Nomance, T Price [bookreader .TXT] 📗

beforethe next two weeks were up, Gwynne was better than ever. Hisfriendship with Charmaine developed into a new relationship, andwith a new relationship came a new social circle. He was soon toobusy to fret one way or another about his sister getting raped.There were other problems to sort out. Like this Friday, wheneveryone in his new circle had the afternoon off from work becausethey’d planned for a night of clubbing in South London. They werein the pub, trying to kill the afternoon, and Jake (Charmaine’sex), was waving these tablets around and Gwynne was struck by howthese tablets looked like the tablets he had seen Carla taking inthe kitchen.

Being reminded in thisway of his home life Gwynne conceived of a better way to kill theafternoon, and he exclaimed, ‘Lets go back to mine, chill and getsomething to eat.’

Everyone agreedstraight away, and they headed for Jake’s wheels.

At some point duringthe journey West, Gwynne gave Jake a long penetrating look.

He saw that Jake’s mostconstant companion was a broad, chimpanzoid grin. It sort ofworried Gwynne. Jake was such a joker. Might he, by any chance,drop one of those pills in amongst his sister’s while no one waslooking?

Wasn’t that exactly thesort of monkeying around he would do, just for a laugh?

Nar. Jake was sound! Hewouldn’t even be tempted to play a dirty trick like that, eventhough he’d already exclaimed at the top of his voice in the pubthat the pills looked the same as his sister’s and that the bottlewas on the window sil in the kitchen. Jake was bigger thanthat.

Hadn’t he even saidthat he was glad it was Gwynne who’d nicked Charmaine off him, andnot some other bastard instead?

Seven: Spac Attack!

Before Gwynne and thecrew arrived, Carla was busy serving in Romance.

Mrs Shelly Hedley hadjust stepped into the shop and Carla’s heart missed a beat. Shellyhadn’t been around for months and, as her No. 1 customer mostlikely to die, Carla had grown pessimistic and assumedRomance had missed out on her funeral. Oh, how cruel! Shellygave many indications of having a wealthy husband and Carla feltconfident he would be able to afford to put the cemetery knee-deepin flowers on the big day.

On the other hand, asdesirable as Shelly’s death was financially, Shelly was still oneof the few customers Carla had a sneaking admiration for.

Why?

Because Shelly had asmoldering black core of evil, encrusted by a thick, silkysaccharine coating – like she was the child Satan had begot uponthe Sugar Plum Fairy.

That’s why.

And hence Carla’sdelight on seeing her again.

‘Good afternoon!’

‘Good afternoon, dear,’Shelly’s thin, cut-glass accent sliced through the lush air ofRomance and Carla shivered with anticipation. ‘I’d like to order –’ She was abruptly silent. Her eyes – as clear and colourless asice – had alighted upon Carla’s stomach. Her fixed stare gave wasakin to that of a monestrous, ancient and dilapidated owl about toswoop for the very last time. Carla felt the child kick within her,as if in trepidation. ‘Well, I say!’ Shelly trilled with joy.‘When’s the happy day?’

Carla really didn’tlike to think about that, let alone discuss it. However, she had toconsider all those deluxe wreaths just over the horizon, not tomention Shelly’s regular order of dahlias, tulips and daffs.

There was no way roundit, Carla must give an answer that pleased.

‘When’s the happy day?’She mused aloud.

Oh, but she so wantedto tell her! Carla would willingly tell Shelly anything she wantedto hear, if that’s what it took to win the funeral for Romance. Andfor that reason wasn’t it brill that she could provide an answerbased upon Gerald "The Inseminator" Lytton’s expert opinion?

‘Three weeks, two days,four hours,’ she laughed girlishly, ‘and counting.’

Shelly greeted thisfrippery with a hollow gibber and remarked, ‘If only doctors couldbe so accurate. I myself don’t rate them above weather forecasters.And of course, the daughter of a friend of mine relied on herdoctor’s prediction and took it for granted that she wouldn’t beinconvenienced during her honeymoon in Sri Lanka. But of course sheended up giving birth on the aeroplane. And so there you are, shejoined the mile-high club the day after her wedding.’

It was on the tip ofCarla’s tongue to correct Shelly about the meaning of theMile-High Club. But something told her that any reference tosex would only send Shelly into howling shrieks of laughter.

But there was no timefor laughter anymore, was there? The proper subject of conversationwas now age, death, decay and funerals.

‘How about you, Shelly?Do you clock up many air miles?’

‘No darling, I like tokeep both feet on the ground these days.’

‘But a lot of people –I mean retired people – travel more than ever,’ Carla saidartlessly, thinking of Rupert Node’s remark that exotic holidaysand long-haul flights did his undertaking business a world of good.She giggled. ‘It’s called skiing.’

‘Darling, these daysstanding’s hard enough.’

‘No, no, ski. S. K. I.It stands for spending the kids’ inheritance. See?’

‘I don’t have to travelto do that, dear,’ Shelly smiled.

‘That’s good,’ Carlasaid, trusting this meant Shelly would SKI on her funeral.

‘Of course, I loved toski when I was younger,’ Shelly reminisced, ‘only then, of course,I was fighting fit.’

‘But you still are,’Carla tinselled.

Shelly fixed her with areptilian stare. ‘Not since I carried my two boys I’m not. I don’tknow about you, but pregnancy played merry hell with my spine.’

‘I do get a slighttwinge now and then.’

‘Oh dear.’

Carla gave her adimpled smile. ‘But I don’t complain. I always think how lucky Iam. I mean,’ she gushed, ‘it’s not like any little fall might crackmy hip or anything. I’m always awed by the very, very old people.They are the real heroes, aren’t they? Those who risk six months inhospital just for the right to stand on their own two feet.’

Shelly scraped the airwith joyless laughter. ‘But then, dear, they’ve always had to. Mygeneration, you see, never got benefits off the state. Life wastough for women back then. On the other hand, though, if you didget pregnant there was at least a fifty-fifty chance your husbandwould stick around . . . and then, maternity leave was unknown. Howabout you, darling, are you going on maternity leave?’

‘Oh no, Shelly,