Bingo.
He’d been in her computer programming class. He was good at it. Duck to water sprung to mind. Had to be a gamer. She was just about to ask what games he played when she remembered she had yet to tell him what her results were.
All A*s.
She’d not told anyone outside her family. It was embarrassing.
Her brain found learning easy.
But using it to go to law school? About as stifling as the drop-down scripts they had to follow at work. Still … at nearly ten quid an hour … one year at Newcastle Uni was only 438 hours of ‘You’re through to the NHS 111 Service’ away. And then a mountain of debt for the rest. She hated the idea of debt. Starting your actual, real life already in debt to the man. Her parents hated debt too, which basically meant their ultimatum wasn’t actually a choice at all. It was go to work with Uncle Ravi – and that was it.
The bus pulled up and she got on without acknowledging Dylan again. Talking meant revealing more things about herself. She’d already seen how seemingly innocuous facts became terrifyingly elastic on the social media super highway and Dylan was obviously one of its players, ‘keeping up with his peeps’ and all. She closed her eyes for the rest of the journey and pictured herself getting off of the bus in Newcastle. It was her Oz. One day, with any luck, it would be her reality.
Chapter Eight
‘Never lets her get a word in, does he?’ Flo straightened her husband’s dressing gown collar then glared at the telly. That Kev was always talking over Kath. She would’ve told him to put a sock in it years ago. She tutted to herself.
It was always easier to know what she’d do if she were in someone else’s marriage. That poor Sue, for instance. Looked half dead yesterday on shift, poor thing. How was it someone could live with another person for twenty years and not have the slightest clue they were planning to take their own life? She would’ve had that Gary sitting down with a strong cup of tea and said we’re not leaving this table until you tell me what’s going on—
Would she, though?
She gave Stuart’s shoulders a final smoothing sweep. When was the last time she’d really paid attention to him? Listened to what he was saying to her? For that matter, when was the last time they’d had a proper conversation? All they seemed to do these days was pass on information. Times. Schedules. Where and what his sandwiches were for the day. His soup. She clucked again. Best not to judge Sue, or anyone for that matter. Glass houses and closed doors and all that. She turned off the telly and unhooked her winter coat from the rack.
Stuart looked up from the paper, his white hair still a bit mussed from the pillow, the puzzles she could see, only half done. ‘Off already?’
‘Bright and early sings the lark!’
‘Will you be back for lunch?’
‘Not today, love.’ She was on a ten to seven today. She could come home for lunch, but the breaks weren’t that long and besides, that poor Sue. She’d be in again today and Flo was dead certain that the poor girl wasn’t ready for it. All of that complaining and whining coming down the line. Half of the callers were lonely. The other half attention seekers. Most of them needed a bit of sense knocked into them, was all. Not a pull-down menu offering options. She’d always found flights where they’d run out of the chicken or the beef ran much more smoothly than the ones where people had a choice.
Saying that … perhaps the menu would be a handy crutch for Sue. Offer her some insight as to where it might have all gone wrong. The poor lass had been in a daze at the funeral and hadn’t looked too much better yesterday. As though there’d been a loud explosion and she was still trying to orient her senses after the blast. That glimmer of fire over the coffee, though. It showed the girl had some zip in her somewhere. It had been nice to see. Normally she was so … pleasant. Not that being pleasant was a crime, but it sat a bit too comfortably with mild and Flo didn’t do mild.
‘What will I do for my lunch, then?’ Stuart asked.
She wiggled her fingers towards the refrigerator. ‘There’s some of last night’s beef on a plate. Have it with the rest of that soup you had yesterday. Top shelf, next to the Actimel. I can do something hot for you tomorrow.’
Stuart liked something hot for his lunch in the winter, but increasingly, there was a part of her that wanted to scream, you can fly airplanes! Surely to god you can figure out what to have for lunch!
‘Stu? Will you be alright taking Captain George along to his hydrotherapy?’
Stu nodded, then twisted round to look out of the conservatory which gave a broader view of the elements than the kitchen window. His brow furrowed. ‘It’s horrid out there, darling. Wouldn’t you be better staying in today?’
Flo pretended she hadn’t heard him. He was always trying to get her to stay home. Over forty years together and the man still couldn’t get it through his head that she liked the work. Loved interacting with people. Needed the … the … the rigour of human interaction. Mixing things up. Keeping life jazzy.
She glanced out towards the conservatory. Stu was right. It was a wretched day. The entire week was meant to be like this, straight through to the weekend. Perhaps she’d sign up for some extra shifts. ‘You’ll be at the club this Saturday, won’t
