and
he’s stormed off to go fishing, so I’m trying to calm her down—’
‘I don’t think I can do this any longer.’
Sara paused mid-sentence, flicking her shoulder so that her lacquered hair dropped behind it. ‘The beer? If you want some wine, we can call him back. The red’s good.’
‘I mean us. I’m sorry, it’s not you, I just don’t think things are working out.’
Sara stared at him, eyes widening until the red veins started to show. She took a sip of the wine and then placed the glass back on the table very delicately.
‘You’re dumping me?’
‘Well, no . . . not like that, I just think—’
‘
You’re
dumping
me
?’
‘Well—’
‘Seriously?’
‘I’d prefer it if—’
‘You’re lucky I’m still with you. All my friends say they don’t know what I’m doing but I defend you. I say, “No, he’s not just a stuck-up dickface with
a nice apartment”.’
Dickface?
‘I say, “Honestly, he’s really thoughtful and always remembers the important things, like my birthday and so on”.’
‘I’m not trying to—’
‘And even though you always complain about meeting my friends and you don’t like coming to the places I like; even though you didn’t come to Leanne’s wedding because you
were “working”’ – more bloody bunny ears – ‘even though you hired that young piece of skirt to perv over—’
‘That’s not why I hired her.’
‘You keep telling yourself that. Of all the people you could have hired, it just happens to be some pretty young girl with pointy tits and—’
‘Please don’t talk about her like that.’
Andrew wondered whether it was his own calm tone or the fact that he’d defended Jenny that finally tipped Sara over the edge. Likely a bit of both. She stood, leaning over the table,
Wonderbra-enhanced cleavage swinging freely as she wafted a talon-like nail in Andrew’s direction, her voice so loud that the hen party had fallen silent. Andrew risked a quick peep around
Sara’s breasts to see the women staring in his direction on the edges of their stools, ready for the night’s entertainment.
‘Oh, I get it. It’s about
her
, isn’t it?’
‘Jenny?’
‘Keira.’
Andrew sighed. Of course it was. Who else was it going to be about?
Sara was in full flow. ‘You do know you broke up with her eight years ago? Eight sodding years?!’
‘I know.’
‘So how are you still hung up on her? It’s been eight years! Be an adult and grow up.’
Sara hoiked her bag up from the floor, turning towards the exit and then spinning back as if she’d forgotten something. In a flash, she had the wine glass in her hand, lunging forward and
tipping the contents over Andrew’s head. The liquid sloshed through his hair, dripping over his nose and running across his eyes. He gasped in surprise, trying not to blink in any of the
vinegary concoction. Even the wine was shite in this place.
‘You’re not dumping me, because I’m dumping you,’ Sara said, almost calmly. ‘Have a nice life.’
With an elaborate swish and a rousing cheer from the hen party, she strutted her way towards the exit, dignity as intact as it was going to get. Andrew used the napkin to mop as much of the wine
away from his face as he could just as the waiter emerged from the kitchen, bounding towards the table with two plates in his hand.
‘I’ve got mussels and garlic bread . . .’
THURSDAY
13
Andrew drove up and down the road in his rented car, trying to find a parking space where the charge wasn’t more than the car’s daily hire rate. Sodding central
Manchester and those NCP bandits. He eventually found a spot on the edge of a housing estate out towards Longsight and then walked back along Oxford Road until he was surrounded by university
buildings and student types. Being before ten in the morning, there weren’t many out; he guessed this area didn’t warm up until they got out of bed some time around two-ish. Well, that
was what it had
he’s stormed off to go fishing, so I’m trying to calm her down—’
‘I don’t think I can do this any longer.’
Sara paused mid-sentence, flicking her shoulder so that her lacquered hair dropped behind it. ‘The beer? If you want some wine, we can call him back. The red’s good.’
‘I mean us. I’m sorry, it’s not you, I just don’t think things are working out.’
Sara stared at him, eyes widening until the red veins started to show. She took a sip of the wine and then placed the glass back on the table very delicately.
‘You’re dumping me?’
‘Well, no . . . not like that, I just think—’
‘
You’re
dumping
me
?’
‘Well—’
‘Seriously?’
‘I’d prefer it if—’
‘You’re lucky I’m still with you. All my friends say they don’t know what I’m doing but I defend you. I say, “No, he’s not just a stuck-up dickface with
a nice apartment”.’
Dickface?
‘I say, “Honestly, he’s really thoughtful and always remembers the important things, like my birthday and so on”.’
‘I’m not trying to—’
‘And even though you always complain about meeting my friends and you don’t like coming to the places I like; even though you didn’t come to Leanne’s wedding because you
were “working”’ – more bloody bunny ears – ‘even though you hired that young piece of skirt to perv over—’
‘That’s not why I hired her.’
‘You keep telling yourself that. Of all the people you could have hired, it just happens to be some pretty young girl with pointy tits and—’
‘Please don’t talk about her like that.’
Andrew wondered whether it was his own calm tone or the fact that he’d defended Jenny that finally tipped Sara over the edge. Likely a bit of both. She stood, leaning over the table,
Wonderbra-enhanced cleavage swinging freely as she wafted a talon-like nail in Andrew’s direction, her voice so loud that the hen party had fallen silent. Andrew risked a quick peep around
Sara’s breasts to see the women staring in his direction on the edges of their stools, ready for the night’s entertainment.
‘Oh, I get it. It’s about
her
, isn’t it?’
‘Jenny?’
‘Keira.’
Andrew sighed. Of course it was. Who else was it going to be about?
Sara was in full flow. ‘You do know you broke up with her eight years ago? Eight sodding years?!’
‘I know.’
‘So how are you still hung up on her? It’s been eight years! Be an adult and grow up.’
Sara hoiked her bag up from the floor, turning towards the exit and then spinning back as if she’d forgotten something. In a flash, she had the wine glass in her hand, lunging forward and
tipping the contents over Andrew’s head. The liquid sloshed through his hair, dripping over his nose and running across his eyes. He gasped in surprise, trying not to blink in any of the
vinegary concoction. Even the wine was shite in this place.
‘You’re not dumping me, because I’m dumping you,’ Sara said, almost calmly. ‘Have a nice life.’
With an elaborate swish and a rousing cheer from the hen party, she strutted her way towards the exit, dignity as intact as it was going to get. Andrew used the napkin to mop as much of the wine
away from his face as he could just as the waiter emerged from the kitchen, bounding towards the table with two plates in his hand.
‘I’ve got mussels and garlic bread . . .’
THURSDAY
13
Andrew drove up and down the road in his rented car, trying to find a parking space where the charge wasn’t more than the car’s daily hire rate. Sodding central
Manchester and those NCP bandits. He eventually found a spot on the edge of a housing estate out towards Longsight and then walked back along Oxford Road until he was surrounded by university
buildings and student types. Being before ten in the morning, there weren’t many out; he guessed this area didn’t warm up until they got out of bed some time around two-ish. Well, that
was what it had
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