Tuesday, 28 September 2010

The First Wives' Club, and Other Forms of Rivalry.

Blimey. Sounds like things aren't going at all well at conference. Well, not for Greg, anyway.  (David Miliband might say the same, I suppose, but that's another story.)

I'm not used to Greg sounding insecure but, just before I leave work after a fairly hellish day fending off the the usual suspects, he phones to say that he thinks he's been rendered surplus to requirements by Vicky. God knows what's going on.

"I don't mind not having to do The Boss's buttons up anymore, Mol, but she's getting on my bloody nerves marching about carrying all his papers, and making me walk two steps behind them."

I don't like the sound of this at all.

"Well, how did he meet up with her?" I say.

"No idea. It must've been the night that he disappeared. When I finally found him the next day, she was already in tow."

"Good God," I say. "You don't think -"

"Who knows?" Greg says. "Anyway, it's horrible. I feel like a member of the First Wives Club. Redundancy can only be a short step away."

This is a very unnerving thought. On my way home, I am so distracted by wondering what Andrew and Vicky are up to, that I almost walk into Ellen who is coming the other way.

"Molly," she says. "How are you? Long time no see."

I consider saying, "not long enough" but, before I can pluck up the courage, she continues,

"Max was late home last night, wasn't he? Wonder what he'd been up to?" Then she winks, says, "By-ee!" and carries on walking. How does she know that? And does she have to sound so bloody smug about it? I bet that's exactly how Vicky's behaving. No wonder Greg feels like a wife who's about to be traded in.

When I finally arrive home, Max is busy chatting to Connie on his mobile so I glare at him and then, mindful of the subject of wife trading, decide that I'd better keep my promise to Dinah.

I am tasked with phoning Dad to see what I can find out about the Thai Bride situation, Dinah having got nowhere with the attempt she made. She blames her poor information gathering on her having been forced to hang up on Dad when he claimed that"everyone looks the same age in the dark."

So now it's Muggins' turn. I brace myself and dial the number.

"Ah, Molly," says Dad. "Bad timing. I'm just going out with the boys."

"Oh, not to worry. I just wanted to check you were okay," I say. "I won't keep you if you're busy."

Dad being out with the boys is quite a relief. For two reasons. Firstly, I am temporarily spared having to listen to him describing his "romance" in Shakespearean terms - which would probably lead me to snap and mention Gary Glitter again.

The second reason is that, with any luck, I've lost my bet and Dad's had his fill of his Thai adventure and is going to settle down and grow old gracefully. (Dinah has been running a book on what will happen next in the Thai Bride saga. I wagered Dad would marry Porn-Whatever-Her-Name-Is during his most recent visit and would try to bring her back with him.)

"I'll phone you later in the week when I've got more time," Dad says. "I've got something important to talk to you about."

Oh my God. Now what? Dinah's going to go nuts if I've won the bet. And not just because she'll owe me money either. Bloody men. This is turning out to be a very bad week - and it's still only Tuesday. 

No comments:

Post a Comment