get to my feet and back away from the sofa. A few drinks, a quick verse of a Shirley Bassey classic and now I’m accused of sleeping with my boss. I’ve always thought he was handsome, but I’d never dream of mixing work with pleasure. Not after what happened that summer when I worked as a chalet maid at a holiday camp and slept with the DJ. After we split up, he used to play ‘ Hey Fatty Bum Bum ’ every time I walked into the bar.
‘Don’t bother trying to deny it. I found these in the glove compartment.’
She holds up a pair of what look like tiny lace pink knickers. The sort that more-or-less come with a written guarantee of cystitis.
‘Darling?’
Brian is at the door, holding a tray of assorted cheese, biscuits and two different sorts of grape. I probably look like I’ve glimpsed Dante’s inferno.
‘Don’t darling me,’ Audrey turns on her husband. ‘I was giving your little slut her underwear back.’
‘Can we talk in the kitchen?’ he says.
‘So you can tell me more of your lies?’
Andy bounces into the room, takes in the scene and swiftly sits down in a chair near the action, not wanting to miss a thing.
Audrey rounds on Brian.
‘How long has this been going on? How long have you been having it off with this tart?’
‘Darling, I really think we should take this elsewhere?’ Brian tries to take hold of her arm to lead her out of the room, but she jerks free, causing Brian to stumble. His hand comes to rest on the mantelpiece.
There’s a crash.
‘Norman!’ Audrey kneels to pick up shards of broken china, then stops, stands and rounds on Brian one more time.
‘What’s the matter with me? I know I don’t do it for you anymore. So what was she, a younger model?’
‘Please Audrey. You’re making a huge mistake.’
‘What would Gordon say if he knew you’d been shagging some filthy little slag behind my back?’
Andy throws me a what the fuck? look.
‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ Brian says.
‘I don’t think so. Know what I found when I took your jacket to the dry cleaners? Hairs.’ She turns to me, as if to rest the case for the prosecution. ‘Three - red - hairs.’
Andy gasps and the room is wrapped in a blanket of tense and uncomfortable silence.
‘Those don’t belong to Lisa,’ Brian says.
‘What do you mean?’
‘They don’t belong to Lisa.’
‘Then who do they belong to?’
‘Not here!’ Brian pleads.
The stand-off has reached its peak. Someone has to give ground.
‘No,’ Brian says and sits down. ‘They belong to Nina.’
Andy lets out another gasp and Audrey’s eyes grow wide.
‘Nina? Your assistant? Nina who helped me pick out a tie for your Christmas present? Nina who orders flowers for our wedding anniversary each time you forget? She’s 52.’
‘That Nina, yes.’
Audrey sits down heavily on the edge of the sofa next to Brian. For the briefest of moments, her face softens and I catch a glimpse of the woman in the old photograph. A kinder woman, a woman less convinced the world is out to get her. This feels like an intensely private moment.
‘I think it’s probably best if we get going now,’ I say. ‘Thanks for a lovely evening.’
Brian looks up.
‘Yes of course. Thanks for coming. I’ll get your coats.’
He leaves Audrey on the sofa, holding a shard of the broken Toby jug and ushers us towards the door.
‘Why can’t we stay? They’re only getting warmed up,’ Andy whispers.
‘Thanks for dinner Audrey,’ I say, but she doesn’t look up.
At the front door, Brian hands over our still damp jackets.
‘See you on Monday then,’ I say and try to make my farewell sound like we’d had a perfectly lovely, not-at-all-freaky evening.
Brian looks devastated. Upstairs, a toilet flushes.
‘That’s my future,’ he says and tries for a smile, but it comes out sour.
When their front door closes, Andy skips down the path.
‘What a night. And I thought it was going to be dull. Did you hear all that stuff
‘Don’t bother trying to deny it. I found these in the glove compartment.’
She holds up a pair of what look like tiny lace pink knickers. The sort that more-or-less come with a written guarantee of cystitis.
‘Darling?’
Brian is at the door, holding a tray of assorted cheese, biscuits and two different sorts of grape. I probably look like I’ve glimpsed Dante’s inferno.
‘Don’t darling me,’ Audrey turns on her husband. ‘I was giving your little slut her underwear back.’
‘Can we talk in the kitchen?’ he says.
‘So you can tell me more of your lies?’
Andy bounces into the room, takes in the scene and swiftly sits down in a chair near the action, not wanting to miss a thing.
Audrey rounds on Brian.
‘How long has this been going on? How long have you been having it off with this tart?’
‘Darling, I really think we should take this elsewhere?’ Brian tries to take hold of her arm to lead her out of the room, but she jerks free, causing Brian to stumble. His hand comes to rest on the mantelpiece.
There’s a crash.
‘Norman!’ Audrey kneels to pick up shards of broken china, then stops, stands and rounds on Brian one more time.
‘What’s the matter with me? I know I don’t do it for you anymore. So what was she, a younger model?’
‘Please Audrey. You’re making a huge mistake.’
‘What would Gordon say if he knew you’d been shagging some filthy little slag behind my back?’
Andy throws me a what the fuck? look.
‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ Brian says.
‘I don’t think so. Know what I found when I took your jacket to the dry cleaners? Hairs.’ She turns to me, as if to rest the case for the prosecution. ‘Three - red - hairs.’
Andy gasps and the room is wrapped in a blanket of tense and uncomfortable silence.
‘Those don’t belong to Lisa,’ Brian says.
‘What do you mean?’
‘They don’t belong to Lisa.’
‘Then who do they belong to?’
‘Not here!’ Brian pleads.
The stand-off has reached its peak. Someone has to give ground.
‘No,’ Brian says and sits down. ‘They belong to Nina.’
Andy lets out another gasp and Audrey’s eyes grow wide.
‘Nina? Your assistant? Nina who helped me pick out a tie for your Christmas present? Nina who orders flowers for our wedding anniversary each time you forget? She’s 52.’
‘That Nina, yes.’
Audrey sits down heavily on the edge of the sofa next to Brian. For the briefest of moments, her face softens and I catch a glimpse of the woman in the old photograph. A kinder woman, a woman less convinced the world is out to get her. This feels like an intensely private moment.
‘I think it’s probably best if we get going now,’ I say. ‘Thanks for a lovely evening.’
Brian looks up.
‘Yes of course. Thanks for coming. I’ll get your coats.’
He leaves Audrey on the sofa, holding a shard of the broken Toby jug and ushers us towards the door.
‘Why can’t we stay? They’re only getting warmed up,’ Andy whispers.
‘Thanks for dinner Audrey,’ I say, but she doesn’t look up.
At the front door, Brian hands over our still damp jackets.
‘See you on Monday then,’ I say and try to make my farewell sound like we’d had a perfectly lovely, not-at-all-freaky evening.
Brian looks devastated. Upstairs, a toilet flushes.
‘That’s my future,’ he says and tries for a smile, but it comes out sour.
When their front door closes, Andy skips down the path.
‘What a night. And I thought it was going to be dull. Did you hear all that stuff
Similar Books
