He still wanted Marie, but it would have to wait. He looked into Marie's eyes indicating for her to pass the phone over.
‘Here he comes now. Speak later’.
Marie pulled at her T-shirt and wandered through to the kitchen.
‘Hi hon. I was just over to see what Bob and Marie are playing at with this murder mystery thing. Aye, you have one too. Very interesting. Listen I’ll be back soon ‘cos I know this pair are heading out. OK. Love you. Bye the now.’
Tom shook a little. Maybe too close when it was his life that could have been upset. He looked in the kitchen door but Marie had gone out the back with the washing.
‘I’ll catch you later Marie, I better go’.
‘OK, see yerself out’.
Emma sat on her bed and replaced the handset. Tom was an enigma. He stayed away with work all week and, rather than zoom back into her arms, he shot off to see friends and relatives, always with a valid excuse for spending hours away from home, before collapsing in a heap onto the couch or bed and snoring through to the next trip away.
He had been caught out once. And that would never happen again without repercussions. They had discussed it, and Emma would be out of here before he could get out of the next whore’s bed.
But the mistrust was horrible. She could not chase these feelings and had ended up with a stranger one night just to make sure he couldn’t make her feel bad again. Getting the revenge in before it happened. This was not the life and she had to change it. Monica would say she was imagining it and that Tom was a good man really. He was a jack-the-lad, a bit shifty, a ladies’ man – but he loved her and would always be there. But did she want that? Just that? She wanted change. Was
Then there was last summer when Dev died. That was horrible, as much as she didn’t like Dev. Tom changed. Where had he ended up that night when they had meant to be out on the Treasure Hunt? Too embarrassed to say they hadn’t been together, she had lied for him. He would never have killed Dev. Why would he?
She came down the stairs and walked through to the living room. The rust coloured envelope to Tom opened. Again a valid excuse. Maybe she should just lighten up. Anyway Tom would be home soon. Maybe he’d be full of passion, full of compliments and give her the warmth and longing she was denied when he was traveling.
Often he would return with gifts and flowers or woo her with a song he had written for his guitar while he was traveling. Then all would be well. OK at first this was the norm. Less so now, unless they had fought, or she had been off with him.
Maybe he was just a nice semi-romantic. She pushed the envelope aside and looked at the other mail. She had been applying for work in the city. Bored of the call centre and the same people she saw everyday in the office, then at the store, then at the post office, then at the gym and finally at the pub. Small town, small talk. They had talked about her during Tom’s affair and she knew they would – because she and Mon often talked about the others! Listening intently to what they heard about Spiv with his young partners, and anything about Marie - or Pamela. What was there to say – she was almost too young to understand right from wrong, but now she was part of their group and they would all meet up next weekend for some more friendly chat and get - together, before Emma and Mon would be on the phone early Sunday to snipe and bitch again about the other 2.
It was routine. It was norm. It was dull. But this letter looked promising. PA in a small lawyer’s office on Coates Crescent in Edinburgh Centre. An interview and the dreams could take over from the mundane reality.
Spiv sat in a drunken stupor. 4pm and his team was beat. He’d been following the Pars since he was a laddie and watched them fall from grace, rise from the ashes and fall again to mediocrity. And on a cold January afternoon, along with 2 thousand hearty souls, he sat as his team ran out to a lukewarm second half welcome.
‘Come on ti fuck Dunfermline’
‘Come on ye Pars, Come on ye Pars’ sailed in the frozen air momentarily before the team was forced onto the defensive in a game which would end in another home defeat.
Spiv, bleary-eyed, spoke to a neighbour in the crowd.
‘Hoy, what’s the score noo?’
‘2 nil to Hamilton’.
‘Fucksake’.
Spiv had been at Rory’s bar from 11 until 10 mins before kick off. It was time to get back to the pub to meet the others, he felt.
‘Nothing more to see here. Screw you guys, I’m going home.’ His shouts warranted a glance from the Pars’ full back who turned back to see Hamilton race away with the ball again.
The second half. What was the point when you couldn’t remember the first half? But a fish supper and a vodka red bull and he’d be back on track. Tomorrow he may even read about their miraculous recovery. Where’s Pam today? Studying again. This was the time he thought about going back to the drawing board and chatting up one of the other students at the College where he worked Monday to Friday 7 til 2.30. Brilliant hours. In the pub by 3 and no responsibilities other than to make sure Pam knew he cared. And he did. So meal and sex at least twice a week. She had enjoyed coming to the fitba too. But it was an expensive day out when she tagged along and good drinking time was eaten into while she straightened her hair. And he had to behave at the pub instead of fondling the staff in the pubs where he hadn’t already been barred.
East End Park to the town centre in 10 minutes. No much crowd when you are out of the SPL, but they were sleeping giants, and they’d be back to the top soon. All football fans are the same. Living with their dreams.
Spiv took a short cut across the roundabout to the disgust of various drivers.
‘Prick!’, one of the many drivers called out a side window.
Spiv responded with the bird signal and continued to walk nee stumble, towards the central reservation. Here he sat on the grass, wondered if Pam would have sex with him here, and searched for the fags in his pockets. This could take some time in his state. Eventually he gave up and lay behind the barrier. Cold would soon get him back on his feet and he’d find himself propping up the bar with Bob and Aids. But for now they would have to wait.
Simon hadn’t called, but she knew he’d be in the bar by now. Dunfermline had lost again and he’d be drowning his sorrows. If they’d won he’d be celebrating fully. Regardless he would be enjoying himself, as usual. Pam was still dressed in her robes, but had managed to get through 2 essay questions for her next assignment. A good day’s work and this would allow her a night off to spend with her love.
Simon was a silly man. But sexy. Dammit he was sexy and when he wooed her at first it was like a dream. Now 18, she had been seeing him for 2 years and she was still so glad to have him. She had watched others in awe of her. She was lucky.
She would only see him a couple of times a week, because she was keen to get her degree and, as a bright girl, she already had a head start on her peers, leaving school to go directly into her degree course. She had even been in the Dunfermline Press as the youngest student at Lauder. Now, a wee bit older and wiser, she doted on her boyfriend. The age gap didn’t bother her (although it had irked her mother and she wouldn't tell her dad!).
The straighteners gave out a burning smell. She would preen herself as best she could; hiding her unsightly hips and bum beneath a sarong, switching the light off before Spiv could see her glory. She would one day earn enough to get rid of her monstrous thighs and ass. She hoped. Simon couldn’t be allowed to see these embarrassing features. The state she was in. Instead she would concentrate on showing off her best assets. Her bust was superb, even if self praise was no praise. Her tits were great and when she wore her best clothes out she would turn heads and make men take notice. She wasn’t interested in them, although the attention made her feel good. But Simon was proud of her and he would always give her all the attention that she needed when she needed it.
