Never Trust a Callboy Read Free Page A

not possible. I'm almost out the door. I have meetings all day. You can come tomorrow or the day after," or next week, I add, but only in thought.
    "That’s not a problem, honey. I’ll just come over for a couple of minutes to see if the colors match. You don’t need to be there for me to do that."
    "No!"
    "What’s wrong with you today?"
    "I... I'm a little busy. Our cleaning lady is coming, I have to discuss the menu with the caterer, and the interior decorator wants me to approve the Italian tiles." I could continue with the endless list, but I run out of breath.
    "It would be better if I come to these meetings with you."
    Bloody hell. I search desperately for an acceptable explanation as to why my mother, who after all only wants to be helpful, should stay away from these important negotiations. Then again I did decide last night not to put up with her meddling anymore, so I will confront her with the truth. In the future she has to stay out of my life, especially when it comes to such decisions as my wedding. And then of course there’s the corpse, which she cannot be allowed to discover...
    "Better not. Really, it's awfully nice of you, but I have a hair appointment in between and afterwards I have to pop over to Nigel’s. He wants me to start working with him in the Gallery as soon as we get back from our honeymoon." Well, at least it’s a start.  I did say no, sort of.
    "If that’s what you want." As always, she manages to convey a lot of emotions in these few words. I can just picture her standing in front of me, with that chastising look she has, which says I'm making a huge mistake. And this time she might actually be right.
    My mother finishes the conversation abruptly, as she usually does, without saying goodbye. With a deep sigh I sink down on to the couch. Lucky escape. Usually once she’s on her way there's nothing that can knock her off course. Anyway, I have got to get that body out of the house, before my mother changes her mind and comes by anyway. But first I need to call the locksmith. I want new locks, today!
    "Damn, damn, damn!" The extensive cursing is the only thing that helps me release a little tension in the current situation.
    "Where is the stupid thing?" I'm desperately searching the garage. I can’t find the swimming pool cover anywhere. Ron has probably stowed it away in a box somewhere. Hours later, or at least it feels like it, my eyes fall on a neatly put together blue package, located on the far corner of a high shelf.
    The tarp is already pretty frayed so we were going to throw it away. Now I’ve found the perfect use for it. No one will miss it, and Ron will think it ended up in the rubbish dump just like it was supposed to. No one will realize that there’s a corpse rotting inside it. The plastic will be probably take more than a hundred years to decompose.
    It doesn’t matter. I'm not in the mood to worry about environmental pollution today. Instead, I put on a pair of gardening gloves and pull the tarp out of the garage, drag it across the terrace into the house, over to the food counter, and right up to where the dead man is still sitting on his bar stool.
    Okay. Deep breath. And another one. He's already dead. I'm not going to hurt him. All I have to do is tip him off of the stool and on to the tarp. Right.
    With a muffled thud, he falls on to the plastic. My stomach turns and I throw up, not on the white carpet, but into the large flower pot which is luckily standing right next to me. It's a bit of time before I can see again without stars. I almost regret the fact that I can now keep going. Somehow it was more comfortable standing around helplessly, because that kept me from having to do anything.
    But now I have to get him into the garden. Although I know that there’s no other choice, I can’t bring myself to keep going. Only after a long inner struggle do I manage to throw one half of the tarp over his motionless body. At least now that he’s under the cover you