time. I'm sure I felt a tiny kick.
Maybe we're having a little footballer. Ring me back and
I'll tell you all about it.'
Number six was the crowning glory: 'Tel, it's me again,
ring me as soon as you get my messages. I hope you won't
be angry, but I've invited my brother Simon and his girlfriend
Elaine to come and stay in the new house when we
move in. I hope you don't mind, but I've asked Simon to
be godfather. We'll have two godparents and you can pick
the other one. Hurry up and ring me back, Tel, love you.'
Hazel sat in shock with her mouth wide open.
'What is it, Hazel? Tell me,' Chelle said impatiently.
Hazel handed Chelle the phone. 'I think you should listen
for yourself, mate, listen to messages four, five and six.'
Michelle snatched the phone and did as Hazel said.
The shock was horrendous and she felt her legs buckle
beneath her. Grabbing on to the kitchen units for support,
she vomited into the sink. Splashing her face with cold
water, Chelle sat down at the kitchen table and burst into
floods of tears. Hazel sat next to her and cuddled her.
She felt terribly guilty and wished she hadn't encouraged
her to go through the bastard messages in the first place.
Hazel couldn't begin to imagine just how bad her friend
must be feeling. She'd been distraught when her husband
Stan had died. The thought of him dying alone in his
prison cell was bad enough, but to have your old man
snuff it and find out what Chelle had just found out had
to be the ultimate betrayal.
Hazel opened up a bottle of whisky and poured two
large neat ones. 'Drink that, Chelle. It'll do you good.
It'll help with the shock.'
'I can't drink it, Hazel. I don't even like bloody whisky.'
'Trust me, drink it. Just hold your nose and down it
in one.'
Michelle was like a zombie and did as she was told.
Three glasses later, she felt her body return to normal. It
was then that the hatred began to surface. 'The lying,
cheating, no-good cunt. I ain't going to his fucking funeral.
I hope he rots in hell and as for that slag of a secretary,
I'm gonna fucking kill her and the bastard child she's
carrying.'
Hazel looked at her friend, eyes brimming with
sympathy. 'Look, Chelle, I know you're upset and you've
every right to be, but don't do anything irrational. Sit and
think about it, use your loaf. You'll have to go to the
funeral, he was your old man. How's it gonna look if you
don't go? You don't want nobody finding out the truth,
do you? Let's just keep this between us, eh?'
'I can't face the funeral, Hazel. I hate the fucking
bastard and if that slut of his turns up, which she's bound
to, I'm telling you now, I'll fucking kill her. As God's my
judge, I swear I'll rip her fucking head off.'
Hazel racked her brains, wondering how to handle the
situation. Chelle was right. Jade was not only his lover
but his secretary as well and she was bound to show her
face at the funeral. 'You leave Jade to me, Chelle. Do
you know where she lives?'
'No, all I know is that she lives in Romford somewhere.
I've got a feeling it's near the station,' Chelle replied
dejectedly.
'Listen, Chelle. You'll get through this, trust me. Davey
Mullins must know where she lives, he was always with
Terry. He can tell Jade that she's not welcome at the
funeral, but you have got to attend. People will talk otherwise
and all the gossip-mongers will know your business.
Just have a good drink, try and plaster a smile on your
face and pretend to grieve for the no-good bastard. Trust
me, it'll be for the best.'
Chelle looked at her pal's concerned expression and
felt thankful she had such a good friend. Most people
would probably laugh at her misfortune but not Hazel,
she was genuine. 'All right, I'll do as you say, but I need
to make sure that slut doesn't turn up and I need you to
stay by my side all day.'
'Of course I will, mate.'
Chelle rambled on for the next two hours about the
evening's events and what she was going to do about
them. Hazel was pissed and passed out. Chelle tried
Maybe we're having a little footballer. Ring me back and
I'll tell you all about it.'
Number six was the crowning glory: 'Tel, it's me again,
ring me as soon as you get my messages. I hope you won't
be angry, but I've invited my brother Simon and his girlfriend
Elaine to come and stay in the new house when we
move in. I hope you don't mind, but I've asked Simon to
be godfather. We'll have two godparents and you can pick
the other one. Hurry up and ring me back, Tel, love you.'
Hazel sat in shock with her mouth wide open.
'What is it, Hazel? Tell me,' Chelle said impatiently.
Hazel handed Chelle the phone. 'I think you should listen
for yourself, mate, listen to messages four, five and six.'
Michelle snatched the phone and did as Hazel said.
The shock was horrendous and she felt her legs buckle
beneath her. Grabbing on to the kitchen units for support,
she vomited into the sink. Splashing her face with cold
water, Chelle sat down at the kitchen table and burst into
floods of tears. Hazel sat next to her and cuddled her.
She felt terribly guilty and wished she hadn't encouraged
her to go through the bastard messages in the first place.
Hazel couldn't begin to imagine just how bad her friend
must be feeling. She'd been distraught when her husband
Stan had died. The thought of him dying alone in his
prison cell was bad enough, but to have your old man
snuff it and find out what Chelle had just found out had
to be the ultimate betrayal.
Hazel opened up a bottle of whisky and poured two
large neat ones. 'Drink that, Chelle. It'll do you good.
It'll help with the shock.'
'I can't drink it, Hazel. I don't even like bloody whisky.'
'Trust me, drink it. Just hold your nose and down it
in one.'
Michelle was like a zombie and did as she was told.
Three glasses later, she felt her body return to normal. It
was then that the hatred began to surface. 'The lying,
cheating, no-good cunt. I ain't going to his fucking funeral.
I hope he rots in hell and as for that slag of a secretary,
I'm gonna fucking kill her and the bastard child she's
carrying.'
Hazel looked at her friend, eyes brimming with
sympathy. 'Look, Chelle, I know you're upset and you've
every right to be, but don't do anything irrational. Sit and
think about it, use your loaf. You'll have to go to the
funeral, he was your old man. How's it gonna look if you
don't go? You don't want nobody finding out the truth,
do you? Let's just keep this between us, eh?'
'I can't face the funeral, Hazel. I hate the fucking
bastard and if that slut of his turns up, which she's bound
to, I'm telling you now, I'll fucking kill her. As God's my
judge, I swear I'll rip her fucking head off.'
Hazel racked her brains, wondering how to handle the
situation. Chelle was right. Jade was not only his lover
but his secretary as well and she was bound to show her
face at the funeral. 'You leave Jade to me, Chelle. Do
you know where she lives?'
'No, all I know is that she lives in Romford somewhere.
I've got a feeling it's near the station,' Chelle replied
dejectedly.
'Listen, Chelle. You'll get through this, trust me. Davey
Mullins must know where she lives, he was always with
Terry. He can tell Jade that she's not welcome at the
funeral, but you have got to attend. People will talk otherwise
and all the gossip-mongers will know your business.
Just have a good drink, try and plaster a smile on your
face and pretend to grieve for the no-good bastard. Trust
me, it'll be for the best.'
Chelle looked at her pal's concerned expression and
felt thankful she had such a good friend. Most people
would probably laugh at her misfortune but not Hazel,
she was genuine. 'All right, I'll do as you say, but I need
to make sure that slut doesn't turn up and I need you to
stay by my side all day.'
'Of course I will, mate.'
Chelle rambled on for the next two hours about the
evening's events and what she was going to do about
them. Hazel was pissed and passed out. Chelle tried
Similar Books
