The following day, Shell paced up and down the kitchen anxiously, thinking about the text she had received from Patrick:
She wondered if he’d found out that she’d ‘met’ his wife. He’d made it quite clear that he wanted Shell to stay away. It wasn’t a big deal. She’d just sat in the room with Vicki at her appointment. Lucy had come across as a bit bossy, but Shell had managed to keep her mouth shut; she hadn’t wanted Lucy to remember her and tell Patrick about her when she got home.
Shell took out the mop and sloshed in some hot water, scrubbing her floor with vigour – cleaning was a slight obsession. Satisfied with the job she had done, she looked around and noticed some dust on the TV above the fireplace. She wiped the sweat from her brow and moved swiftly across the room, duster in hand.
The knock at the door made her jump. ‘Will be with you in two minutes,’ she shouted. She scrubbed the counter for the third time, her heart racing, hoping that it was Patrick on the other side of the door. Shell splashed her face with cold water and washed her hands, drying them on the tea towel that lay by the sink. With one final look in the small mirror on the windowsill, she made her way to the door and opened it with a big smile on her face.
‘Oh …’ She frowned. ‘It’s you. I thought you were someone else.’
‘Charmin’, cuz,’ Louise said as she pushed her way past Shell.
‘Don’t make yourself too comfortable, Louise, I’m expecting someone.’ Shell watched as she plonked herself down on the couch.
‘Oooooooh. Do tell. We haven’t had a proper chat in ages.’ She put her feet up on the coffee table and Shell glared at her.
‘How about I meet you at the pub tomorrow and we catch up then? I seriously need to finish and get myself sorted. This place is a mess!’ She tapped Louise’s feet.
Louise looked around the room and rolled her eyes. ‘Are you crazy? This room … this house, is pristine, Ms OCD. Don’t worry, I get you’re a bit highly strung right now, so I’ll see you at the pub tomorrow eve. Seven-ish OK?’
‘Yep. Great … now go, please.’ Shell practically pushed her cousin out the door and slammed the door behind her. Thank God for that. Shell went back into the kitchen, did another quick wipe of the surfaces and popped the kettle on. The floorboard creaked behind her.
‘I hope it’s me you’re thinking about.’
‘Oh, my god, Patrick! You scared the shit out of me!’ Shell was shaking as Patrick stepped across the room and put his arms around her.
‘Calm down, babe. It was just a joke.’
‘Wait. How did you get in?’ Shell was sure she’d secured the door after Louise left.
‘The door was open. How do you think? I ain’t bloody magic and haven’t mastered the art of picking locks yet.’ He laughed.
‘Oh … OK. Weird … oh well! It’s amazing to see you, love.’ She planted a long, passionate kiss on Patrick’s eager lips.
‘Feel the same, babe. If you’re making a cuppa …’ he looked at the boiling kettle, ‘then I wouldn’t mind a brew.’
Patting Shell’s bottom, Patrick made his way to the living room and sat down. Shell felt so lucky to have him and couldn’t understand why his wife was such a bitch. She was glad that Lucy didn’t treat Patrick the way he deserved. Otherwise he wouldn’t be sat in her living room right now. She handed him his tea and sat down next to him.
‘So … what did you want to talk about?’ A nervous croak escaped her lips.
‘Well. I have this chance for a job, you see.’ There was a glint of excitement in his eyes and Shell smiled. ‘But my car needs some new brakes and tires. I won’t be able to get there if I don’t get those things sorted.’ He sighed and looked sadly into Shell’s eyes. ‘Lucy’s moaning about money, even though this would help our situation and – I’m embarrassed to ask – but I was wondering …’
Before Patrick could even finish his sentence, Shell grabbed her wallet and started leafing through the notes. ‘How much do you need?’
‘Ah, Shell. This is why I love ya. Are you sure you can afford it?’
‘Yes. Now tell me, how much?’
Did he just say he loved me?
‘It’s going to be a couple of hundred.’ Shell’s cheek flickered slightly. ‘It’s too much, right? Look – sorry. Forget it. I shouldn’t have asked you. I’ll just have to look for another job or figure something else out.’ Patrick put his tea down on the table and made a move to get off the couch.
Shell rested her hand on his leg, pushing him down.
‘Don’t be silly. I just don’t have that much in my wallet. Let me grab my coat and we can go to the cashpoint … yeah?’
‘If you’re sure.’ Patrick smiled.
Patrick was still smiling as he walked to the pub, Shell’s cash in his pocket. For someone who thought she was so clever, he marvelled at how dumb Shell could be. She didn’t even bat an eye at his excuse for getting into her house. He had found her spare key when he’d been waiting for her to get ready one day, took it, and made a copy. The next time he was around, he put the spare back. It was actually tagged spare key, and Patrick just couldn’t resist. He’d thought how easy it would be to sneak in and steal some of her possessions when he she was at work.
Patrick could get a fair whack for some of her things. Shame there were so many people around the area who would tell Shell if they saw him going into the house. He couldn’t risk that – not yet anyway. He wondered how much money he could get off her before she started asking questions.
That’s what he loved about women like Shell – desperate to be loved, they would believe, and put up with, any shit. Sad cow. He walked into the pub and ordered a pint of Stella. It wasn’t the classiest of places, worn carpets and chipped paint on the walls, but it was comfortable and cheap.
‘What’s with the big smile on your face?’ Kevin queried.
‘Just a happy man, Kev. A happy man.’ Patrick saw Robert Millard sitting in the corner looking a bit forlorn and shouted over, ‘You OK, Rob? Would a pint cheer you up?’
Raising his head, Robert nodded and said, ‘Cider, mate … and thanks.’
Patrick carried the drinks over to the table. ‘So, what’s up? Woman troubles again?’
‘Sort of. Don’t know if you heard but Louise and I split. Again. Bitch called the coppers after a stupid row and now I’m on fucking probation. One foot wrong and I could go to fucking prison.’
Patrick’s curiosity got the better of him. ‘Oh yeah. Who’s your probation officer?’
Unsure whether Robert Millard had put two and two together, because Lucy used her maiden name for work, Patrick waited for the answer.
‘Lucy – bloody bitch she is.’
A swell of anger bubbled inside. Patrick’s jaw clenched. He knew it was ironic that other people insulting his wife infuriated him when he did it on a daily basis. ‘What’s her last name?’
‘Not a clue, mate. Not that interested to be honest. Don’t get me wrong,’ he gave Patrick a wink, ‘she’s a bit of all right, but I think she’s going out with a copper.’
Patrick sat upright in his seat.
‘And why would you think that?’ His jaw tensed as he choked on his anger.
‘I see them together all the time. At the probation office, the group, and a few times in the coffee shop before the group starts … hey, man, why do you look like your head is going to explode?’
Realizing that he could use this information to his advantage, Patrick took a deep breath to calm down.
‘I’m OK, mate. Just felt a little funny there. Can I get you another cider?’