11 The Teashop on the Corner Read Free

legal
ceremony, with all the ‘i’s dotted and the ‘t’s crossed: register signed, vows recited, no just impediments exposed . . . She took a deep breath and continued,
‘—married to him for ten years.’
    ‘No you haven’t,’ snapped Julie, rolling up the gloves and stuffing them in the stiff black handbag she was carrying. It had a flashy gold double-C Chanel logo on the front.
‘You only think you have. We split up soon after we were married; but we never divorced. Didn’t have the money at the time, then I suppose we both just forgot.’
    Forgot?
thought Carla. You forgot to post a letter, you forgot to buy milk at the shop – you didn’t
forget to divorce.
    ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ sniffed Julie, snapping the clasp shut on her bag. ‘Forgetting to divorce is an odd one. I don’t think either of us could be arsed,
if I’m being honest. He slipped from my mind until I saw him a year ago in Leeds. Could have knocked me down with a feather. It was like a thunderbolt hitting us both from above. You read
about these things happening in women’s mags, but you never believe they could happen to you. Until it did. We went for a coffee and found the old spark reignited. Who would have
thought?’ And she laughed to herself as if the memory had tickled her.
    Carla shook her head. Was she hearing all this correctly? Her husband had been carrying on with another woman . . .
his real wife
. . . for a year behind her back? When the hell did he
have the time? Or the ability? He’d puffed when he got the milk out of the fridge.
    ‘I don’t understand,’ said Carla, her head full of so many questions that were going to burst out of her eardrums any minute, fly across the room and shatter the stained glass
window picture of Jesus having his feet washed. ‘When did he see you?’
    ‘He spent every weekday with me, of course,’ said Julie, patting the back of her heavily lacquered yellow hair. ‘I was frankly glad to have a rest at the weekends.’
    ‘A rest?’
    ‘From the sex.’
    ‘The sex?’
    Carla was totally bewildered now. They could not be talking about the same man. Martin was always too tired. She could count on the fingers of one hand, minus the thumb, the number of times that
she and Martin had had sex in the last year or so.
    ‘I’m not daft,’ said Julie, inspecting her tart-red nail varnish. ‘He promised me he wouldn’t have sex with you after we became a couple again but I know what he
was like. Very healthy appetite in that area, so I promised myself I wouldn’t get upset about it. He was a bloke with needs after all.’ She pulled her lips back from her teeth and Carla
saw how white and perfect they were. Thousands of pounds worth of cosmetic dentistry of which any Osmond would have been proud.
    ‘Are you sure you have the right Martin Pride?’ said Carla. ‘I don’t recognise this man you’re talking about.’
    ‘Martin Ronald Pride. Birthday: thirteenth of January.’
    ‘Works as a sales rep for—’
    ‘He didn’t work,’ Julie interrupted. ‘At least he didn’t after the lottery win.’
    Carla’s brain went into spasm. ‘Wha-at?’
    Julie’s black-tattooed eyebrows rose and a slow smirk spread across her lips. ‘Oh, he didn’t tell you about that either?’
    Carla’s head fell into her hands. She was surprised she had a head left as it felt in danger of exploding at any moment.
    ‘Me and Martin won just short of a million on the lottery nine months ago,’ said Julie with smarmy satisfaction. ‘He told Suggs to stick their job up their arse on the same
day.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t get any ideas. It’s all in my name.’
    Carla’s head snapped up.
    ‘But he went off to work every Monday and rang me every night from a hotel.’
    Julie laughed. ‘He might have left you on a Monday morning, love, but he certainly didn’t ring you from any hotel.’
    Carla covered her eyes with her hands to shut out the light, shut out everything