dead body this morning.
Ribtool: I’ve picked up some info re: missing women in Eastcove. Check out my blog “Rib Investigates”. Number of officers on the streets won’t help, “KentNP”, you’re looking at this with a utopian eye. This murderer is calculated, you probably wouldn’t bat an eyelid if you passed him/her in the street. The way to catch this bastard is by ALL of us arming ourselves with knowledge. Did you know all the young women have disappeared on their way to nights out? No, I didn’t think so. Does that help? Yes, in bringing awareness to young women. Do not walk out in the dark alone.
KentNP: Wow, breaking news! You know nothing more than any other layperson. All of the above is stating the obvious.
SxyGrrl: Hey “Ribtool”, read your blog. Are you a Private Detective?! Saze – I know what you mean about the nights seeming darker. It’s scary to read young women are missing. Everyone’s talking about it. Aren’t you glad you broke the chain from that testosterone ball? Good luck with the solicitor – screw the bloody bastard for all he’s worth!
***
I Want Text.
With Daughter in bed, I retired to the kitchen and cradled a mug of coffee while I sat at the table, staring into space. My phone beeped, making me jump. Thinking it would be that tosspot-dictator I decided to ignore it and drank the coffee. The phone continued to beep tauntingly. I stared at the noisy torturer, its beeps seeming more urgent the longer I ignored it.
“Forgive me… I am sorry.”
Another message slipped through.
“Can I come over?”
I mulled the question over for a moment and replied with a single word.
The response was instant.
“I’m outside.”
Posted: 22:40 3 Sazements
SxyGrrl: *Bouncing up and down* who was it?
Hey8tr: It’s her fucking imagination. Who would want to see that fat bitch?
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***
After Text.
I wondered if opening the door would be a terrible mistake. ‘Come in,’ I started uncertainly.
‘You’re blocking the entrance.’
I stepped aside and Mr Dry brushed briefly against my arm. My breath caught in my throat. I hadn’t realised the extent of his height until I was shod only in bare feet.
I poured two generous measures of vodka w
ith cola. I could hardly offer him coffee, considering I’d text him suggesting a drink. Obviously it had been a moment of madness, I’d forgotten I would have Daughter. Jealousy surged towards Mr Him’s new found freedom.
It felt strange having a man in the flat I had shared with Mr Him for many years. Mr Him hadn’t agreed with me having male friends, often complaining all men are after, is sex. He being a semi-man should know.
Mr Dry sniffed the air. ‘It smells delicious in here.’
I gestured at the oven. ‘Choc-chip muffins.’
Mr Dry consulted his watch. ‘You’re baking at ten past ten in the evening?’
‘I’m baking a lot,’ I replied dryly. ‘It’s kind of my “thing”; it helps take my mind off other matters.’
‘Are they ready?’ He peered hopefully at the oven door.
‘No.’ I laughed. ‘There are cheese scones in the tub next to the bread-bin.’
Mr Dry freed one from the tub and bit into it. ‘Mmmm.’ He swallowed his mouthful. ‘He has a house, did you know?’ He sipped his drink and grimaced, looking into his glass. ‘It’s up the hill. Forty-two Grafton Place.’
‘A bachelor pad?’
Mr Dry’s tone was apologetic. ‘No.’ He set the glass on the kitchen counter and tore into the scone.
‘He managed to organise that super-fast,’ I snapped. ‘He could never do a thing to help out here. What does she have that I don’t?’
Mr Dry chewed and looked back at me wordlessly.
‘She has the same size boobs as me!’ I wailed. ‘He gave her my bra set. Didn’t fancy me in it but fancied his mistress in my underwear!’
Mr Dry coughed. ‘I must be off. Thanks for the erm… drink.’ He eyeballed the tumbler warily. ‘Save me a muffin?’ he asked with a lopsided smile before slipping away.
Posted: 22:55 8 Sazements
SxyGrrl: Damn it! Now I want muffins! I’m kind of liking this new fella of yours. Seriously, did you have to mention the underwear thing? Just realised it must look like I spend most of my life online reading your blog! I do have a real life. Promise.
GeoffBD: I’m giving this guy thumbs up at the moment for telling you about the house but thumbs down for aloofness. Hi “SxyGrrl”, I like it you’re online a lot, are you going to switch on your webcam?
JessyHope: I know I said I was going to read this is in my lunch break but dang girl, you’ve got me hooked! And BTW “GeoffBD”, you’re my kind of guy. I have a webcam too…
SxyGrrl: Back off my cyberboyf *shakes fist*
GeoffBD: Ladies, no fighting please! You’re making me blush.
SukIt: Ur givin the pussy perv a big head, makin him think he’s hot. He ain’t, he’s an old man who likes yung girls. He’s prob the whacko killin those girls.
GeoffBD: I have three words for you: Watch Your Back.
SxyGrrl: And for the record I’m not a young girl, I’m 36!
***
Text Torture.
I read the comments from the earlier blog post while lounging on the sofa. “thumbs down for aloofness”… my heart tightened. Was that why I was interested in Mr Dry? Because in some small way he reminded me of someone else? He certainly didn’t resemble him in looks but manner? Maybe a little…
The beeping of my phone interrupted my thoughts and I opened a text message from Mr Him: “Text me ur bank & card details so I can pay money 4 my daughter.”
Replied telling him I’ll only give him my account number.
“Whateva have 2 come 2 another arrangement as u r bein obstructive.”
Unbelievable. What a surprise, another text arrived from Mr Him-idiot-head.
“Fuck u stuck up bitch u ruin’d my life n ur still a pain in the arse even though u ain’t part of MY life anymore.”
Sent Mr Him a final message telling him to grow up. After all isn’t the moral high ground preferable to resorting to knuckle-dragging mudslinging? Another message appeared from Mr Him. I opened it while undressing for bed.
“You always hav 2 cause arguments am glad I left. U make me sic. Don’t know y I put up with U 4 so long. U’ve always been a frigid bitch.”
Stuff the moral high ground, beating him on the gritty plain of reciprocation was the only thing he’d understand, I thumbed back a response:
“I didn’t want you near me as I never knew where you had been poking the wormlike thing you call a penis.”
Posted: 23:45 0 Sazements
***
Wednesday, 27th February 2013
Want To Be In That Club?
Local radio channel woke me with a disturbing update. Another body had been found buried in a separate allotment near to the first. The garden owner made the grisly discovery when digging to create a bog-garden. The news reporter sounded so gleeful about it, I felt sick. I know Eastcove’s a quiet town but it’s no excuse for relishing murder.
With Mr Him collecting Daughter from After School Club for bowling, I spent an extra hour at work to clock up some overtime. I’d switched the computer off and was about to leave when my desk phone trilled. Reluctantly I lifted it up, not wanting to be caught up for ages. ‘Good evening, Saze Monnivan speaking. I’m afraid the office is now closed. Can I take a message?’
‘This is Meredith Chadway from After School Club. You’re late collecting your daughter. I need to lock the building; it is six ‘o’ clock.’ There was a disapproving tut before the phone was slammed down.
In a daze I hurried to collect Daughter; no easy feat in high heeled boots. Definitely had to consider taking trainers to work to change into, wouldn’t have a hope in hell in running from a murdering maniac in heels. Disappointment and trepidation dripped from me as I half ran, half stumbled along the road to the club. It wasn’t because I’d been looking forward to a few hours on my own, I would only have spent them baking, I was disappointed for Daughter. Did Mr Him know how he would have destroyed the hopeful look Daughter had been carrying like a security blanket? Did he even care?
Guilt greeted me as the After School Club building drew into view. I spied Daughter forlornly scuffing her toe against the door step under Meredith’s watchful eye.
‘You know we close at six.’ Meredith adjusted her glasses on her upturned nose.
I pulled Daughter to me and freed her from her rucksack.
Meredith raised an eyebrow. ‘We’ll have to charge you overtime.’
‘Fine. I assume you have her father’s new address?’
‘We have been made aware of it.’
‘Then you can send him the additional charge.’
Meredith plonked her hands on her ample hips. ‘From what I understand, sole responsibility lies with you.’
I snorted. ‘As far as I’m aware that’s not been agreed. Unless of course, you’re privy to something I’m not.’
Meredith’s eyes flickered briefly behind smoky lenses.
‘We both signed the original forms.’
Meredith nodded slowly. ‘As I said, you’re the parent with responsibility.’
‘MUM!’ wailed Daughter. ‘Can we go? I’m hungry.’
‘Twenty pounds.’ Meredith held out a palm creased with papery lines. ‘For the additional time I spent waiting for you.’
‘Fifteen minutes?’
Meredith pursed her lips. ‘Our rates are ten pounds an hour. After six is outside of my remit so it’s doubled.’
I replied through gritted teeth, ‘I’m not paying twenty pounds until such time my name is the sole name on any paperwork you hold.’
‘But—’
‘And,’ I cut in, ‘considering you’re on such good terms with the man in question, you can tell him,’ I said as I reached into my handbag for my purse and drew out three twenty pound notes. ‘This will cover the days for this week but excludes the additional charge.’ Meredith’s hand reached out and snatched the notes. ‘I want a receipt,’ I added sweetly.
Meredith huffed. ‘Wait here.’
‘I’ll come in if you don’t mind.’
Daughte
r dragged behind as I stalked after Meredith. ‘MUM!’ she yelled. ‘Didn’t you hear me? I’m HUNGRY and I’m supposed to be going bowling!’
‘How about fish and chips?’
‘All right.’ Daughter smiled.
‘Do you like it here?’
‘S’okay.’ She shrugged then lowered her voice. ‘She’s grumpy.’ She nodded at Meredith, as the latter filled out a receipt slip.
‘I’ve put the twenty pounds as outstanding,’ Meredith called out.
‘Can I see the joining form?’
Meredith looked at me suspiciously. With a huge huff she rifled through her files.
‘See.’ I pointed at mine and Mr Him’s signatures.
‘I received this earlier.’ Meredith passed me a print out of an email from Mr Him stating all payment responsibility was to lie with me.
‘And you accept this?’ The sheet of paper fluttered easily from my fingertips.
Meredith nodded and crossed out Mr Him’s signature with a flourish. ‘That means you’re required to pay the twenty pounds.’
I thoughtfully handed the money over.
Meredith smiled through pointed teeth. ‘I’ll write you another receipt.’
‘What do I sign to cancel membership?’
‘You want to cancel?’ Meredith shoved the form back to me. ‘Sign at the bottom. It normally requires the agreement of both signatories to cancel the membership at such short notice.’
‘But there are no longer two.’ I took my final receipt, grasped Daughter’s hand and walked out of the building, hoping Meredith’s laser eyes hadn’t seen through my calm façade. I sensed her fingers reaching for the telephone to report back to Mr Him.
‘What am I going to do once school’s finished?’ Daughter asked
‘I’m thinking about it,’ I replied, already wondering whether it would be rude to ask Mr Nice to help in the short term.
I thought my mobile phone vibrated while we waited in the chip shop but the inbox was empty. Daughter asked me why her father hadn’t turned up, I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know what bothered me more, the lack of contact from Mr Him or the hope of a message from Mr Dry.
Lies Love Tells (Eastcove Lies Book 1) Page 8
