Bruce turned round and glared at her. “Do you mind keeping out of things that don’t concern you? This is between me and my friend, George. So please don’t interfere.”
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“Oh!” exclaimed Sharon. “So what my fiance does is no business of mine? Is that what you’re saying? Well, I’ve got news for you: it’s very much my business!”
Bruce bit his lip. He looked at George, but George was looking down at the floor, staring at his shoes. It was typical. A woman came in and tried to take over. And now this ghastly girl had taken control of this useless man and was twisting him around her pudgy little finger.
Bruce looked at her. “So you’re calling the shots now,” he said. “Little Sharon McClung has at last got hold of a man and is calling the shots big time! Pleased with yourself, Sharon? Pity you couldn’t do any better.”
George looked up from his shoes. “What do you mean by that, Bruce?” he asked. His voice was strained and his eyes were misty, as if he was about to cry.
Bruce sighed. “No criticism of you, George,” he said. “It’s just that you’re letting Sharon push you around a bit, aren’t you?”
“But you said: ‘It’s a pity you couldn’t do any better,’” George insisted. “What did you mean by that, Bruce? What did you mean?”
“Yes,” said Sharon. “What exactly did you mean by that, Bruce? Did you mean that George isn’t much of a catch? Well, if you did, I can tell you what I think of that. I think that he’s ten times, twenty times nicer than you. Nobody – nobody in her right mind – would look at you, you know. You do know that, don’t you?”
Bruce sneered. “Don’t make me laugh,” he said. “Just don’t make me laugh. You were happy enough to look at me back then in Crieff. Oh yes, don’t think that I didn’t notice you sitting there staring at me, along with all the other girls, mentally undressing me. I noticed those things, you know.”
Sharon shrieked with indignation. “What? What did you say?
Mentally undressing you? Are you mad?”
“Listen,” said George mildly. “I don’t think there’s much point in talking like this . . .”
“Yes, there is,” snapped Sharon. “I’m not going to stand here 258
and listen to this self-satisfied creep saying things like that. I’ve got some more news for you, Bruce. The girls back in Crieff hated you, you know. They hated you. They really did. You should have heard the sort of things they said about you! You would have died of embarrassment if you had heard half of them.
Did you know that there was something about you written on the wall of the girls’ toilets for two years? Two years. And every time the cleaners rubbed it out, somebody wrote it back, and in the end they just left it there. And do you know what it was?
You would hate what it said, I promise you. You’d just hate it.
But I can’t tell you – I’m too embarrassed.”
“Was it written with one of those marker pens?” asked George. “Those can be quite difficult to rub off.”
Both Bruce and Sharon looked at him. Sharon did not answer.
“You’re a liar,” said Bruce. “I would have heard about it. I never heard anything.”
Sharon arched an eyebrow in amazement. “Do you think that anybody would actually tell you something like that?”
“It depends what it was,” cut in George. “And anyway, I don’t think that it’s very fair not to tell him, Shaz. You’ve got him all upset now. You should tell him.”
“No, Georgie,” said Sharon. “I’m not going to tell him.”
“Would you tell me then?” asked George.
Sharon thought for a moment. Then she leant over and cupped a hand around George’s left ear and whispered to him.
George’s eyes widened. Then he let out a laugh. “Really?” he asked. “Did it really?”
Sharon nodded with satisfaction. “Yes, it did. Funny, isn’t it?”
“Do you think it’s true?” asked George.
Sharon shrugged. “Who knows?” She paused. “So that’s it, Bruce. That’s what we thought of you.”
Bruce looked at George. “You’re marrying this person?” he asked quietly. “You’re actually going to go ahead and marry this person? This . . . this
It was as if George had been given an electric shock. Pulling himself up to his full height – and he was considerably shorter than Bruce, and Sharon – he poked a finger in the direction
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of his erstwhile friend. “You are not to call my fiancee a haggis,” he said. “Don’t ever let me hear you call her a haggis.”
And with that, he turned to Sharon, took her arm, and nodded in the direction of the door.
“Goodbye, Bruce,” he said. “I’m sorry that this has happened.
But you’ve only got yourself to blame. Come, Shaz. We must go.”
Sharon gave Bruce a look of triumph. “Would you really like to know what was written on the wall? Would you?”
