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She studied his photo for a few minutes, realising it was a complete lie. She had no idea who it was but it certainly wasn’t him. The description however, his likes and dislikes, were a different matter. She knew him well enough to have spotted what she needed to know.
She rubbed her palms together, laughing as she did so. Her plan was coming together. And Christ, was she pleased.
It had taken long enough: years, in fact.
She sent him an email.
Chapter Ten
“Perfect timing.”
Mary stood in the courtyard with her arms outstretched, holding a casserole in a wrapped towel.
“Well, come on, Manfred, let me in. I can’t stand out here all day with this in my hands.”
Manny stepped back, allowing her to pass.
Mary faltered, struggling to work out where she was going to put the dish. Places were limited in Manny’s kitchen: he’d filled every open space with something.
“Here, let me,” he offered, pushing stuff all over to clear a space.
“Be careful, Manfred.”
Before he could do any further damage, she stuck it on a cooker ring. “Look at the state of this place. What would your mother say?”
“Doubt she can see it from where she is – she’d need a bloody good pair of glasses.”
Mary stood back and crossed her chest. “You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”
“Well she can’t hear me, either.”
Mary stood with her hands on her hips. “I’ve no idea what I’m going to do with you. Look at the state of you, never mind the flat. Pale and thin. You’re not looking after yourself. What were you up to last night, coming back at all hours of the morning?”
“Nothing much.”
“Didn’t sound like nothing to me. You woke me up with the racket you made.”
“Sorry, Mary, never meant to.”
“So, what were you doing?”
“Helping a friend.”
“To do what at that time?”
“Move house,” said Manny.
Mary’s face softened. “That’s your trouble, Manfred, you’re too easy going. People put on you. You were out all day yesterday. I suppose you were helping him all the time, were you?”
“You could say that. But you’re no different, Mary. I bet you’ve been up since the crack of dawn, cleaning, ironing, baking, cooking.” Manny pointed to the dish. Mary was a bit of a workaholic, and cared more for others than for herself. She worked at the Forest Pine care home, halfway between Bramfield and Bursley Bridge on the Pickering Road. She had been there for the best part of fifteen years, and her mother had been a patient for five.
“Yes but that’s different. That’s for you. You need someone to look after you, Manfred.”
“I don’t do too bad.”
“You don’t do too well either. You’re that busy helping other people you don’t get your own work done and you don’t eat properly.”
Mary left the kitchen and walked through to the living room. “Oh my word, it looks like a bomb’s hit it.” She turned back to face Manny. “What you need is a wife.”
