The Fat And The Thin Of It Page 22

wanted to see Richard, I took her because he was, after all, in a position to tell her the truth.

  I hadn’t expected her to completely lose it, though.

  When we got to Richard’s office, she jumped out of the car before it had stopped rolling and rushed in like an American football player and yelling like a banshee. While I was parking the car I heard an almighty crash, and by the time I got to the office I found Jackie sitting on Richard’s chest.

  Now, Richard’s not a small man. He was probably about five ten and weighed approximately fourteen stone, but Jackie, after the equivalent of a recycling bin’s contents of carbs, was by far the superior. Richard was being flattened like an inflatable doll with a leak and I panicked. Pete had rushed out of the estate agent’s like his trousers were on fire and left Richard to his fate, so I ran at Jackie and managed to topple her. I nearly dislocated my shoulder in the process, but she did not need Richard to accuse her of attempted murder.

  When Richard told Jackie about Lola, though, it left me just as gob smacked as her. Yes, he’d hinted to me in the past that Bob was a two-timing slime-ball, but I’d never have thought, in a month of Sundays, that Bob would leave Jackie, especially not because this Lola had threatened to snitch on him. It was too petty an excuse and I wasn’t buying it, and I got Richard in the back kitchen.

  “Right, Richard; what’s Bob up to?” I asked in a harsh whisper.

  He didn’t answer and busied himself with making coffee. I took the coffee tin out of his hand and insisted in a harsher whisper. “I’m not Jackie, Richard! I know people who could start investigating in yours and Bob’s office in Spain and don’t think I’m bluffing. I will not sit back and see Jackie left on the sidelines like this!”

  He faced me with a scowl. “Jill, leave well enough alone!”

  “‘Well enough alone’?” What’s so ‘well’ about what Bob’s done? He’s living the life of Riley in bloody Ibiza with this Lola and his wife is trying to work out how to make six hundred grand last her for the rest of her bloody life!” he wasn’t listening. “Richard!” I tugged his arm.

  Richard shook off my arm. “Jackie will be fine! Do you really think Bob would leave her and the kids and not look back?” the kettle had boiled and he poured the water over the coffee granules. “He’ll send more money over when he gets it, don’t worry.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! Richard was talking as if it was the most natural thing in the world to have contraband cash floating about for Jackie to spend willy-nilly!

  “Listen, dork,” I grabbed his arm again. It was so hard to whisper. “What if this cash is traced back to Jackie? What if she gets hauled into prison for spending money that comes in by fraudulent means? Haven’t you and your brilliant brother thought of that?”

  Richard slammed down the kettle and turned to me. “Yes! I have thought about that, but my fucking brilliant brother hasn’t!” he rubbed his forehead. “Oh, bloody hell, Jill! This has got so complicated, you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Try me.” I challenged.

  He stood and thought for a moment, then began, “It seems Lola is the daughter of a man Bob has been doing business with.”

  “Simple so far.” I said. “Is this Lola pregnant?” he nodded. “Okay, so that seems to mean that he’s obliging Bob to do the honourable thing, am I right?” he nodded again.

  I remained neutral on the outside, but inside I was churning this information around. ‘A man Bob’s been doing business with’ brought to my mind the image of a sleaze-ball wearing a white suit and spats toting a machine gun. He more than likely had Bob over a barrel because he’d been on the take alongside him, and Bob had been stupid enough to get inside his beloved daughter’s knickers. They might have come to an agreement to keep looking after Jackie, as long as Bob stayed with the daughter and was a father to their child; probably for the honour of the daughter? Was it still looked upon as shameful to be an unmarried mother in Spain? Perhaps Bob was saving his knee-caps from being nailed to the floor? Oh, lord! Was he saving Jackie’s knee-caps?

  Nah; he wasn’t that honourable, the squirt.

  I waited for Richard to say something else, but I got the impression he was reading my mind.

  “Bob will make sure Jackie and the kids are taken care of,” he said. He was looking intently at me. “If he doesn’t, I will make sure he suffers the consequences.”

  That sounded good enough for me; for the time being.

  “Let’s get this coffee to Jackie.” He picked up two mugs and let me pick up the third, and we walked back to the office.

  “I don’t know if coffee is exactly what Jackie needs right now,” I said. “I think she’d be better with a large scotch.”

  He snickered, then stopped dead in his tracks and said, “Where is she?”

  I looked towards the chair we’d left her in and, sure enough, it was empty.

  “Oh, holy shit; she’s legged it somewhere.” I muttered.

  The Crux of It

  Jackie got home with the douche and had just about started the first flush-out before the doorbell rang.

  “Ma-a-ark!” she yelled. “Could you open the door, please?” she had her backside hanging over the side of the bath, and the menthol liquid she’d sloshed up her fanny felt strangely minty-cool-but-warm as it dribbled out.

  Mark didn’t answer. She had her knickers round her ankles and she was still dribbling. Grabbing a hand towel and shoving it between her thighs, she hobbled to the bathroom door and listened. There was no music blasting, so she presumed he wasn’t in, or was shagging ‘like Teesha’ again. The doorbell rang again with more persistence, so she hobbled to the top of the stairs. “Just a minute!” she shouted and struggled with her knickers.

  Jill was standing at the door with a rather angry look on her face when she opened it. “Why did you do that?” she asked.

  “Do what?” Jackie stepped aside for her to enter.

  “Run off like that! Richard’s driving around the centre of town looking for you in case you weren’t here.” Jill spied Jackie’s mobile on the hall table. She found Richard’s number, punched it and after a few moments simply said, “She’s here… okay; bye.” She clicked the phone shut and glared at Jackie. “How are you feeling?” she asked her gruffly.

  Jackie tried to scratch her herself without Jill noticing. Perhaps she should have added more water with that menthol solution, but she’d felt so creeped out and yucky that she wanted to give herself a good, strong dose up there and flush Bob and Lola out of her fanny as efficiently as possible.

  “Fine.” She muttered, and threw the soggy towel over the banister. Keeping her knees as close together as possible she waddled to the kitchen, which allowed her ample thighs to rub together and ease her itchy fanny. “Do you fancy a cup of tea?”

  “Okay.” Jill followed her into the kitchen.

  While Jackie stood waiting for the kettle to boil she bounced on one hip. Her fanny was really burning now and her thighs weren’t quite strong enough to ease it.

  “Are you sure you’re alright?” Jill probed. “You look uncomfortable.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Why don’t you go into the conservatory and have a fag while I make the tea?” Jackie waited for Jill to disappear then she rushed up to the bathroom.

  She filled the douche with clean, warm water, raked her skirt and knickers off, climbed into the bath and squirted it up herself. It calmed the burn a little bit, but she needed to repeat the process.

  “Jackie, where are you?” she heard Jill shout from downstairs.

  ‘Oh, why can’t she just leave me alone for a bit?’ she fumed, and leaned over to open the bathroom door. “I’m on the loo, for goodness’ sake! I promise not to slit my wrists, okay? Just give me a minute!” and she slammed the door shut again.

  “Okay!” Jill shouted back, and went to the kitchen to finish making the tea. She’d taken her cigarette in with her, so she opened the window and left it lying on the sill.

  While she waited for
the kettle to re-boil, Jill opened the fridge to see what was in there. Absolutely nothing, which she thought was a bit strange. She’d expected to find it filled to the brim with all sorts of high-carbs rubbish, which it usually was when Jackie was stressed out about something. She went to the utility room and opened the back door, flipped the lid of the recycling bin up and poked about to see what was inside. Aha! Take-away Chinese containers, about eight of them. Who’d she had round for dinner, a football squad? Underneath the containers, Jill found an empty, out-of-date tub of ice-cream and a frozen lasagne box. She shook her head and tutted, wondering what had been in the bin before it had been taken away the morning before. She flicked the lid back down again and headed to the kitchen, and she collided with Jackie as she turned the corner.

  “What are you doing?” Jackie asked. She had her hands on her hips and was squinting at Jill. “You won’t find the milk in the wheelie-bin, girl.”

  Jill gave a nervous giggle and shrugged before grabbing the milk from the fridge.

  The two women went to the conservatory and Jackie grabbed the plate of tea biscuits and took it with her. She sat with the plate balanced on her knees, grabbed one and dunked it in her tea. Jill feigned a desire for a biscuit, took the plate off her and placed it on the low table beside her. Jackie beckoned to the plate and looked at Jill, waiting for her to give it back to her.

  “I don’t think you need to eat those, love,”