AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I laugh with relief at his daft insult. Tell him how the social workers couldn’t believe I was such a chunky baby – apparently, they joked I’d been swopped at birth. That shadow-life I sometimes day-dreamed – my real parents bringing up some pale little wench who had stolen my life.
I lay the picture in the pages of my magazine and open the fridge. What to cook?
‘I kidded myself on I were looking after her,’ Ken starts rambling. ‘Helping her back home, she could hardly stand.’
Sausages, peppers, eggs…
‘I should’ve known better, I were married with kids, made it plain to her.’
‘She asked you in and got you dancing.’ I repeat the story he’s already told me. With her flimsy green dress and scratchy Whitney Houston Greatest Love of All. Now I can put a face to this corny movie twisting my guts.
I pick up the sausages. Study their label without taking it in.
‘What else did you buy on this spree of yours?’ His eyes open just a crack.
‘Caviar, oysters, truffles. Make a change from chips and egg?’
‘You can please yourself, I’m not hungry.’ He sinks back into his pillows.
Did Sandy say he would lose his appetite, as well as sleeping more? Something’s got to tempt him.
‘It were like she were trying to wipe everything out. And the bloke in me, couldn’t help mesen. Sickened me forever the regret of it.’
‘But if you hadn’t, there’d be no me.’
He nods, pulls the sides of his mouth down. Hard to see he’s right pleased at this idea.
‘I never saw her again. Someone else were renting the bedsit. She were never in the bar, I looked, over and over.’ His voice shakes like I’ve not heard before.
‘Ken, get some rest.’ I go to stroke his arm, solid under the papery skin. He’s right about being big boned.
He opens his mouth and starts to snore. Tobacco stains on his bottom teeth. White fuzz of his tongue.
Retreat to the fridge.
Colour’s what we need, that’s why I bought peppers. Peppers, eggs, potatoes, Finest Sicilian Sausages. We could go Mediterranean.
‘I know,’ I slam the fridge door. Could even chuck in herbs from the spice rack.
His hands twitch on the duvet. Breathing settled to a regular rasp.
‘Spanish omelette,’ I announce.
Go Down to the Woods – Gethin
Francesca crashes through the thicket, bashing her rucksack against the overhanging branches, texting as she goes.
‘For fuck’s sake, where the hell are they?’ She swings round to belt her bag into a young silver birch.
‘What’s with the big hurry?’ I push through behind her as the birch branch snaps back in my face. ‘It’s only six o’clock, chill out.’
I follow her through a narrow space between two holly bushes. Trip on a bramble and get catapulted into a clearing, breaking my fall on the nearest available object, as in the bulk of Jarvis’ back. He tips over and I land splayed on top of him.
‘Fuck, I was making a spliff, Dickhead!’ Jarvis jerks to roll me off him.
‘Sorree!’ I jump up and Jarvis frowns, brushing off the dusty earth. I peer at the ground to pick up bits of what could be weed.
‘No worries. I’ll start again.’ Jarvis turns his saintly smile on. He’s the weirdest, like all sparking anger ready to explode something massive, then puff, back to nothing’s-gonna-bother-me Jarvis. Tucking his hair behind those big bulgy ears, he starts on another doob.
