NANCY
pulled up outside her house to see a shadow on the porch steps. Please not now. Since her landline had lain
quiet, bar the hospital call, she hoped the press attention was fizzling. Not a
reporter, it seemed; the figure’s carriage more befitted Bex. Even on a cold
night such as this, Bex insisted upon wearing short skirts and court shoes. Her
large overcoat made her look like an oilrig.
Nancy killed the engine and got out. Bex
appeared subdued, but not enough to say sorry. ‘Hurry up, you mong, its cold
out here.’ Her way of saying she’d known Nancy long enough not to let a small
matter of inflicting gouges on skin to stand in the way of a toxic friendship.
Nancy didn’t look at her as she inserted the key and let her in.
Bex
took the lead and perched herself on the sofa. She tucked her knees demurely beneath
her. ‘Look, I heard about your mom,’ she began.
Nancy
shrugged.
‘I
came as soon as I heard. Danny told me everything. It’s shit, isn’t it?’
‘What
do you want, Bex?’
‘You
have such a low opinion of me, don’t you?’
‘You
drew blood.’
‘I’m
sorry, all right? It’s me fingernails, they’re a bit sharp, that’s all.’
The
usual Bex reflex of self-denial. A fusion of assertiveness and going too far.
Nancy eyed the newspapers sticking out of Bex’s coat pocket. ‘Why don’t you
just cut the condolences and get to the point, Bex? You obviously have
something you want to show me.’
Bex
gave a sanctimonious smirk. ‘You are such a sullen bitch, Nancy.’ She untucked
a newspaper and leafed through with aplomb. She slammed the reams onto the
coffee table. ‘Fuckin’ Cora,’ she huffed.
Nancy
read the headline: What’s in Store for
Core: Life after the Jonas Crash, Trauma Victim Rebuilds her Life.
Bex
slammed a second newspaper on top. ‘Fuckin’ Cora.’
Cora Splashes out: Jonas Crash Victim has Retail
Therapy at Selfridges in Oxford Street.
Bex
slammed a third on top. ‘Oh, and there’s fuckin’ Cora again.’
Cora says: Jonas Made Indecent Proposal before the
Crash.
‘We’ve
got to do something about her.’
Nancy
quickly drew her eyes from the final headline. ‘Like what?’
‘She’s
a liar, a freeloader and a tart. Apparently, she was bullied at school before
suffering the private hell of bulimia. You remember how she used to flick spit
at kids’ hair with a ruler? Bully my royal but! As for bulimia, she just downed
a load of Fantas and chips to fatten up her tits. Everybody knows what she is,
yet the press‘re still yakking on about her.’ Bex gathered up the newspapers
and stuffed them back inside her pocket. ‘She was snapped the other day just for
chavving about town with some third-division footballers. Her skirt’s so short
you could see the tat on her arse.’
The silver bottle tops in Vince’s overcoat.
‘She’s gone dirty.’
‘What?’
‘She’s
gone dirty. I give her two weeks.’
Bex’s
eyebrow twitched at this. She never questioned the obscure. Her lower lip curled
beneath her teeth before carrying on as though Nancy had not spoken. ‘I could
dish out some real dirt on her. That’d shut her up.’
The
tension headache of earlier started to bite. ‘Look, Bex, I’ve had a rough
evening…’
‘Come
in with me, Nancy. We could play her at her own game, fill some columns of our
own. We’d have lots of clout together.’
Nancy
lengthened the term to three weeks, a month. Does it count if a third party assists?
Bex’s
false fingernails flashed in the gloom. ‘I know the press’ ve been bugging you.
I’ve seen ‘em waiting outside your house. You should have told me about the
shoot, Nancy. You’ve forgotten where you came from. You’re ashamed of us, aren’t
you? Are you ashamed that your mom got blotto in the Hatchet bogs?’
Nancy
kneaded her skirt in a fist. ‘Shut up, Bex.’
‘Come
in with me, Nance. Please. Let’s have some fun in bringing down that jumped-up
cow.’
Two months.
‘No
one can argue with photos, Nance. You were there, right next to Jonas. You’ve
got tons more whack than her. You could bring her down with just one word.’
The stain on the floor shaped like a witch on a
broomstick. The reap of forty years. She’s a belly of iron, has our Sheil.
She’s a party girl.
Nancy
closed her eyes a moment.
‘Who’s
to argue that you weren’t there, in the crash? You could have, Nance. You so easily
could have.’
Nancy’s
fist began to shudder. ‘I think you should leave now, Bex.’
