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Les gave her a disapproving look. ‘That’s just stupid. One, this is Bruce we’re talking about and two, impotent men do not have affairs anyway. What would be the bloody point?’
‘What if he’d lied about it, just to put me off?’
‘Bloody hell, Shay, don’t you know anything about men?’ Les laughed as if she were a world authority. ‘Men don’t lie about stuff like that to put a woman off a scent. Far too ego-damaging.’ She lifted up her glass of mineral water, pinky finger stuck out. ‘How’s he been since you got back?’
‘In a proper funk. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife.’
Bruce could keep up a sulk for days when he wished to and she’d discovered over the years that the only way to deal with it was to ignore it until he got bored. It was a very unattractive trait and as a consequence, she’d come down hard on both Courtney and Sunny if they ever veered near such behaviour. Sunny, however, wasn’t the type to and Courtney couldn’t keep quiet for long enough to sulk.
‘Maybe he’s under pressure here.’ Les tapped her temple with one of her Wolverine-length fingernails.
‘He says business isn’t what it used to be and—’
‘There you go then,’ cut in Les. ‘If a man’s got anything on his mind, it makes its way instantly to his genitals. Unless you’re Morton, because even that would have the tendency to fire him up. Give him some stress and you might as well have doused him in powered rhinoceros horn.’
‘Won’t you miss the sex?’ asked Shay, which was a fair question.
‘Haven’t you heard of Rampant Rabbits?’ Les replied.
Outside the bistro Shay said, ‘Please let’s not leave it so long until the next time.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Lesley, ‘but bear in mind I have a lot on at the moment.’
‘Of course,’ said Shay, looking around for her little Toyota. ‘Where are you parked?’
‘Over there,’ said Les, pointing to a red sports car.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Shay. ‘That’s gorgeous.’
‘It’s only on hire, I got rid of the Aygo. Knowing Morton, he’d be driving around looking for it. I’ve had to more or less go into witness protection to avoid him.’ She looked at the car and gave a sigh, as if it were Justin Timberlake. ‘I have to say, it’s a fabulous drive so I just might buy myself one when my divorce settlement comes through.’ Les rubbed her hands together gleefully. ‘Maybe I should go for half the farmhouse because it’ll be worth a small fortune.’
The farmhouse had been in Morton’s family for generations. He’d been born and raised in it and renovated and changed it over the years to Lesley’s exacting standards but it was still much more his nest than hers. Making Morton sell it would be the equivalent of castrating him.
‘I think it’s incredibly generous of you to tell him that you won’t force him to sell up,’ said Shay. It was actually, as Les to money was like a magpie to shiny things.
‘Only if he plays ball, I said,’ replied Les. ‘That should tell you how much I want out and how fast.’ She pointed her zapper at her car door with a perky gesture that indicated she was very much enjoying her little illusionary taste of the high life.
‘Oh Les, it’s been so lovely to see you and you know where I am if you need an ear, or anything else,’ said Shay.
‘Course I do. Take care, you.’ They embraced but there was none of Les’s customary squash, just a stiff, brief forward tip from her and an air kiss at the side of Shay’s ear.She doesn’t even say goodbye the same, Shay thought.
Chapter 10
If Dante didn’t have a council planning and building regs department and a Party Wall Act of 1996 in his inferno, it couldn’t have been proper hell. Over the next few days, Shay lived in a nightmare world of trying to cut through jargon and not lose her rag with people whose standard mantra seemed to be, ‘We do not get involved in party wall disputes. This is a civil matter. Shall I send you a link to the Party Wall Act of 1996?’ It was less legislation than it was a maze intended to send one insane for its author’s pleasure. Meanwhile the building work carried on and Roberta got more and more upset with every brick that was cemented in.
The internet advised finding a solicitor who specialised in such disputes. She rang one, who told her she needed a surveyor. She rang a surveyor who told her she needed a solicitor. Shay got a first-hand insight how tennis balls at Wimbledon must feel. Eventually she found a legal expert willing to give her a free half-hour’s consultation. He scared the bejaysus out of her, using words such as:barrister, injunctions, court, four thousand pounds up-front feeto start offwith. And for that he couldn’t guarantee any success. This was not going to be as easy to battle as she’d thought. She was learning fast how unconcerned the law could be about people’s moral rights as well as their legal ones.
Shay had just got home from her mum’s on the Friday night and poured herself a large shiver-cold white wine, when her mobile rang with an assigned ringtone she hadn’t heard in too long.
‘Hello, you,’ she said, trying to strip her voice of the tidal wave of relief she felt at hearing from her boy.
‘Hi Mum. Look, before you say anything, I’m so sorry I missed your anniversary.’
‘It’s fine, really, love, I’m just glad to hear from you.’ She felt stupidly like crying, not helped by the knackering week she’d had. She took a deep breath because she was in danger of pouring herself down the phone to her son. ‘Everything okay with you?’
‘Yep. Nothing to report.’
‘How are the wedding plans going?’
