I want to tell him. I want to tell him how weird and tough this day has been. How I’ve just been humiliated on live TV, how I’m so stunned I’m not quite sure what to do with myself. But Donna's there, staring at me through the phone screen. And I can feel her judgementfromhere.
‘It’s nothing to worry about!’ I say. ‘But… it is kind ofprivate…’
‘You want to talk to me alone?’ Alex says, climbing out ofthebed.
‘Oh, nice!’ Donna mumbles. ‘I don’t exist,doI?’
‘No!’ I say. ‘I just …want to talk to mybrother.’
Donna rolls her eyes. ‘Donna’s just second fiddle. That’s fine, Iguess.’
Argh!
Alex shakes his head and climbs back into the bed. ‘Of course not, Donna.’ He turns back to me. ‘Are you sure you can’t speak in front of Donna? She’s part of thisfamilytoo.’
I’m well aware. It used to be that Alex and I were our own little team. A bit sad, a bit messed up, but a team, nevertheless. He never judged me for being so particular, for being easily spooked by so many things. He was the same for a while after our parents left. But now Donna is here. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that she makes him happy. I mean, she’s clearly helped him to deal with all the shit Mum and Dad dumped on us when they left him in charge of a house and an eighteen-year-old sister when he was only twenty-two years old himself. But she’salwaysthere now. I never get to talk to him properly anymore. Imissthat.
I shake my head. ‘Ah, it doesn’t matter. It was nothing. Just wanted to hear yourvoice!’
‘Are you sure?’ Alex says. To his credit, he does look slightly apologetic for Donna’s behaviour. But not enough to leave the room and talk to me alone. ‘Do you need to come back early?’ he adds. ‘Because I can lend you the money for an early flight, justabout?’
Donna huffs. ‘Although that wouldn’t be ideal,’ she points out, nudging Alex with her elbow. ‘We have a filing cabinet to order and I’ve just seen some candle moulds in the shape of Siamese cats that I think will be perfect for the “Creamy Nights” candle scent. We could do without spending the money on a flight,Olive.’
I sigh. ‘I don’t need an early flight. Everything’s absolutely fine. I’ll see you guys whenI’mback.’
And before they can say anything else, I end the call feeling utterly, guttingly alone. I have a little cry and a sniff which makes me feel a bitbetter.
As I plug my phone into the charger beside the bed there’s a loud knock atmydoor.
Who the heck is that atthistime?
OceanofPDF.com
ChapterFifteen
@ElissaJohnson
Don’t usually watch @SundayNightLive but I’m sure that the #watchmepiddle woman is based on vile menace whorobbedme.
@ElissaJohnson
Had forgotten she was wearing a fannypack. Has anyone else encountered her?PlsRT.
Don’t be the police.Do not be thepolice.
I head over to the door and take a peek through the spy-hole. It’s a very short round woman of about sixty with silver hair down to her waist, and fifty-pence shaped glasses. She doesn’t look like po-po. She’s leaning on one crutch, a bandage wrapped around her knee, which is poking out from beneath the red and yellow polka dot nightdress she’swearing.
I openthedoor.
‘Can Ihelpyou?’
The woman pokes her head in my flat and looks around nosily. ‘Are you all right? I can hear you crying through thewalls!’
Her voice is lilting and melodic, her accent a cross between New York andSpanish.
‘Oh bugger, I’m so sorry!’ I say, wiping away my tears with a piece of toilet tissue. ‘I genuinely thought I was doing myquietcry.’
The woman shrugs a shoulder. ‘Maybe you were, but these walls are as thin as a water biscuit. I’ve complained to the building managers but, eh, they don’t listen to me. “Old Mrs Ramirez, complaining once more,” they say. They think that just because my rent is controlled that I’ll never leave no matter what. They think…’ she looks up and down the hallway with a confrontational expression, as if ‘they’ are listening ‘…that I don’t know they talk about me. But I know. I know everything that goes onaroundhere.’
