Page 13 of The Woman in the Middle
‘Ooh,’ said Shay, to herself more than anyone but Bruce questioned it.
‘What’s up? Who are you texting?’
‘Les. We’re going out for lunch on Tuesday. She says she’s got something to tell me that she can’t tell me over the phone.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know, seeing as she can’t tell me over the phone, you numpty.’ She mused then. ‘Must be something big if she has to see me in person.’
Another text from Les came through, advising her when and where.
‘When was the last time you spoke to her?’ asked Bruce as Shay was writing her response.
She did a quick calculation in her head.
‘Must be about four months. We were supposed to go out for lunch but she cancelled at the last minute with a sick bug and we never rearranged it.’
They had sent a few texts since then though, generic ‘Everything okay? Have to get together soon’ ones from Shay, replies from Les saying she would ‘love to but really busy at the mo’.
Silence for seconds, then Bruce said:
‘Don’t bring me up in conversation.’
Shay’s head zipped around to him. ‘What?’
‘You heard. I know how women talk and I don’t want you gossiping about me and… you know what.’ He sounded deadly serious.
‘I won’t. What do you take me for?’ replied Shay, careful not to swear or promise. She needed to talk to a friend shecould trust and there was only Les now. No subject had ever been out of bounds between them; they knew more about Morton’s willy than even he did. ‘I’ll be talking about jobs and kids. Last time we spoke I think Little Mort was buying a house and doing it up. I’d like to know how that’s going, and if he did move out, how often he calls his parents.’
Bruce let out a long, exasperated breath. ‘Are you still going on about Sunny not being in touch? He’s a young man with his own place and a drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend. He’ll probably be having sex twenty-four-seven.’
‘Not something I want to picture my son doing, thank you, Bruce,’ said Shay with a little shudder. ‘Wonder what it is she has to tell me. Maybe she’s finally left Morton.’
‘What makes you think that?’ Bruce asked.
‘It was a joke, Bruce. They’ll never split up. They’ll be drawing their pensions together, those two, whatever she says to the contrary. There are worse men out there; he’s never cheated or gambled, never raised his hand to her. I know he’s far from perfect but he absolutely idolises her.’
Bruce didn’t answer. She stole a glance at him to see he was staring ahead, his jaw clenched. He probably wasn’t even listening to her; he was wrapped up in thoughts she wasn’t party to and she suspected he was about to disappear into a mental man-cave. He’d been forced to give up his secret, show her his soft underbelly and she could tell he was already regretting it. Plus they both knew that as imperfect as Morton Jagger was, he was the personification of a horny stag high on rampant bull jelly and comparisons were bound to be made in Bruce’s brain. She sighed; the landscape of the near future stretched before her like a field full of eggshells. Not for the first time.
Back home, Shay checked through the post that had arrived in their absence: a winter holiday brochure, a postcard from the energy company asking for meter readings, a couple of brown envelopes for Bruce, no anniversary card from Sunny. She didn’t mention it to Bruce for fear of provoking him, but it hurt a little and stayed with her, though she tried to put it out of her mind. After a cup of coffee, she rang her sister. The phone was snatched up at the other end as soon as it connected and Paula’s brittle voice coursed down the earpiece.
‘At last.’
Shay pictured her elder sister’s downward arc of a mouth. Paula was already getting marionette lines. In less than five years she wouldn’t look out of place sitting on a ventriloquist’s knee saying ‘gottle of geer’.
‘Nice to know you care so much about your own mother’s welfare,’ Paula went on, seeing as Shay left her a big enough gap to shovel some blame into. But Shay had long been armed, waiting for this sort of cheap shot.
‘Are you really going to play the dutiful daughter card, Paula? You’ve stuck about three meals for Mum into a microwave in the past year and a half and you dare to—’
Paula cut her off. ‘I was eager to get hold of you because Mum is really shaken up about what’s happening next door. She was still very upset when I left last night.’
‘Maybe you should have stayed over, then,’ said Shay.
‘I stayed as long as I could,’ said Paula. ‘I can’t sleep there, can I?’
‘Well you could, seeing as there are three beds in the house. I’ve had to plenty of times. The bed in my old room is always made up ready just in case.’
‘She would have only said she didn’t want me to.’
