Husbands by Adele Parks Read Free Book Online Page A

him busking—’
    ‘He’s a
busker
,’ I say with indecorous astonishment.
    ‘Yeah. So?’ demands Laura tetchily, suggesting that she already knows what point I’m going to make. From the look on her face she is warning me not to pour cold water. ‘He was being moved on by an underground official.’
    ‘Not even an authorized busker?’ Did I say that? I hadn’t meant to.
    ‘Actually, that’s not his real job. He’s an Elvis impersonator, a tribute act,’ declares Laura – as though he is more important than the chancellor of the exchequer.
    I feel sick. Is there anything worse? I want to tell her that tribute guys are never more than that. I object to the whole premise: if you have to be an entertainer, why be an imitator? Why not be yourself? I can see her now in the audience of working men’s clubs, surrounded by wasters and alcoholics, sipping Blue Nun as her man squeezes himself into his sparkly suit – changing room nothing more than a curtain pulled around a makeshift stage. I contain my criticism as a discontented mumble.
    ‘Well, that should impress the bank manager.’ Laura glares at me. ‘Sorry, no more interruptions. Go on.’
    ‘And then I got on the train and the next thing I knew he was sat in my carriage and we got chatting. He’s got the most beautiful smile.’
    ‘What did you chat about?’
    ‘
Little House on the Prairie
.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘And as I got off the tube he kissed me.’
    ‘He kissed you?’ Even Amelie is taken aback but she’sgrinning as though this forward, stalking busker is a good thing!
    ‘When are you going to see him next?’ she asks.
    ‘I don’t know. That’s the problem. I didn’t take his number.’
    ‘But you gave him yours,’ said Amelie.
    Laura shakes her head. She then retells the story of her brief encounter with gory detail. She goes on about ‘connections’ and feeling ‘something in the air’. I tell her that’s smog. She pretends not to hear me.
    ‘You are insane,’ I pronounce and then I panic. ‘He could have been insane. Really, I mean.’
    ‘I thought that at first but he was too cute,’ smiles Laura.
    ‘Insanity comes in all sorts of guises, even practised flirts,’ I point out. I feel like her mother.
    ‘I’m so glad I was wearing my new T-shirt,’ she says dreamily.
    Visions of the countless eligible guys that I’ve trailed past Laura for her inspection clamber into my head. None of them ever raised an iota of interest. None of them made her so much as twinkle, never mind glow as she is glowing now. She looks fantastic. This brief flirtation, not much more than a fleeting moment, that wouldn’t even have registered on my sexual Richter scale, had clearly sent her into a spin.
    ‘I wonder how you can track him down,’ muses Amelie.
    ‘Why would she want to do that?’ I demand.
    ‘Look at her. She’s all shook up.’
    Amelie and Laura collapse into giggles. I pour some more wine and search for something else to talk about.It’s not that I don’t want Laura to be happy – I want her to be
very
happy – I want her to have everything I have but she is not going to find it by hooking up with an Elvis impersonator. There would be no happiness that way. No stability, no regular income. I didn’t marry Philip for his money but I’m glad he has money. Laura needs someone who can help support Eddie. Or if not that, then at least she needs to avoid anyone who is a bigger financial drain and has a similar income capacity to Eddie’s.
    ‘I bet we could find out which pub he performs at in Richmond, assuming he got the job,’ suggests Amelie.
    ‘She can’t just turn up like a groupie,’ I argue.
    ‘Why not?’ asks Amelie. She smiles at Laura. Laura beams back hopefully.
    I make lots of noise clattering plates as I serve up the pizza. I hope my protest is registered. My neck clicks with tension and my stomach seems to be performing a complex crunch that isn’t taught in any gym but has a similar agonizing effect