The Drowned Village. Kathleen McGurl

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СКАЧАТЬ some of her clients but Gran would just dig her heels in.

      ‘What?’

      ‘Have you decided? Will you take a holiday?’

      Laura smiled. ‘You know, I think I might. Since you seem so eager to get rid of me! I do quite fancy a trip to the Lake District, and I’ve still got my old tent somewhere.’

      ‘Good! I’m really pleased. It’ll do you good. You need it and you deserve it. The dinner was delicious, by the way. I’d help you wash up, if I could, but thankfully I can’t.’ Stella grinned impishly, and Laura chuckled at the joke she made after every evening meal.

      ‘No problem, Gran, I’ll do it this time,’ she said, parroting the usual response.

      As she washed up, a thought came to her. Where was that old tent, and her sleeping bag? She’d brought a car full of stuff to Gran’s when she’d left the flat she’d shared with Stuart, but were the tent and sleeping bag amongst it all? Not that she could remember. With a sinking feeling she remembered that she’d stored it in an eaves cupboard at the flat – the one in Martine’s bedroom – and she had not checked that cupboard when she moved out. It had all been a bit of a rush.

      Not for the first time, she relived that hideous day in her mind as she worked. She’d gone home early because she could feel herself coming down with a cold. In her job, it was not a good idea to battle on through bugs and germs, as it was too easy to pass them on to her frailer clients. She’d called the office, who had been able to get someone else to do her last two care visits of the day, and had gratefully driven back to the flat, picking up some Beecham’s cold cures on the way. She’d let herself in, expecting the flat to be empty, but then had heard sounds coming from the bedroom she shared with Stuart. He ought to have been at work. Thinking perhaps someone had broken in, she’d grabbed a golfing umbrella from the hat stand as the nearest thing she had to a weapon, steeled herself, then burst in through the bedroom door, shouting and brandishing the umbrella. The first thing she’d seen was Stuart’s bare bum thrusting up and down; the second thing was Martine’s shocked face, peering over his shoulder.

      Stuart looked around. ‘Fuck, Lols, you gave me a fright! What’s with the screaming and all?’

      ‘Laura, oh my God!’ Martine shuffled out from underneath Stuart, grabbed the nearest item to cover herself – Laura’s fleecy dressing gown – and pushed past Laura, out of the room.

      Laura was speechless. How long she had stood there, staring at Stuart, she didn’t know. It could have been two seconds or twenty minutes. Her mind was in turmoil. Stuart? And Martine? Martine, who she’d considered her best friend. Stuart was scrabbling around for his clothes, which were strewn across the floor. As he stood up to pull on his underpants Laura finally found her voice. ‘How long?’

      ‘You what?’

      ‘How long – has this been going on?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘You and Martine, of course! What do you think I’m talking about? How long have you been . . . shagging her?’ She spat the word out.

      ‘Shit, I dunno, Lols, not long, it’s just . . .’

      ‘Ten months.’ Martine was standing behind her, now dressed in her own clothes. ‘Sorry, Laura. You had to find out sooner or later but I guess this wasn’t the best way. Stu, I said you should have told her.’

      ‘Couldn’t find the right time, hon. Well, she knows now. Sorry, Lols.’ Stuart reached out a hand, and Laura instinctively stepped forward to take it, then realised he was reaching for Martine. ‘She’s just, well, more my type, I guess. Come on, Lols, we had some good times but it hasn’t been working for a while. You know that. Martine and I kind of drifted together, as you and I have drifted apart.’

      Drifted apart? Had they? Well, they hadn’t had as many evenings together as a couple lately, what with Laura’s recent shift patterns which had meant she’d been working till ten p.m. five nights a week. The other two nights if they went out Martine had always come with them. And – ten months? Ten! Laura could not seem to form any sentences to respond. It was all too much to take in at once. She’d been living a lie for nearly a year!

      ‘Lols? I guess maybe you and Martine should swap rooms. I mean, now it’s all out in the open . . .’ Stuart said, with a shrug.

      That did it. ‘Swap rooms? You think you just move me into the spare room now you’re bored of me, and Martine into our room? It’s as easy as that? You bastard, Stuart. You are a complete and utter GIT! And you –’ Laura turned to Martine – ‘how even could you? I thought you were my friend. My best friend. Well, fuck you.’ She picked up the nearest object to hand – a ring-binder folder of Stuart’s containing details of his work projects – and flung it across the room at them both. Satisfyingly, it popped open in mid-air, showering papers everywhere.

      ‘Laura, for fuck’s sake, that stuff’s important!’ Stuart began gathering up the loose papers.

      ‘More important than me, clearly.’ Laura crossed the room, trampling across the papers, and flung open the wardrobe. She grabbed a holdall and began throwing her clothes into it.

      ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘Leaving you two lovebirds – what does it look like? You can refund me the rent I’ve paid for this month. I’ll collect the rest of my stuff tomorrow when you’re out.’ She tried to close the bag but the zip got caught in a woolly jumper she’d rammed in the top.

      ‘Where will you go?’ asked Martine. She at least had the grace to look mortified, unlike Stuart who seemed merely annoyed that he’d been found out.

      ‘Why the fuck should you even care?’ Laura swept an assortment of toiletries, make-up and jewellery from the top of the chest of drawers into a carrier bag. She leaned over the bed to grab her half-read book from the top of the bedside cabinet and Stuart cringed as though he thought she was about to hit him. ‘I’m going. You can move your stuff in tomorrow when I’ve cleared it out properly.’ And with that, she’d stormed out of the flat, banging the door so hard that their downstairs neighbour stuck his head out to see what was going on.

      In her car, she’d sat breathing deeply for a few minutes. She’d left the cold and flu remedies she’d bought in the flat, and was feeling worse. Not surprising, really, she told herself. It’s not every day you lose your boyfriend, your best mate and your home all while trying to battle the onset of a cold. Where would she go? And then the tears had come.

      Now, finishing drying up the dinner things and with unbidden tears trailing down her cheeks at the painful memories, she recalled it was at that moment, her lowest, most despairing point, that a text had arrived, from her gran. Dear Laura, the text read, Stella being of the generation that felt all written communication should be properly spelt and punctuated, if you get the chance could you pick up a pint of milk for me and drop it round? Clumsy old thing that I am, I dropped the carton all over the floor, and now there’s none for my bedtime Ovaltine. Thank you, with love from Gran.

      And that was when she’d worked out her plan. She would ask if she could stay with Stella until she could work something else out. What that something else would be she had no idea. In return she could help with Gran’s care, reducing her costs. She’d bought more cold remedies and the milk, and turned up on her grandmother’s doorstep, her eyes red and her nose streaming. Stella had been horrified by what had happened but delighted by СКАЧАТЬ