his mother onto the sofa, Terry nodded at Chelle to follow him into the kitchen. Now that his old man had snuffed it, he decided not to mention the wedding farce. That could keep. ‘My dad’s just died, Chelle. Mum can’t go home on her own, so I want her to stay with us for a while until she feels up to facing the world again.’ Terry knew the fat bitch hated his mother. He also knew that Chelle would be so desperate to get back into his good books that she would be likely to agree to anything.
‘Of course she can stay, Tel, she’s more than welcome. We’ll take good care of her and I’m so sorry to hear about your dad.’
Lying cow, Terry thought to himself. He knew she’d hated both of his parents. Biting his tongue, he turned to face Michelle. He could see the relief in her eyes that the old boy had chosen today of all days to snuff it. ‘Go upstairs, Chelle, sort her out some nightclothes and make a bed up in one of the spare rooms.’
Bounding upstairs, Chelle thanked God for the lucky escape she’d just had. Knocking back the last drop of wine she’d taken with her, she held her glass aloft. ‘Cheers, Paddy, you old bastard, you couldn’t have picked a better day to go, mate. In fact for once in your sad, miserable life you’ve done something useful.’ This situation was absolutely brilliant. Not only was she needed at the moment, it also gave her an excuse to behave like the perfect wife. Whatever old tart Terry had on the go certainly wasn’t going to look after his miserable old cow of a mother, she was certain of that.
No, for the moment she was needed, and being needed made Michelle a very happy woman indeed.
IN THE DAYS that followed his father’s funeral, Terry was stressed out beyond belief. He couldn’t understand how anybody could hate the sight of their old man and become upset the moment he kicked the bucket. After barely speaking for years, he now felt guilty that he hadn’t tried to bury the hatchet while Paddy was still alive. His mother was becoming another headache; Terry had fully expected that Pearl would want to move back into her own home once Paddy’s funeral was over and done with, but much to his dismay, she hadn’t.
‘I can’t go back to that bloody house on my own, there’s too many memories,’ Pearl had said adamantly. Terry didn’t know what to do about the situation. He could hardly sling her out on the street, could he?
His relationship with Jade had recently begun to suffer. Babysitting his mum in the evenings, he only got to see Jade at work and the situation was driving him mad. Jade also seemed distracted, as if she had something on her mind and Terry was really worried about her. She’d called in sick on numerous occasions, which was really unusual, as Jade would normally have to be dying not to make work. Terry had begun to think that she was getting pissed off with the whole caboodle and was trying to avoid him. He decided there and then to turn up uninvited at her flat that evening and find out what the bloody hell was going on.
Flicking through the TV channels, Jade tried but was unable to concentrate. She knew she had to tell Terry the news, but the thought of broaching the subject filled her with dread. What if he dumped her, called it a day? Even worse, he may swear blind that she was trying to trap him. Why, oh why did this have to happen now? They’d planned their future so precisely and this hadn’t been part of the plan. Everything was ruined now and it was all her fault. Feeling the tears roll down her cheek, she angrily snatched at the tissues. The thought of losing him was too awful to contemplate and all she could do was pray that he understood the predicament she found herself in.
Billie was having her own problems with the new lodger and had temporarily decided to stay at Tiffany’s. Ever since her grandad had died, her nutty nan had started taking an interest in her, asking her personal stuff about her love life and questioning her morals with boys.
The quotes she kept repeating, over and over, were alien to Billie.
‘Always remember, Billie. The five is the trump card, you should always hang on to the five.’
‘Why would a man buy a cow, when the milk is delivered on the doorstep?’
‘Billie, never trust a man until he’s seven days dead. Even then, if you open the coffin, his tingy would still be standing upright.’
Driven mad, Billie had spoken to her dad, packed her bags and headed for some sanity around her friend’s house.
* * *
‘Get me another cup of tea, Michelle, I’m thirsty. There’s a good girl.’
Chelle looked at her mother-in-law with pure hatred. The greedy old cow had about thirty cups a day and expected her to keep jumping up and making them. ‘No problem, Pearl,’ she said through gritted teeth.
It was two weeks now since Terry had first brought Pearl home and Michelle’s patience was wearing thin. She loved having Terry home again every night, but it was the daytime bit that was getting on her tits. The old bag expected to be waited on hand and foot and Chelle wasn’t sure she could take much more. If only she hadn’t mugged herself off at the wedding, she wouldn’t have had to suffer any of this.
Having to lick arse and act like the perfect daughter-in-law just wasn’t Chelle’s scene and she knew it would take just one little thing to push her over the edge. The final nail in the coffin came when the phone rang.
‘All right, Chelle, it’s me. Is everything OK? How’s Mum?’
Chelle swallowed a mouthful of vodka, took a deep breath and went into cheerful mode. ‘I’m coping, Tel, I’ve just taken a cup of tea and a piece of cake up to the bedroom for her. What about you, are you all right? Will you be home early again?’
Terry had been home by eight o’clock every single night for the last two weeks and Chelle was thriving on it. Deep down, she knew that it wasn’t her he was rushing home to, but she could live with that. He was back where he belonged and that’s all that mattered. She was sure whatever old floozie had been on the scene had now been well and truly discarded.
‘Actually, Chelle, that’s what I rang to tell you. I’m gonna be home late tonight. I’ve got to pick up a couple of cars from an auction in Cambridgeshire. I might be really late so don’t bother waiting up for me.’
Cutting him off, Chelle poured herself another drink, a large one. She knew the bastard was lying. Auction my arse, he was meeting up with his old slapper and she’d just about taken all she could take. If he thought she was sitting here looking after his old cunt of a mother while he was out whoring, he had another thing coming. After ringing Hazel and organising a night out, Chelle had a bath, sorted through her glad-rags and spruced herself up. No-good bastard, she’d had a gutful of him and his fucking mother. Bollocks to the pair of them. For all she cared they could both rot in hell!
Hazel had advised her weeks ago to hire a private detective to catch Terry out. At least that way she could put herself out of her misery once and for all, but Chelle was too frightened to follow it through. She’d thought about it, she really had, but the thought of being handed photos or a videotape with some ravishing beauty on the other end of it filled her with dread. She’d probably end up topping herself if that were to happen.
Chelle had met Jade on numerous occasions over the years when stomping into her husband’s car lot for this, that or the other. Describing her to her friends as the blonde gofer with the Pam Ayres voice, Chelle would have had a cardiac on the spot if she’d realised that the girl she’d always mocked and spoke to like shit, was not only shagging her husband, but had also won his heart. This was perhaps Chelle’s downfall. She was never able to see further than the end of her nose. Because Jade had a country accent, wore long skirts and didn’t walk around with her tits hanging out, Chelle judged her as a nothing, a no-mark. The Essex girl that Chelle was could never understand the sex appeal of someone like Jade.
Deciding to wear a low-cut top, jeans, scarf and Armani blazer, Chelle admired herself in the mirror. She’d recently lost a few pounds and thought she looked good for it. Hearing the front door slam, she galloped down the stairs. Maybe