We’ll cut straight to the chase today. Don’t want to delay as Shardonnay has her loyal fans and addicts what are waiting for her. The only news is: do you think there is a slight hint of Spring in the air? And have you noticed it’s still not dark at five o’clock? Maybe (sing it!) the dark days are over? Fuckin hope so. Winter is a killer.
Chapter 11. He should never of done that though should he?
The reason I got so pissed off with Matt in the first place were he lied to me. Those first few months we was together he told me many times that he’d deleted ol Clarissa, his ex, from his phone. Yeah, you wouldn’t like her, she’s a real toff, teaches at the university, if you please. Now don’t get me wrong, I ain’t got nothin against her type, but lord they just don’t seem to get it, do they? It’s as if they is litrally livin on a whole different planet from us mortals. All la-di-da and hoity-toity she were ol Clarissa. I had a quick look though his phone when he were out mowing the lawn, and there were her name, Clarissa, plain as day. I looked at his conversation with her and it were, shall we say, ongoin. With texts like, ‘Alright, have a great day,’ and ‘Life’s just not the same without you.’ I mean, cheeky bloody bastard. There were even a bitchy comment about me! ‘Gotta go otherwise I’ll get grief!’ Ha, makes me mad! He thinks he can do that to me, he’s litrally got another think coming.
That were roundabout the time that my neighbour Pat, the only one what had been at all friendly really since we moved to Church Langley, bumped into me in Tescos. ‘Hey, Shardonnay,’ she had whispered shiftily. ‘Do you fancy earnin a bit on the side?’
When she told me what it was I’d been expecting worse! I thought she meant like high class escort service type stuff. Now that woulda been hard work. This in comparison seemed a bit of a doddle.
And it were so well paid. I mean, for litrally three minutes (sometimes two! Ha! Honestly I got it down to a fine art!) of mouth work, you’re getting a hundred and fifty quid. Well, hello! What’s not to like?
Debs though, me mate, one day come out with this: ‘Shardonnay, do you realise how many sperms is in just one mouthful?’
I shook me head. ‘Not a bleedin clue, Debs,’ I admitted with one of me bigger cackles. ‘How many?’
‘Millions,’ she said solemnly. ‘Millions and millions.’ She sucked on her fag.
I were a bit shocked. ‘Really, Debs? What? Millions? Can that be right?’
‘Yeah, Shardie. I think you is being diddled. For them millions you should even be paid even more ‘n what you is gettin.’
I were still sayin ‘Millions? In every little gob-load? That can’t be right.’ I mean, I knew they was fizzy, the little buggers, but not that fizzy! I lit a fag meself, to calm me down.
‘You don’t want to undervaluate the work what you is doin, Shardie,’ she went on. ‘You is doin a good job. You is providin a service for poor ladies what find it hard to get a man.’
‘Yeah. I am that.’ I got all teary after she said that. I felt proud, and like a really good person, like I were helping all them ladies get their dream baby. And whenever I did worry about it, like about Matt not knowing, I would say to meself, ‘yeah, Shardie, but he should never of done that, should he now?’ And then I would answer meself too, and I would answer, ‘No, he effin well should not of done that. End of. Ta very much. Bob’s yer uncle. Whatever.’
Chapter 12. Another Consequence.
One day, it were sunny, I remember, so it must of been summertime, I saw a massive orange truck draw up on the road outside me house. It had a skip on the back. I hadn’t ordered no skip, so I wondered what were goin on and opened the door. There were an enormous ugly chap, probably in his mid-thirties, who came round the cab, opened the passenger door and like yanked out this poor skinny kid what were only about three or four. He kept him grabbed by the shoulder in a strong, painful grip. The man had thick coarse curly black hair and massive stained teeth. His nose were bulgy and misshapen. His skin were red and unhealthy-lookin. He spoke in a kind of raspy whisper. ‘I come for a bloke named Matthew. Is ‘e ‘ere?’
‘Erm, no,’ I said with a swift look over me shoulder to check Matt were not around. ‘He’s not often here….working abroad, I’m afraid.’
The man stared me out with his own dark brown eyes.. ‘People….’ he rasped, with some difficulty, ‘people….keep saying that my ‘son’ here looks very very like this Matthew chap, resembles him more than he does me. I just wanted to see it for meself.’ He craned his neck to look over me shoulder into the house.
I looked at the tot. He seemed to have difficulty raising his head. He were silent, just staring at the ground. His dad grabbed him by the chin and held his face up to the sun.
‘Hmm,’ I said, looking past the dirty smears at the boy’s cheekbones, the deep blue of his eyes, that top lip, that sharp chin. The absolute spittin image of me husband TBH. ‘Nah, you got nothing to worry about, mate. This lad ain’t nothing like our Matt. This lad’s gorgeous, aincha mate? Our Matt though, bless im, ooh no, he is so not a looker! Poor man, not a looker at all!’
I coulda gone on and tried to convince the chap that the boy looked like himself, but that woulda been a lie.
The man let go of the boy’s chin. The kid immediately hunched right back over, and stuck his dirty thumb in his mouth. He looked right royally pissed off actually, well, would you blame him? The man reluctantly shoved the boy back in the truck, turning his head to look at me balefully. Ooh, it give me the shivers all over, that look did. I did wonder just for a minute if the sadness in that lad’s eyes could maybe be one of them consequence thingies of what I done. I hoped not. I banished his eyes from me mind and went down town to get me acrylics done, cheer me up.