A sigh and a deep breath out. They both knew it was coming.
'Well if I'm heading to jail there’s something I need to do before I get there!'
'What’s that then?'
'Get a fuckin’ job for a start!'. The Job Centre awaited them.
Tom was showering. Emma was snuggled into the corner of the easy chair. Daytime TV blared unique domestic problems at her and she popped a malteser into her mouth as she flicked over a magazine page. The post had been, but no word of the job. Hmmph. No text or phone call. No news is good news, she thought. The interview had gone OK. She had entered without nerves and had answered questions she had been told to by the job advisor.
'So why do you want this job Emma?' she had been asked.
'I have experience working in an office, I have good computer skills, and I really want to work in the city. It is my ambition to work for a good employer, which I believe you are from the information you have on your website, and from the agency I spoke with.' They had been impressed. There was even some light relief when the manager spilled her coffee and Emma had quickly got her paper hankies out of her bag and mopped up the mess. 'I've also got good housekeeping skills' she added. The phone buzzed. Not her mobile, but Tom's. He was still upstairs. He slept late on his days at home and then pissed off to play golf or to see his mates. Emma sometimes felt like a Navy wife, like lots of the other women round here. Some of them kept themselves to themselves, others were out and about and some, worse still, had a reputation. But it was boring sitting at home waiting for your man to come back, and worrying when you were glad to see him going off to work for days and weeks at a time. Who was calling Tom? She flicked open his mobile. Text from Jack. Who's Jack? Emma put the phone down again. Tom and his secrets. She popped another chocolate treat into her mouth, still looking at the phone. The shower went off upstairs.
'Where's ma Ben Sherman shirt?'
'Should be in the wardrobe' Emma shouted back. Tom would be a while tarting himself up. She admitted to herself that she was still attracted to him. He always looked presentable, and smelled nice, but she worried that this preening wasn't always for her. She picked up his phone again. Text from Jack. She moved her finger across the screen and the message opened up.
Look 4ward 2 c u l8r. x
The shit. The utter shit. Emma stayed seated. She would have it out with Tom.
'I can't find it', Tom shouted again.
'Who is Jack?'
There was a moments silence before Tom responded.' What?'
'Jack just texted you. Who's Jack?'
'Just a mate'. The lying shit.
'OK'.
Tom hurriedly came downstairs looking for his phone.
'It's over here'. Emma handed him the phone.
'You read it?'
'Yes'
Tom read the message and laughed.
'He's a clown. What a guy'.
'A guy. You picking up guys now?'
'Just a guy I drove up from Carlisle one time. He gives me a shout when he's in Dunfermline so we can catch up and have a drink.'
Emma said nothing.
'What you reading my texts for anyway?'
'I wasn't. I was just seeing who was texting'.
'Well it's nowt to do with you. Nosy bitch'.
'Whatever'.
'Emm, don't start. I don't go looking at your phone'
'No you don't. You don't see all the secret people I have on my phone'. Emma got up and walked through to the kitchen.
'Whats your problem?'
Emma stood back in full view of Tom.
'So you are telling me Jack is a guy. You are full of shit'.
'Fuck sake Emma, I just told you'.
'Do all your mates look forward to seeing you and leave a wee kiss? Eh'.
'You’re a loon. You have been reading my texts. I don't know. You have nae trust at all. Why are you here? You are a fuckin’ loony. A lunatic. Give me some credit. You think I would put girls’ names in my phone.'
'Jack? Jack’s a boy’s name. So tell me, where are you going this afternoon?'
'Out'
