23

Martha was waiting for Abi when she returned to the house—her sweater sleeves rolled up past her elbows, her hands pressed to her hips. “Well, well, well,” she said, exaggerating each syllable. “The prodigal plonker returns.”

“I wondered when you would turn up,” Abi said, brushing past her grandmother on her way into the kitchen. She flicked the kettle on and dropped into a chair, cringing as the wooden legs screeched on the laminate flooring. “Let’s not beat around the bush, what did you hear, what do you want to know—” She paused, shooting an inquisitive stare at her grandmother as she leaned against the counter. “And what’s that old woman’s problem? I don’t even know the crazy old fucker.”

Martha’s chuckled. “Ah, yes, Mrs. Hunt the neighborhood cunt. Then again, a cunt is useful. It has a purpose. It makes people happy. Mine has made me very happy, in fact—”

“Let’s stick with the topic at hand.”

“Mrs. Hunt has lived here most of her life. Her family is from the area. Her family’s family is from the area. I’m sure she can trace most of her lineage back to an area of just a few square miles.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“Yes, there is, my dear,” Martha said, retrieving two cups from the cupboard and assuming the tea-making duties. “It’s called inbreeding. It was all the rage in the old days. Even the royal family got involved. But if left unchecked, it creates monsters like Mrs. Hunt.”

Abi sighed. “I don’t think she’s inbred.”

“You never met her family.”

“Come on, Gran, what’s really going on here?”

Martha dropped a cup of steaming tea in front of her granddaughter and took another for herself. She sat on a chair opposite, took a long sip, and then shrugged her shoulders. “As I said, she’s just a cunt who can’t mind her own business. She’s also a prude. As far as she’s concerned, you can’t even think about sex until you’re married. If you’re fingering yourself, you better make sure there’s a ring on that finger.”

Abi wrapped her hands around the cup, took a sip. Her throat was dry, her mouth practically putrid. She could still taste the wine, sweat, saliva and other bodily fluids from last night.

“So, what happened with your little friend?” Martha asked, as if reading her granddaughter’s mind. “You had quite the night last night, didn’t you?”

Abi nodded, unable to hide a smile as she thought about the night they had spent together, or what she could remember of it.

“Was he good?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Come on, dear, that’s what I’m here for.”

“To discuss my sex life in graphic detail? I don’t think so. That’s not how this grandchild-grandparent relationship is supposed to work.”

“But our relationship is different, so tell me, did he have a big cock?”

Abi nearly choked on her tea, but she also grinned and then immediately tried to disguise it.

“That means yes,” Martha said, nodding assuredly. “Good for you. It’s been a while. You needed a good shag to blow those cobwebs away.”

“Gran, can we not do this now?” Abi checked her phone. “It’s still very early. I’m hungover. I need a shower, some food. I haven’t even checked my emails yet.”

Martha held up her hands. “Fair enough. I’ll make you a big greasy fry-up. That’ll fill you.” She stood and headed for the fridge. “Any plans for today?”

Abi shook her head, distracted. She had received a message from Steven, her heart beating heavily when it popped up. She half expected him to be apologetic, to tell her that he had enjoyed the time they spent together but that it simply wasn’t working out. In the time it took for the message to load, everything that had happened over the last few days, from the run-ins with Robert and the old lady, to the unprotected sex and the haste with which they had departed, came flooding into her mind.

His first words immediately allayed those fears and put Abi at ease. “Thanks for a wonderful night,” they said. “Let’s do it again. The sooner the better.”

He signed off with a multitude of kisses.

“Don’t you have work to do?” Martha pushed.

“Yes. Maybe. I’ll check. But I’m tired, so there’s a good chance I’ll be sleeping all day.” She closed the phone and looked at her gran, who was unloading an armful of food from the fridge. “What are you up to?”

“Fuck knows,” she replied merrily. “First, we feast, I can worry about everything else later.”

—

“What’s the kid’s name again?” Martha asked, finger on her chin, her eyes staring into the middle distance. “Something New Agey, something poncey—Yolo or Hashtag, or some shit like that.”

“Nothing like that,” Abi replied. “It was Nivea.”

“Nivea? She called her kid Nivea?”

Abi nodded.

“She must have amazing skin.”

“I think she just saw the name, liked it, and didn’t pay attention to where it came from.”

“Not a great way to pick a child’s name, is it? You can’t just walk around the house pointing at shit and saying, ‘That’ll do.’ Poor sod could have been called Vaseline, or Bud Lite.”

“I think you’re exaggerating.”

“I think you’re underestimating her stupidity.”

Abi stood, stretched, yawned, and pulled out her phone. “Anyway, enough of this nonsense. I have to try and do some work and then go to sleep. I have a big deadline for tomorrow night and need to do the bulk of the work now if I’m going to finish.”

Martha checked her watch. “It’s barely seven.”

Abi shrugged.

“I’m the one in her seventies, not you,” Martha reminded her.

“I’m also tired. I didn’t get much sleep and I’m still hungover.”

“Lightweight.”

Abi shrugged off the comment. “I’m going to take my laptop into the bedroom, do some work in there. You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

“Maybe.”

Abi retrieved her laptop from the dining room table, leaving a cursory, heart-stopping glance at the patio doors as she did so. The silent, graying night beyond doing little to settle her nerves and calm her tired mind. “What do you mean, ‘maybe’?”

“I mean, maybe I have a house party or a rave to go to. Maybe I have a life that doesn’t revolve around watching soap operas all night.”

“Do you?”

Martha shrugged, a smile breaking through her stern expression. “Like I said, maybe.”

“Okay then. But if you do go raving until the early hours, or you join an orgy or something, try not to disturb me.”

“Oh, an orgy, now there’s an idea.”

“Goodnight, Gran,” Abi called as she left the room.