‘There you go, then.’
‘Dulcie, that isn’t the point. Not the whole point, anyway. Don’t you see? Bibi lied to me—’
‘It wasn’t a lie,’ Dulcie put in hurriedly, ‘just a fib.’
‘It was a lie. A big one. I thought we had no secrets from each other. Now I find out our whole relationship has been built on a lie. Relationships are all about trust, Dulcie. How can I ever believe anything she tells me now? She could be lying. She’s an expert.’
‘James, she wouldn’t! That was her only secret, believe me!’
‘Was it?’ He stubbed out his cigarette with a shaking hand and immediately lit another. ‘But that’s the thing, Dulcie. How would I ever know?’
Phil was sprawled across the sofa when Pru let herself into the house. A half-empty bowl of tomato soup, several bread rolls and a packet of paracetamol littered the coffee table. Strewn across the floor in front of him was a sheaf of letters.
Along with almost everyone else, it seemed, Phil was still wearing last night’s clothes.
He looked pretty rough, too.
‘Hello.’ Pru prayed she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt. ‘How are you feeling?’
Phil picked up one of the letters and glanced at it, avoiding Pru’s gaze. ‘Sick.’
‘Oh. More soup?’
This was normally when he held his arms out to her, gave her his little-boy look and said sorrowfully, ‘Pru, give me a cuddle. I don’t feel very well.’
Instead he said, ‘I meant it, you know. That stuff last night.’
‘Wh-what stuff?’
‘Come on, Pru! I might not be able to remember saying it, but Blanche assures me I did.
Anyway, it’s the truth. I’m getting out of here. I’m sorry if I showed you up in front of your friends, but you can’t plan these things. Sometimes they just happen.’
Pru couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t what Phil was supposed to say. Oh God, this was awful, awful .. .
‘You’re moving in with Blanche?’
He shrugged. ‘I suppose so. Probably. I just know I have to get out of here.’
‘But ... but ...’
‘Look, I’m sorry.’ For the first time his bloodshot eyes met hers. She saw weariness in them, and guilt. ‘You’re going to have to get out of here too.’
‘What?’
Phil held the letter in his hand out to her.
‘Go on, take it. And don’t worry,’ he gestured dismissively at the others on the floor, ‘there’s plenty more where that came from. Help yourself, read as many as you like. Take your pick.’
Shaking violently, wondering how on earth this could be happening to her, Pru read the first letter.
Then the second.
And the third.
She read all of them, forcing herself to keep going until she reached the end.
It was unbelievable. Phil owed money everywhere. The gambling she had always taken to be a harmless pastime had clearly rocketed out of control.
‘I didn’t know you’d remortgaged the house,’ she said stupidly.
‘Why would you?’ Phil, the traditionalist, had always taken care of the bills.
Well, until he’d stopped paying them and started stuffing them into the dustbin instead.
‘Anyway, now you see why you have to get out.’ He shrugged. ‘This place is being repossessed on Tuesday.’
‘But they can’t—’
‘Don’t be so bloody naive,’ Phil shouted at her. ‘Of course they can. Anyway, losing the house is the least of my worries. By this time next week I could be jobless, car-less ... minus a few other vital bits and pieces too, if that mob from the casino have their way.’
In the space of five minutes Pru had lost her home, her husband ... her whole life.
‘How much altogether?’ She spoke through chattering teeth. ‘How much do you owe?’
Phil shook his head. ‘You don’t want to know.’
‘Oh God.’
‘Look, it’s a hiccup, that’s all. I was doing okay until last summer. Then I hit a bad patch. The longer it lasted the bigger the bets had to be to cover my losses. But it’ll come good again, you’ll see.’
His eyes had lit up. God, thought Pru, even talking about it makes him more cheerful.
‘Phil, you have to go to Gamblers Anonymous.’
‘No I don’t. Listen, my luck has to change soon. It has to. Then as soon as that happens, I’ll get the house
