“Don’t say that,” Al begged. “Don’t say you’d like to see Morris.”
She had never been able to teach Colette the art of self-censorship; never been able to make her understand how simple and literal-minded the organizers of Spirit World could be. You had to guard the words that came out of your mouth and even the words as they formed up in your mind. Wasn’t that simple enough? Sometimes she thought Colette couldn’t be such a slow learner. Surely she was doing it on purpose, tormenting her?
Gavin rang. He asked for Colette, and Al passed the phone over without speaking to him. She hung about, overhearing; though proximity wasn’t really necessary to her. She could tune in to Gavin any time she liked, but the thought tired her. Quite clearly she heard him say, “How’s the fat lesbian?”
Colette said, “I’ve told you, Alison is not a lesbian. In fact, there are several men in her life.”
“Who?” Gavin demanded.
“Let me see.” Colette paused. “There’s Donnie. There’s Keith … she and Keith go way back.”
Al stood in the doorway. “Colette … don’t.”
Colette gestured to her angrily, to go away.
Don’t make a joke out of the fiends, Al pleaded; but not out loud. She turned and left the room. You should know better, Colette, but how can you know better? You believe and you half-believe, that’s the trouble with you. You want the frisson and you want the money, but you don’t want to alter your dumb view of the world. She heard Colette say to Gavin, “There’s Dean. Dean really fancies me. But he’s quite young.”
“What do they do, these blokes?” Gavin said. “Are they fortune-tellers as well?”
“There’s Mart,” she said “Oh, and our neighbour, Evan. Plenty of men in our lives, you see.”
“You’re carrying on with a neighbour?” Gavin said. “Married, is he?”
“That’s my business.”
Colette had that fizzing, crawling feeling you get when you’re lying. When she heard what was coming out of her mouth she was frightened. It was quite natural that she should want to put the best face on things, with Gavin, but stop, stop, she said to herself, Donnie and Keith aren’t real and Evan is a wanker and Mart lives in the shed. Or used to.
“Fair dos,” Gavin said. “I mean, I can’t see anybody leaving his wife and kids for you, Colette, but then I’ve no right to an opinion, have I?”
“Damn right you haven’t.”
“No, you see who you like,” he said—still, she thought, with that lordly air, as if he were giving her permission. “Look, what I called about—they’ve been having a bit of a shakeout at work. They’ve let me go.”
“I see. When did this happen, this shakeout?”
“Three months back.”
“You could have said.”
“Yes, but I thought I’d get fixed up. I called a few people.”
“And they were out, were they? In a meeting? On holiday this week?”
“There’s a downturn, you know?”
“I don’t think it’s a downturn. I think they’ve finally rumbled you, Gavin.”
“No, it’s happening everywhere, all the big consultancies are shedding.”
“So how are you managing? Money must be tight.”
“It’s just a cash-flow problem.”
“I’m sure Zoe can help you out.”
He seemed to hesitate—so Colette said sharply, “She is still with you, I suppose?”
“Oh, yes, she’s very loyal. I mean, she’s not the sort of girl to chuck you if you had a temporary setback.”
“Not like me, eh? I’d be out of there like a shot.”
“So I have to ask you about the payments, for the flat. I have to cut down my outgoings. Just till I get sorted.”
“So is there a downturn in the modelling business too? Or is she in hock for her tit lift and her bum suction? Oh, it’s all right, Gavin, I can afford to carry you for a while. Alison and I are doing really, really well.”
“Yeah, it’s all over the TV, psychic shows.”
“Yes, but that’s fraud. We’re not fraud. And we’re not dependent on the whims of schedulers, thank you.” Something touched her, a small hand on her sleeve: compunction. “So how are you,” she said, “apart from poor? How’s your car running?”
There was a short silence. “I have to go,” Gavin said. “Zoe wants me.”
“Probably some bit of her fallen off,” Colette said. “By-eee.” As she put down the phone she chuckled. Gavin had always lived in anticipation of his next salary cheque, and with his credit cards charged up to their limit. He’ll be wanting a loan soon, she said to herself. She sang out to Alison, “Guess what? Gavin’s got the boot.” But Al was on the other line.
Mandy said, “It’s time we started offering something to the punters that they can’t get from satellite TV. It’s all very well, but who’s making money out of it? Not us, for sure. It’s three hours hanging about in a back room with a plate of stale biscuits, an hour in makeup with some snooty cow drawing your eye-brows in the wrong place, and then when you see yourself you’re edited down to the blink of an eye and you’re supposed to be bloody grateful.”
“I thought it would be glamorous,” Al said wistfully. “Colette says I can’t go on because of my size, but I
