‘Uh huh’, Aidrian started to open the letter, catching the envelope edge under his nail making him wince.
‘Can I make you a coffee?’
‘No. I’ll do it’. Ellie made to argue, but they had been here before, and this time she backed down, crawled into the corner seat with her bowl of Cheerios, and mouthed them down, watching ‘Hider in the House’.
The envelope was intriguing. Not a bill (and they were coming thick and fast) or junk mail, but an actual letter. Please let it be a cheque….
‘Please be advised that Lady Elizabeth Ratzenberger invites you to attend Heighley House with a view to discovering the truth behind the mysterious death of her late husband Vincent.’
A party. Drink. A laugh. Maybe even some drunken fondling with Mon, or someone!
‘Please be told that food will be provided, but if you desire to drink alcoholic beverages, you are cordially asked to bring these with you!’
Interesting. Very interesting. And maybe just the lift he needed. Bob and Marie would make great hosts.
Aidrian dropped the letters into the letter rack and puts Monica’s to the front, so that she didn’t accuse him of hiding it. The package forgotten, he ascended the stairs, slightly happier, a little more exhilarated, found his bed, and lay down again.
The car purred. She had been sitting for 10 minutes, but she knew Stephen would appreciate her more for not coming out to get him from the changing rooms. She could wait. A gap between the corrugated sheets surrounding the pitch showed her the game had finished. No one remained except some hoodies necking. Hopefully boy-girl, but who knew in this day and age. It’s amazing how difficult it was to look away as a hand touched a thigh, and then a bum cheek. She looked away from them into her rear-view mirror. Her hairdressing appointment after costs netted her about 15 pounds. The shoes she wanted for going to the pub with Emma tonight cost ?125. She would get the shoes though. This was just a hairdressing gig today. Sometimes her clients wanted more than a comb over. The money helped. She could hide it easily from Aid by saying new shoes cost less than they did. I’m so materialistic, she thinks. The sex meant nothing when it wasn’t with Aidrian. But lately there had just been no interest in the bedroom at home. Not from Aidrian. Every time it was the same. Aidrian doted on her, that’s why they had been together so long. He had chased her until he got her. They fell in love and now they acted like a whole.
Stephen was just like his dad. He played games. He was big and athletic. He would make the girls swoon in years to come. It’s just his dad wasn’t Aidrian. She would never tell Aidrian this of course as they had him when they were only kids themselves and Stephen must never find out. But she had been living a lie that had lasted 14 years and would last a lot more so long as those who knew could keep their mouths shut. Stephens’s dad never knew. He must have had an inkling though, when he was still involved in their lives – as he had been Aidrian's friend.
After 14 years she wished that these thoughts would die away, but somehow they got stronger as she waited for the secret to come out. But it hadn’t yet.
‘Hi Mum’ – Stephen bellowed in the door and Monica shook herself out of her daydream. ‘Can Raj get a lift back?’
’Of course. Hi Raj’
‘Hi Mrs Burgess’.
Of course she still wasn’t Mrs Burgess, but what was the point in saying anything. Stephen was a Burgess now in every way. Aidrian had been his Dad and was his Dad in all but blood. But she remained a Delaney. It wasn’t a problem. When they had the money they would get married. If they had the money…
Raj dispatched home, Stephen out of sight up to his room, listening to the SPL on the radio, rather than looking at nude pictures on his internet or magazines she found under his mattress, she hoped. They are all the same. Men.
Kettle on. Washing out of the machine, and folded for ironing. Another load on. It was never ending. Aidrian can work all the hours for cash, yet Monica still felt she deserved more for all the work she put in.
A parcel sat on the sideboard. Monica picked it up and walked through to the kitchen.
Relax for a minute. She took off her top. Better go for a wash before Aidrian returns. The parcel was unopened. FAO Aidrian Burgess. Intriguing. Nothing special most probably, but intriguing... she pushed the parcel aside a little frustrated. Monica sat comfortably amid the cushions pillowed up the walls of their breakfasting area. The rust coloured envelope to the front of the letter rack was beautifully written in calligraphic font. Monica Delaney. Another open envelope. Aidrian must have got one, too.
‘Think fast!’ a 5” drill bit flew past Bob’s ear.
‘Bastard!’ laughter boomed from his workmates. The factory ceiling acts as an amplifier, round and deep. He picked up the bit, and pocketed it. Revenge would be sweet.
Still morning, but only a half day work, so back home by lunchtime on a Saturday. The craic was good though. Already stories of last night had filtered through. A night with the lads was always welcome and on Friday nights Bob had a night off from Marie.
There was nakedness, there was touching, there was kissing at some point, but not necessarily by Bob. Marie found him starker’s lying on the doormat at 2am, dragged him in, closed the door, and headed back to bed. A normal Friday night in the world of Robert Reilly.
His head was beginning to swell, but for Saturday morning this was tame. The overtime hours were often missed. For instance the two guys he had left behind at Ricardo’s night club/ strip joint, last night - no sign of those boys today! Maybe it was the drink. Maybe something a wee bit stronger. Laxatives in the late night curry won’t have helped them, Bob grinned to himself.
Three more bolts to torque. Hard work could be dangerous. But you had to have a laugh, the older colleagues told them, showing them the joints that used to house fingers after past mistakes and horseplay. If he was honest with himself he would tell Marie that one of the main reasons he wouldn’t get married was because of fear of being found with a tarring of his privates, or a cock up his arse on his stag night, thanks to his so called friends…!
Marie was a lovely girl, now more of a wife – as the nagging never seemed to end. If she had a pet maybe that would fulfill her, the thought came and went quickly. A kid? No way. Then it really would all be over. Bob thought about Aidrian's life since he found himself a dad at 18. The last time they got drunk together Bob discovered that it had been over 2 months since Aid had last had a shag with his missus. That was no life at all. And then, with the kids harping on, needing lifts and money and clothes and fed… Not a starter. Not at all. No way.
Shift over. The bike sat gleaming in the near empty car park by the waters edge. Ducati. It’s yellow and white torso covering a pristine stainless steel frame beneath. The River Forth lapped at the dockside. A lovely spring morning lost to the factory, but the day was still young. There was football to watch, bookies to beat and surely Aid would be up for a bit of that.
‘Aright mate?’
‘Aright Bob, you finished?’
‘Pub?’
‘I’ve got the littl’un the now, but I’ll see you there.’
‘Where are you?’
