‘But you’re going to, aren’t you? It’s about time you did,’ she adds darkly.
‘I know.’
‘Seriously, Mir. After what he did to you? I’d chuck it in the Thames and be done with it.’
‘But it was his grandmother’s ring. It’s irreplaceable.’ I flip over my phone and stare down at his latest text threatening legal action. Seems that his pleading phase is over.
‘You can block his number, you know,’ Heather says, pointing at my phone. ‘Block him, then chuck the thing. It might teach him to remember that people are more important than material possessions.’
‘He’s not getting it back, not if I can help it, because fuck him and the slut he rode.’ I just need to know I’m not going to end up in prison.
‘Hurray! Oh, hang on . . . what was that?’ Eyes widening, she cups her hand to her ear. ‘I think I can hear a celebratory margarita calling your name.’
‘Heth, I’d be really bad company tonight.’
‘Yeah, butI’llbe much better company than another tub of Ben and Jerry’s. And I’m much kinder on the thighs.’
‘Are you saying I’m getting fat?’
‘I’m saying Ben, Jerry, and Marmaduke, the ginger tom, are muscling in on my turf.’
‘Marmaduke was last week. This week’s furry charges are Pawdry Hepburn and David Meowie, actually.’ They have the attitude of A-listers, too.
‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
‘Oh, I wish I was.’
‘People are weird.’
‘And rich people are weirder still.’
‘Exactly. What’s wrong with Fluffy or Spot as a name?’
‘Well, Sphynx breeds have neither fluff nor spots. Although, David Meowie does have this weird wart thing on his—’
‘Enough! That’s it. I’m staging an intervention. No four-legged company for you tonight,’ she says, poking a finger in my direction. ‘You’re coming out with me, and that’s the end of the matter.’
‘Oh, fierce Heather-feather.’
‘No, serious Heather-feather. You’ll come out with me, or I’m going to announce at the next family gathering that you inhaled a nose full of Grandad’s ashes when you were ten.’
‘You wouldn’t.’
‘Try me,’ she retorts, her hand on her suddenly cocked hip.
‘I told you that in confidence.’
‘No, you told me that drunk off your tits.’ In my defence, I was looking for biscuits. He was in an urn, and to a ten-year-old, that’s kind of a jar. And someone had left it on the kitchen table. How was I supposed to know?
‘You huffed Grandad,’ she says with a disparaging shake of her head. ‘Or would that be blew him?’ The wicked biatch adds a pensive finger tap to her chin.
‘You are a horrible,horribleperson.’
‘And you are coming out with me. And you’re going to have fun. Remember fun? It’s the otherfword.’
2
Miranda
