The Honey Trap by Lana Citron Page A

hands, of biblical proportions. She was in a right old state.’
    ‘So you sorted her out, did you?’
    ‘Course I did, Betty.’
    ‘Being neighbourly, were you?’
    ‘Course I was, Betty.’
    Poor Betty – for the seeds sown had taken hold, and were destroying all the good in her. Racked by such destructive feelings and encouraged by her confidante Vera, she arranged through the
Honey Trap to test her husband’s faithfulness. Vera suggested to her husband Phil that he ask Ron out for a few bevvies with the boys and a trip to the dogs.
    To the dogs indeed.
    Ron, having no interest whatsoever in greyhound racing, reluctantly agreed to go.
    Vera and Betty would follow on incognito.
HELL HATH NO FURY
    She was a woman scorned and I her target.
    Poor Ron, I’d cornered him, claiming I was a niece of an old friend of Phil’s. It was a set-up – what more can I say? Out of politeness Ron did listen to me prattle on till
Betty, flushed with rage, came screaming through the crowd, swearing and spitting, pushing Ron this way and that, and then smacked me in the face with a closed fist.
WHOA, BLACK BETTY, NAH NAH NAH.
    ‘I’m going to kill her,’ I blubbered.
    Maria was wrapping ice cubes in a tea towel, ready to apply to my left eye, which was now all the colours of the rainbow.
    I’d stood in complete shock as Betty’s hand, in slow motion, inched its way directly towards my face, her fat pudgy fingers adorned with rings. Her mouth open wide, swear words
cascading forth. Vera, at her side, arms folded defiantly, egging her on.
    Ron, saintly soul that he was, had gasped, ‘No, Betty, don’t!’ and he having just told me what a wonderful woman his wife was.
    Came to a total standstill, as if I’d fled my own skin and spirit scarpered. Next thing I knew, I’d been bundled into a cab and was on my way home.
    ‘He was meant to be Nadia’s dick,’ I wailed.
    ‘You’ll be fine,’ Maria cooed, doing her best to calm me down.
    The shock was subsiding and the realisation rising of how very vulnerable I was. If anything should happen to me, who would look after Max? Thoughts from the back of my mind rushed forth. I
should write a will, insure myself against a worst-case scenario.
    ‘Maria, I don’t get it – everything is going wrong.’
    ‘You’ll be fine, stop worrying. It’s not as bad as it looks.’
    What the hell was that supposed to mean?
    It really couldn’t look any worse.
    Maria dabbed my eye and I noticed something different about her.
    ‘Maria, are you wearing lipstick?’
    ‘It’s quite nice, no?’
FREAK ON FREAK
    Two freaks on a windy morning.
    FREAK ONE : What the hell happened?
    FREAK TWO : What does it look like? (
Pause, then deadpan
) I got into a fight.
    FREAK ONE : Did you win?
    FREAK TWO : No.
    FREAK ONE : Better luck next time.
    FREAK TWO : Thanks. How did your brain-haemorrhage operation go?
    FREAK ONE : What brain-haemorrhage operation?
    FREAK TWO : The one you were in hospital for. (
God bless, but he must have lost a portion of his cranial matter.
)
    FREAK ONE : You thought I had a –
    FREAK TWO : Yeah, all those migraines you were having.
    FREAK ONE : No, I fell, knocked myself out. I was changing a bulb, got an electric shock, lost my footing on the ladder and was flung six feet downwards.
     I cracked my skull.
    FREAK TWO : That’s a relief, I thought you’d nearly died.
    FREAK ONE : I did nearly die.
    ( FREAK ONE rubs his bandaged head while FREAK TWO deftly touches her swollen bruised shiner of a black eye.
    FREAK TWO pushes her key into her door latch.)
    FREAK TWO : Well . . . take care.
    FREAK ONE : Yeah . . . you too.
MY PROTECTOR
    ‘What happened, Mummy?’ Max asked, prodding the swollen skin. ‘You look horrible.’
    ‘It was an accident. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
    ‘Who did it, Mum? Tell me, I won’t be angry.’
    This is exactly what I said when he came back from nursery with a scratched face and pinch-sized bruises on his arm.
    ‘A woman