Ghosts in the Morning - By Will Thurmann Page 0,15
year and a half. Healthy, harmonious living, dear, it does wonders for your body. But you look a bit fat, dear, hope you don’t mind me saying.’
I shrugged. It didn’t matter if I did mind, Anita never pulled her punches. I liked that about her. And Anita did look well. She was always reinventing herself. A few years earlier it had been all about the fitness – spinning, aerobics, boxercise - and she’d gone all Jane Fonda, and now it seemed it was Bollywood.
‘So, tell me, Andy, how is married life?’ She turned to the barman. ‘Two glasses of Chardonnay, please. Yes, large ones. And have you got some menus for lunch, please?’ She looked back at me. ‘Of course, I presume you are still married, then? And Graham is still as dull as dishwater?’
‘He’s not that dull.’ She was right, Graham was dull, but I couldn’t help being defensive; if he were to be criticised, I would prefer it to be me who did it. ‘I know his job is dull, but that doesn’t mean he is.’
‘Okay, Andy, okay, keep your wig on. Now, what do you fancy? Shall we have a sandwich or shall we push the boat out and have a proper meal. Or, should I say, push your boat out – you don’t mind treating me, do you dear? Money’s a bit tight for a few days, I’m just waiting on one of David’s cheques to clear. The bastard has been slow paying me the last few months.’
‘David is still paying you?’ I said incredulously.
‘Of course, dear, of course he is. You know my motto – use them and abuse them. Or rather should I say “use them up and bleed them dry”.’
Or just kill them. The phrase popped into my head like lightning and I had to bite my lip hard to stop it forming on my lips. Anita furrowed her brow. ‘You okay, dear, you’ve got a bit of blood on the corner of your mouth there.’
‘Er, yeah, just bit my lip, I’ve got a bit of an ulcer I think-’
‘Poor eating and stress, dear, that’s why you’re getting ulcers. Stress of being married to that boring git, I reckon. I don’t know why you never listen to me, dear, you should divorce Graham, take him to the cleaners, like I did with David, and get some excitement in your life.’
‘Anita, I do not want to divorce Graham, we’re married, we’ve got three sons, we’re fine, I’m fine. ’ It didn’t sound convincing, even to me.
David was Anita’s ex-husband. Well, her second ex-husband. Her first husband had been tossed aside when his grandiose plans for property development had proved to have no substance, in fact no property. Anita had obtained a quickie divorce and six months after that she had married David, a mildly famous, mildly rich television star; he was the main character in a long-running detective series, one of those soporific dramas that old people enjoyed, where there was never any blood and the killer was usually the mild-mannered postman, or vicar. David played the genial lead detective, a no-nonsense sensible chap, unburdened with the usual TV detective traits of alcoholism and broken families. I had only ever seen glimpses of the show, but David seemed to be a reasonably good actor, not that the script ever asked for any major dramatic stretch as far as I was aware.
Anita had caught David in their bedroom with a fellow actress from the show. Anita was supposed to be away for the weekend, visiting an animal sanctuary in Devon, but she had missed the flight. David hadn’t spotted Anita at the doorway of the bedroom at first, mainly because he was facing the wall on all fours as the actress was busy inserting a large dildo into his bottom.
Anita swore me to secrecy and said that David couldn’t risk the story going public – she had told me that he would be certain to lose his job, they couldn’t have that sort of scandal associated with that sort of show, and he wasn’t getting any younger, that show was his cash cow. If he lost that lucrative role, he would struggle to get another. But there was no way that Anita was going to stay with ‘that stupid pervert’ so an amicable divorce ensued and now Anita received a nice monthly cheque. ‘Hush money, bastard will keep paying it as well. He thinks I’ve got pictures on my mobile phone, but the truth is