Prime Time by Jane Wenham-Jones Read Free Book Online Page B

rubbish. This is just an excuse for middle-aged women to behave like witches and make other people’s lives a misery.’ She pointed at me. ‘My mother was like her,’ she snarled, almost spitting the last word. ‘Always shouting and screaming and blaming everything on the fact that she had a bad period. Made us all miserable and gave my poor dad hell. She thought nothing of throwing a carving knife across the kitchen but it was never her fault. When I think what we went through –’
    I clenched my fists in frustration, feeling hot and angry. The sense of hurt and disappointment and raw injustice that had begun rising when Doris was speaking rose further.
    â€˜I shouldn’t think she wanted to be like that,’ I said tightly. ‘None of us do. Do you think anyone chooses to feel bad? Do you?’
    Alicia shrugged. ‘Probably,’ she said, aggressively.
    â€˜Oh yes, I’m sure.’ I scowled at her. ‘Would you want to spend half the month with bloating and poor concentration?’ I asked, suddenly miraculously remembering the list of symptoms I’d memorised from the Internet. ‘Would you want to feel depressed and worthless? Would you want water retention and swollen ankles? Would you?’
    Alicia rolled her eyes as the oldies began murmuring again. ‘Look at you. Just like her, always feeling sorry for yourself. Always blaming something else.’
    â€˜What do you know about my life or how I behave?’ I shouted. I realised I was waving both arms.
    Alicia looked at me, eyebrows slightly raised, a sarcastic half-smile on her face. The mutterings from the back grew to a crescendo.
    â€˜We all know the trouble with you!’ Doris yelled. The row behind her began to bay.
    â€˜Screaming the place down,’ said Alicia. ‘You’re all the same.’
    â€˜I do not scream!’ I shrieked.
    I saw Randolph smiling as he turned back to face the camera. Horror struck as I realised my tirade would go out all over the country. ‘Fuck,’ I muttered, forgetting what Sharon had said about the mike picking everything up. ‘Fuck it, fuck it,’ I added, as I remembered.
    â€˜Why should we all put up with it?’ Alicia was calling. ‘Why should we be your victims?’
    Furious with her, furious with myself, I struggled for something dignified to come back with, but the sight of her smug, triumphant smile was too much.
    â€˜You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I exploded. I leant forward and jabbed a finger at her. ‘The woman with PMT,’ I yelled, ‘is a victim herself!’
    There was uproar at the back. Three of Doris’s cronies got to their feet and appeared to be trying to climb over the seats in front.
    Alicia leant forward to give me the full benefit of her evil eyes. ‘Well if it’s that bad,’ she said nastily, ‘get a hysterectomy. But it would probably be more useful for everyone,’ she ended victoriously, ‘if you got a life  …’
    â€˜My God,’ said Charlotte, appearing at my side looking visibly shaken as Sharon, the sound girl, rummaged around in the back of my trousers to retrieve the microphone pack. ‘What a load of old harridans.
    â€˜You were very good,’ she added doubtfully. ‘Well, until the end anyway …’
    I shuddered. ‘Did I sound like a fishwife?’
    â€˜Yeah, you did a bit, love.’
    Terrific. So much for being poised and serene then. ‘What happened to my hair and make-up?’ I said crossly. ‘And where’s bloody Clive anyway? Shouldn’t he be here?’
    â€˜You were totally marvellous, darling,’ said Shane, bustling up. ‘As I just knew you would be. Now let me just check my little list – have we got all your details?’ He consulted his clipboard and then looked at me coyly. ‘Just in case we need you again. Just in case you make