2. An Unexpected Letter
1454 Words
2
An Unexpected Letter
Bonnie opened the door to find Debbie standing on the doorstep.
‘Good, I’m glad you’re home,’ Debbie said. ‘I need a heart-to-heart. I got dumped again.’ She held up a plastic bag as though it would convince Bonnie. ‘Did you eat yet? No? Good. I got a filthy vindaloo. Figured I was going to cry anyway. And I picked up a DVD from Save the Children. Hachi, with Richard Gere. Don’t worry, he doesn’t last long. It’s all about the dog, which gets old and dies a sad, lonely death. Never cried so much. Might need to again. That work?’
Bonnie smiled. ‘Sometimes I think you’re my guardian angel.’
‘Huh? You know there’s no such thing. There might be a hell, but there’s certainly no heaven. Hell, definitely. My whole life is in it.’
‘Well, let’s see what we can do.’ Bonnie stepped back to allow her next-door neighbour’s black-clad, greasy-haired niece into the house.
‘Take the gear,’ Debbie said, handing over the bag. ‘Go and heat up the naan a minute. They always go cold. Yours is the plain. Mine’s the turmeric and ginger. I needed something to clear out the sniffles.’
Debbie gave a dramatic sniff as if to emphasise the point. Bonnie took the bag and headed for the kitchen, aware it would take Debbie a couple of minutes to unlace the knee-length boots she wore.
A few minutes later they sat across from each other at Bonnie’s kitchen table. Debbie, having removed her trenchcoat like a beetle shedding its shell, wore a leather tunic over an Iron Maiden t-shirt, along with black jeans. She shoveled vindaloo into her mouth with a tablespoon, her forehead beaded with sweat, occasionally swiping the braids of dyed black hair out of her way. Bonnie, picking slowly through a curry so hot the aroma alone burned her lips, watched her best friend with an unavoidable sense of amusement.
‘So, when do you want to tell me what happened with Ben?’
‘Colm. Ben was last month. I’ve blocked his Twitter and everything.’
‘Okay, Colm. Is that short for something?’
Mark.’
Bonnie lifted an eyebrow. ‘Is there a specific reason how Mark became Colm?’
Debbie looked up, the tunic laced too tight across her chest creaking with the movement. ‘His name’s Mark Briscol. Briscol, M. Get it?’
‘What’s that, from his prison record?’
Debbie scowled. ‘He only had an ASBO. And that was only because he got mad at his grandmother’s cat. It took a dump on his car windscreen.’
‘So he cleaned it with a chainsaw?’
‘Are you taking the Mickey?’
Bonnie waited until Debbie turned to grab a handful of naan before she let herself smile. ‘Would I?’
‘Yeah, you would. You think I’m like some comedy show.’
Bonnie shook her head. ‘I take every word you say with deadly seriousness. So, what happened?’
Debbie finished off her last spoonful of vindaloo and let out a belch, catching herself with a pardon just in time.
‘That filled a hole,’ she said. ‘Right, I was talking about Colm?’
‘Yeah.’
‘He dumped me. Right in the middle of the dancefloor at Kevil’s.’
‘The rock club?’
‘Yeah. Sweat pit, that place is. Hell. You going to finish that?’
Bonnie smiled and passed across the remains of her vindaloo, taking her plain naan before Debbie could lay claim to it too. ‘Go for it.’
‘Thanks. So, I’m on the dancefloor, and I’m getting into some Judas Priest, and you know, I’d put some ball bearings into my braids just to keep them straight. Colm reckoned I punched him but it was just the hair, you know?’
‘You got a little excited.’
‘Yeah. And so he said he wanted someone who was a little more of a lady. I mean, who does he think he is? That One Direction-liking pri—’
‘I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that,’ Bonnie interrupted.
‘I saw the CD in his car. He tried to pretend it was his little sister’s, like he’d had to put it on for her when he dropped her off at ballet class.’ Debbie loaded another heap of vindaloo into her mouth, then coughed, managing to hold her mouth closed but appearing for a few seconds to go into some kind of sudden seizure. Bonnie leaned across and patted her on the back until she had got herself under control.
‘Men are all scum,’ Debbie said at last, her face red. Sometimes I wish I batted for the other side. ‘Let’s open the wine.’
‘That sounds like a great idea,’ Bonnie said. ‘Did you bring any?’
Debbie shook her head. ‘Nah. Just a couple of cans of Guinness. I was thinking about you. Fifty-odd and divorced, you must have wine. How else are you supposed to get through the evenings?’
‘That’s a good question. I’m afraid I must have finished it off drowning my sorrows last night.’
Debbie shrugged. ‘Not to worry. I’ll spot you a can. If we need to carry on I’ll do a booze run down to the corner shop later. I know the kid who works nights. I got him some Cinderella tickets last summer.’
‘The musical?’
Debbie shook her head. ‘The eighties hair-metal band. Reunion tour. They suck. Got them free with a magazine and would have thrown them away but we were talking and he said he’d never been to a concert. I figured it was best to start low.’
‘He didn’t like it?’
Debbie scowled. ‘Have you seen his hair? Looks like he’s got a dead cat on his head. Thinks they’re the best band in the world. Fourteen and I’ve already ruined him.’ She shrugged. ‘Oh well, kid loves me now. Always knocks a couple of quid off.’
They cleared away the plates and moved to the living room. Debbie loaded the DVD into the player and sat back on the sofa, pulling the coffee table over so she could put up her feet—black socks with red devil logos on the ankles. The casualness of her manner never ceased to make Bonnie laugh; she sometimes wished everyone could go through life with the same casual ignorance of social rules. Debbie was a walking stereotypical trainwreck, but since the night Bonnie had found Debbie banging drunkenly on her door—the girl having mistaken in which house she lived upon returning after a rock club bender—they had been best friends. Debbie and her endless dramas was a nostalgic reminder for Bonnie of the youth that somewhere along the line she had left far behind.
The DVD had loaded up its start screen, a little dog icon hovering over START MOVIE. Debbie swigged from her can of Guinness and sighed.
‘Honestly, sometimes I’m envious of you,’ she said, swinging her head to look at Bonnie, who hadn’t yet opened her can. ‘I mean, you’re what? Fifty-five, single, a homeowner, your kids leave you alone—’
Bonnie lifted a hand. ‘Just to make a couple of clarifications there … I’m fifty-two. Yes, I’m single, but I’m also divorced, which is like having a medal around your neck with “worthless” written on it. My husband ran off with a hat saleswoman he met when he was buying me a hat for Christmas because he didn’t like my hair and wanted something to cover it on the rare occasions we ever went out. I’m a homeowner only because he took all our savings in the divorce in exchange for letting me keep the house … and the mortgage I can barely pay on my pathetic Morrico salary. And both my kids took his side. Said I should have dressed better. I’m lucky if I get a card for my birthday now.’
Debbie stared at her for a long time. Finally an eyebrow lifted. ‘I know all that,’ she said. ‘I was paraphrasing for the sake of clarity.’
‘Thanks. Can’t you paraphrase my age downwards in future?’
‘Fifty-five can be anything in the fifties, but if I say you’re forty-nine that’s an outright lie.’
Bonnie shrugged. Lifting the can of Guinness, she swallowed as much as she could in a single gulp. It was only about a quarter of the can, but it took her so long that Debbie gave a respectful nod.
‘We need more booze,’ she said. ‘I’ll go.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
At the door, Debbie kicked the cluster of circulars into a pile and scooped them up. ‘Shall I dump them into next door’s dustbin on the way out? You know clutter just bugs me. I think it’s my OCD.’
‘Next door’s is your mother’s.’
‘On the other side.’
‘Sure.’
Debbie gave the letters a quick shuffle as though looking for any coupons. She frowned and lifted an official letter which had been hidden at the bottom.
‘Oooh. Franklin & Sons. A letter from a lawyer. Perhaps you’re being repossessed.’
‘Let me take a look. It’s probably just advertising.’
Debbie stood patiently as Bonnie ripped open the letter, unfolded it, and skim-read the contents. Reaching the bottom, she frowned, then read it over again.
‘I don’t believe it,’ she said.
- Writer
