Putty In Her Hands by R J Butler Read Free Book Online Page B

her
opinion, and the children remain unaware that their handiwork has
been tampered with beyond recognition. On the windowsill, our
Christmas cards, including the one from Aunt Vera, which we
received during the last week in November. It was so early I almost
sent it back with the instruction that she send it to us at the
appropriate time of year. Not for anything, do Emily and the
children call me Scrooge.
     
    Monday, 17th December
    The last full week before
Christmas, and it passes with excruciating slowness. Monday I
decided not to text Dawn; I’d leave her in peace with her husband.
But I still hoped she’d text me. But she didn’t. Ditto Tuesday but
I was still cool about it. Up to about six o’clock. I’d stayed
late, assessing someone’s application for an essential car users’
allowance. They were pushing it, of course; there was no way I
could sanction such a pile of fiction. And then suddenly I felt as
if someone had tied a huge weight to my heart and, whilst during
Monday and Tuesday, they’d held it, bearing its weight, about six
p.m. Tuesday, without warning, they let go, and suddenly my heart
surges under the strain. Why hasn’t she been in contact? She’d warn
me things might be different when she was back in Westminster but
not this different. It’s as if I didn’t exist. I tried to read the
words on the screen in front of me, the Essential car users’
allowance policy, but my breathing comes in short bursts. I’m new
to this, forgot that people, women, can make you feel this
bad, this wretched. I check my mobile continually, getting
increasingly desperate to receive a text from her, or a ‘missing
call’ message with her number. A couple of times over the week, my
phone buzzed. Almost shaking with anticipation, I reached inside my
pocket. Each time I let out an audible groan of disappointment when
I’d been asked to buy a loaf of bread or a pint of milk on my
return from work.
     
    On Wednesday, Loretta asked me
whether I was going out on Friday night. Yes, I said, and asked
whether she knew who else was intending to go. She listed various
names, the usual suspects, including Ernie and Karen, and then, as
an afterthought, added Dawn.
     
    Loretta grinned, happy to be
seen as the point of social contact. I texted her, she
said.
     
    You text Dawn? I hadn’t
realised they were on such good terms. Just think, Dawn and our
very own Olive Oil as friends. And she’s coming Friday?
     
    She said maybe, so that
probably means no. I wondered whether Loretta had any
foundation whatsoever to jump to such a negative assumption, but
the way I was feeling I guessed she was probably right anyway.
     
    If you happen to text her
again, send her my…
     
    Yes?
     
    Regards.
     
    Loretta
laughed. Will do, she says.
     
    As Friday
loomed I became more and more convinced Dawn would either not turn
up or return feeling different about me. It shocked me how much I
cared. I hassled Loretta into keeping in touch with Dawn, reminding
her of the drink.
     
    Friday, 21st December
    The day is
here and I wake up bad tempered and on edge. Emily asks whether I’m
OK. Joshua, with an instinct for survival when he senses not all is
well in Dad’s world, avoids me.
     
    It is the last day before the
holidays and Christmas is evident everywhere. The festive mood in
the office permeates every corner, except, I notice, Heather’s
office, where she sits studiously as ever. I suggest that she join
us in the pub after work. Her withering look is no more than I’d
expected. Everyone else, the few that haven’t taken the day off,
celebrate behind a thin façade of work. Ernie’s sprig of mistletoe,
now doubled in size, pokes out from his jacket pocket; Sean, a
young chap in a wheelchair, has lined his wheels with purple
tinsel; and Paul, my earnest co-worker, is wearing a tie that plays
Jingle Bells at the push of a button.
     
    I pester Loretta to see whether
Dawn has texted her again. She’s amused by my interest but no,