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Shay wished she hadn’t brought up the subject of a life in the sun. It was all becoming a bit bogged down in reality, more of a nightmare than a dream. They ate in silence for a few minutes, Shay trying not to be cross, trying not to think horrible thoughts about death and medical states of limbo. She didn’t want this evening spoiled, tried to get it back on track, forced some jollity into her voice as she speared the last piece of lobster.
‘I suppose the next occasion for dressing up in our best bib and tucker will be Sunny and Karoline’s big day in September,’ she said.
‘I can’t wait to be related to that lot,’ replied Bruce with a grumble, launching into an impression of Karoline’s mother with her affected accent. ‘We h-absolutely h-insist on paying for h-everything because we h-are loaded and like to lord it over h-everyone.’
Shay grinned. ‘Very good,’ she said.
‘It would have been more realistic if I’d got a few more chins.’ He shuddered at the thought of Karoline’s mother, Angela Stannop. ‘That’s what Sunny’s got to look forward to, because Karoline will turn out exactly like her mother in a few years and Sunny will end up like Simon, squashed underfoot. What a pathetic little man. I bet he has to ask his wife’s permission before going for a waz.’
Shay was just about to protest that not all patterns repeated themselves, but her own marriage and that of her parents had too many similarities to discount. A thought best not dwelled on today.
When the waiter brought their mains, Bruce asked for another bottle of wine. He was knocking it back a bit, thought Shay, who was just at the bottom of her first glass.
‘We should go out with Les and Morton somewhere for a meal. I don’t mind being designated driver,’ said Shay.
‘God, do we have to?’ Bruce rolled his eyes. ‘He’s a pain in the backside.’
‘It would give me a chance to see Les, because I haven’t seen her for yonks. She’s been really busy at work,’ said Shay. ‘The last time we spoke, she said she had a new boss who was cracking the whip. She’s had to do a lot of unpaid overtime.’
‘More fool her then,’ mumbled Bruce.
‘It’s what you have to do in some places. I know because, if you remember, once upon a time I had aproper jobwhere you were expected to earn your salary by working far more than the hours you were contracted to do without overtime pay.’
‘Anyone who does that needs their head looking at,’ said Bruce, cutting slices of steak from around the more well-done edge. ‘That’s why I like being my own boss. The only person I’m a slave to is myself.’
‘Do you remember when I was getting in at all hours and hardly saw the kids? I would never have got a parking space had I set off for Leeds later than six in the morning and there was no point setting off home before six in the evening or I’d have been stuck in traffic.’ Looking back, she’d no idea how she’d managed it.
‘All for a shit wage, too,’ said Bruce, with a shake of his head.
‘It wasn’t exactly a shit wage, Bruce. I was paid quite well.’
Very well, as it happens. She’d enjoyed the admin job andended up being drafted to becoming PA for Colin Parks-Davis, the chief exec, not that she’d sought the promotion; her quiet diligence and pleasant personality had done all the work for her. Then the firm upped sticks from Sheffield to Leeds and she’d had to move with them. They were two years she wouldn’t have wanted to repeat, hardly seeing the children, getting in at stupid o’clock – thank God her mum and dad had been on hand to help. She’d either been working, travelling or knackered and something had to give. She had her letter of resignation in her pocket when Colin summoned her to his office. He was leaving the company, he said, starting up his own from his home in Lincoln. Would she consider working for him remotely: managing his diary, organising travel, compiling expenses and whatever else he might need? It was the perfect solution. She charged him by the hour for her services and earned a reduced, but not bad, wage without the nuisance of commuting. She could do the job and work around the household, shop, clean and tend to everyone’s needs as they arose, including having a hot meal on the table for her husband when he came home every night. She knew that Bruce would say that what he did was a proper job and what she did was a few part-time bits in between washing things. He was basically right, but it felt so much more.
‘So… a night out with Lesley and Morton then,’ said Shay, herding the conversation back to them.
Bruce lowered his head, shook it slowly from side to side.
‘Put me off my dinner, why don’t you?’
‘He’s not that bad. He’s quite funny when he’s on form.’
‘I really don’t want to, Shay. Not after the last time.’
He read the blank expression on her face. ‘The Taj Mahal,’ he reminded her. ‘When he got plastered on Cobras.’
Shay nodded, cringing. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’
‘How could you? It’s seared on my brain. Forever. Mort telling his “famous fart jokes” in his loud voice. And let’s not talk about him going off to the loo and coming back with soaking wet trousers because his flies had got stuck and he “couldn’t stop the flow happening”.’ Bruce’s shoulders juddered with revulsion.
Lesley had been mortified. She’d spent the whole taxi journey home railing at him, telling him she really was divorcing him this time.
Shay hooted, without meaning to and covered up her mouth after Bruce gave her a disapproving look. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I don’t know why I’m laughing, because it’s not really funny. It’s just that I’ve always had a soft spot for Morton. There’s no harm in him at all and he adores Les. If they ever did break up, it would be so hard on him.’
She knew there was little chance of it. Les would have done it years ago if she were serious. And they still had a lot of glue holding them together in their marriage. Lesley was very open about what sort of glue it was too.
She raised her head and found Bruce staring at her with such emotional intensity that she gave a little embarrassed laugh.
‘What’s up?’ she asked him.
