Chapter Five

Wednesday night bingo with the girls was usually a fun night out. A hundred people crammed into the town hall at 7PM sharp to see Betty Shepherd draw numbered ping-pong balls out of a wire barrel.

Despite the fact that she already had a voice like a foghorn, Mr Taylor, the bingo boss, came up with the bright idea of arming her with a microphone. When amplified, Mrs Shepherd could probably be heard in Liverpool.

Bingo was serious business. Giggling or talking while the numbers were being drawn was enough to get you lynched, and we were the worst offenders.

Charlene never broke bingo rules. If anything, she enforced them. We’d only been seated a few minutes when she started laying down the law.

“Just be quiet and play.” She pointed her lucky pink bingo dabber pen at Gill. “If you can’t keep up, I’ll help you.”

“Shut up, yer mad cow,” snapped Gill. “I can count.”

Math skills weren’t the issue. Bad behaviour was. Gill was notoriously disruptive and too easily riled, but she wasn’t totally out of control. Getting kicked out tonight wasn’t an option. There was a hundred quid main prize up for grabs and Gill wanted to win it as much as everybody else in the room.

None of us even came close to winning that night, but we had a good laugh. It was impossible not to giggle when Mrs Shepherd called out “Dirty Gertie, number thirty.” And when the old lady sitting next to Charlene jumped out of her wheelchair to shout bingo and claim her prize, we completely lost the plot.

“Nice one, missus,” praised Gill.

Mr Taylor approached and handed the lady her prize money. “Congratulations, love,” he said. “It’s good to see a regular have a win.”

“We’re here every week too,” Gill interjected. “When are we going to have a win?”

Mr Taylor pointed his finger at her. “Behave yourself,” he warned.

Unwilling to give him reason to follow through with his weekly threat of banning her, she didn’t answer back. In fact, Gill didn’t say much for a while. We were half way to the bus stop before she spoke again. “What would you do with a hundred quid?”

Charlene had obviously put some thought into it. “I’d go on tour with Duran Duran,” she answered in a flash.

I wasn’t sure why she needed a hundred pounds to do it, but I was impressed by her answer.

Gill wasn’t buying it for a second. “What for?” she asked. “You wouldn’t know what to do with Simon Le Bon.”

Even Charlene’s wicked giggle was demure. “I’d figure it out eventually.”

The pointless conversation continued all the way to the bus stop. Gill revealed that she’d bet it all on the horses. “Double or nothing,” she exclaimed.

“Wouldn’t you be worried about losing it?” asked Charl.

“Had nowt to begin with, right?” Gill shrugged. “You’ve got to take a chance in life some time.”

“I’ll remember that next time Simon Le Bon rings me,” replied Charlene displaying smart-arse wit that I didn’t know she had.

Still laughing, Gill turned to me. “And what about you, princess? What would you do with it?”

I didn’t get a chance to answer her. The bus pulled up and we staggered aboard like a group of giggly drunks, which was ironic considering we hadn’t had a drop all night. The bus was nearly empty and spirits were high, but all that changed the second we caught sight of the girl sprawled out along the back seat smoking a cigarette. I’d never liked Sharon Smedley. When we were kids, she was a vicious little brute who liked to pull hair and kick people. Now we were grown, not much had changed.

Sharon cut a menacing form. Her black tracksuit was practically her uniform, and the harsh look was topped off with rows of silver hoop earrings and a fierce mono-brow.

Keeping a safe distance wasn’t going to save us. The only thing she enjoyed more than her filthy Benson & Hedges addiction was her even filthier habit of winding Gill up. Sharon sat up, giving us her full attention. “Big night out at bingo?” she taunted.

We knew that bingo wasn’t a hip pastime for twenty-year-old women. That’s why we loved it so much.

“Ignore her,” murmured Charlene.

That wasn’t going to happen. Gill turned around. “Big night out on the bus, Sharon?” she fired back.

The dirty cow stubbed her smoke out on the floor. “I’ve been for a night out in Stretford,” she explained, directing her comment at me. “Mandy was there,” she added with a sly grin.

Mandy Brewer was even dirtier than Sharon. She had a penchant for off the shoulder crop tops and liked to tease her blonde hair to within an inch of its life. She also had a fondness for other people’s boyfriends, which is why the next words out of Sharon’s mouth made me feel ill.

“Andrew was there too, Fiona,” she said. “Getting dead close with Mandy over a pint.”

Ever protective, Gill jumped out of her seat, probably with the intent of collaring her. I wasn’t going to let it get that far. Sharon was beastly, and Gill didn’t stand a chance. “Stop it,” I demanded, pulling her back down beside me. “She’s just trying to wind us up.”

The bus crawled to a stop and Sharon rose to her feet. “You might want to ask him what he’s been up to.” She squeezed down the narrow aisle to get to the door. “Andy’s been a bad, bad lad,” she gibed.

“Are you getting off or not?” called the driver.

Sharon stepped off the bus and continued her taunts from the footpath. “Mandy and Andy sitting in a tree,” she sang. “K-I-S-I-N-G.”

In the biggest surprise of the night, Charlene slid her window open. As the bus pulled away, she hurled a parting shot at Sharon. “You spelt it wrong, dozy bitch!”

Andrew’s been to Stretford twice this week and I want to know why.

Tomorrow I’m going to ask him.

Mandy Brewer is a slapper.

Finished reading ‘My Darling Lover’.

The ending was stupid.

Book of the week: A Recipe For Romance

Honeymoon fund: £76.00