Serve Cool by Lauren Davies Read Free Book Online Page A

turn one of life’s little blips into a full-blown crisis which Kate Adie would be drafted in to cover. Not altogether ideal qualities for such a highly stressful profession as corporate law. Mind you, at least I was consistent.
    ‘I’m sorry, Maz,’ I whimpered. ‘Forgive me?’
    She jumped up, her left foot landing on a cold garlic bread. ‘Sorry for what? Don’t get all soppy on me now, woman. Forgive ya. Howay, it’s
my
fault you got the red card over them bloody muffins. It’s me who should be apologising. We’ll get through it though, Jen. Treat it as a holiday till you decide what to do, like. I mean, you could always pull pints at the pub with me.’
    I started to laugh as I envisaged myself behind the bar of the Scrap Inn, dishing out endless ‘broon ales’ to Maz’s crazy regulars.
    Not a chance,
my brain said firmly. ‘All right, bugger off to work and leave me alone,’ I grinned.
    Maz gave me a wave and retrieved a clammy slice of pizza from the soggy box on the floor. She left the room, loudly as always, sucking the congealed cheese out of the crust. Seconds later I heard the front door to my flat slam shut. It sounded remarkably like the cell door on the opening titles of
Prisoner Cell Block H.
Shite, she’d gone. She had actually gone. I felt suddenly alone, and tearful. Time to take a one-way ticket to self-pity city.
    It’s funny the things you can learn when you spend a weekday at home. From the TV alone, I discovered how to
feng shui
my flat, apply party make-up while preparing a gourmet meal, upholster a
chaise longue
with recycled bin-liners and lose four pounds by living in a state of prolonged happiness. Of course, Richard said that would be easy for Judy to do, they were so happy together.
Tosser.
I also became well versed in Australian after watching thelunchtime run of soaps, so I walked around the flat saying ‘you dag’, ‘g’day’, and ‘fair dinkum’ to various pieces of furniture.
    I stared out of the window at the street below and watched the world go by its business. The postman came and went twice, not even pausing to consider my mailbox. Delivery men plied the neighbours’ flats with furniture, carpets and catalogues, and the milkman delivered to the two couples in the block who were still adamant about maintaining a crumbling British tradition. I couldn’t help but notice that the latter spent an inordinate amount of time at number 20, without doubt the home of another dissatisfied housewife. Cars whizzed by invariably, I noticed, with one person in each. Totally out of character, I found myself cursing the human race’s lack of environmental awareness. Through the gap in the blocks of flats across the street I could see a constant stream of ships moving up and down the River Tyne. Presumably taking our non-beef produce out to sea. I thought about packing up a red-and-white-dotted hankie with sandwiches, fruit cake and a spare pair of knickers and stowing away, but I couldn’t decide where I’d like to go. Thoughts that had never previously crossed my mind began to fill my aching head. I thought of anything just to suppress the feelings I knew were lurking inside me. I wanted to shout out of the window, to stop all the activity that was carrying on outside my four walls. I was alone, single and unemployed. Yet, from my solitary prison (I was back on the
Cell Block H
metaphor) I could see that the world carried on regardless. Nothing changes in the big picture just because oneperson feels bad. I was pissed off at being so insignificant that my problems didn’t bring the whole planet to a sudden halt.
    I moved from the window and slumped back in front of the TV to play couch commando with the remote control. A studio of incredibly vocal Californians were discussing the topic ‘Teenage moms pregnant at 13’. I listened to the sob stories for a while then changed channel. ‘She’s too fat to wear Lycra’ was the theme on this show. ‘Hey girlfriend,’