Ghosts in the Morning (7 page)

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and teach you how to play pool.’

***

Anita looked radiant, overpowering and completely at odds with the surroundings. She was wearing
a
voluminous purple pant
suit
,
topped with
a golden coloured sari.
Somehow she still managed to look glamorous and attractive, rather than just ridiculous.
Centred between her bright
turquoise
eyes was a bright red dot. In the gloom of the pub, I thought it was a spot, perhaps a mosquito bite, but as she grabbed me and hugged me towards her I saw it was a bindi.

‘Oh, Andy, it’s
so
great to see you.
’

‘
Yes, y
ou too, Anita, you too.
You look great, y
ou look different, your hair, you’ve lost weight, you...’

‘
Yes, of
course I
look different
, dear, I’ve been away
for over a year and a half
. Healthy, harmonious living,
dear
, it does wonders for your body
.
But
you look a bit fat, dear, hope you don’t mind me saying.’

I shrugged. It didn’t matter if I did mind, Anita never pulled her punches. I liked that about her.
And Anita did look well. She was always reinventing herself. A few years earlier it had been
all about the fitness – spinning, aerobics, boxercise - a
nd she’d gone all Jane Fonda, and now it seemed it was Bollywood.

‘
So, tell me, Andy, how is mar
ried life?’ She turned to the barman. ‘Two glasses of Chardonnay, please. Yes, large ones. And have you got some menus for lunch, please
?
’ She looked back at me. ‘
Of course,
I presume you
are
still married, then? And Graham is still as dull as dishwater?’

‘He’s not
that
dul
l.’ She was right, Graham was
dull, but I
couldn’t help being
defensive; if he were to be criticised, I would
prefer it to be me who did it
. ‘
I know h
is job is dull, but that doesn’t mean he is.’

‘Okay, Andy,
okay,
keep your wig on. Now, what do you fancy? Shall we have a sandwich or shall we push the boat out and have a proper meal. Or, should I say, push
your
boat out – you don’t mind treating me, do you dear
? M
oney’s a bit tight
for a few days
, I’m just waiting on one of David’s cheques to clear.
The b
astard
has been
slow paying me
the
last
few
month
s
.’

‘
David is
still paying you
?
’
I said incredulously.

‘Of course, dear, of course he is. You know my motto – use
them and abuse them. Or rather should I say “use t
hem up and bleed them dry
”.
’

Or
just
kill them
.
The phrase popped into my head like lightning and I had to bite my lip hard to stop it forming on my lips. Anita furrowed her brow. ‘You okay, dear, you’ve got a bit of blood on the corner of your mouth there.’

‘Er, yeah, just bit my lip, I’ve got a bit of an ulcer I think-’

‘
Poor eating and stress, dear, that’s why you’re getting ulcers. Stress of being married to that boring git, I reckon. I d
on’t know why you never listen to me, dear, you should divorce Graham, take him to the cleaners
, like I did with David,
and get some excitement in your life.’

‘Anita, I do not want to divorce Graham, we’re married, we’ve got three sons, we’re fine
,
I’m fine
. ’ It didn’t sound convincing, even to me.

David was Anita’s ex-husband.
Well, h
er
second
ex-husband.
Her first husband had been tossed aside when his grandiose plans for property development had proved to have no substance,
in fact
no property. Anita had obtained a quickie divorce and six months after that she had married David, a mildly famous, mildly rich television star; he was the main character in a long-running detective series, one of those soporific dramas that old people enjoyed, where there was never any blood and the killer was usually the mild-mannered postman, or vicar. David played the genial lead detective, a no-nonsense sensible chap, unburdened with the usual TV detective traits of alcoholism and broken families.
I had only ever seen glimpses of the show, but David seemed to be a reasonably good actor, not that the script ever asked for any major dramatic stretch as far as I was aware.

Anita had caught David
in their bedroom
with a fellow actress
from the show.
Anita was supposed to be away for the weekend, visiting an animal sanctuary in Devon, but she had missed the flight. D
avid hadn’t spotted
Anita at the doorway of the bedroom
at first,
mainly because he was facing the wall
on all fours as the actress was busy inserting a large dildo into his bottom.

Anita swore me to secrecy and said that David couldn’t risk the story going public – she had told me that he would be certain to lose his job, they couldn’t have
that
sort of scandal associated with
that
sort of show, and he wasn’t getting any younger, that show was his cash cow.
If he lost that lucrative role, he would struggle to get another.
But
there was no way that
Anita was going to
stay with
‘
that stupid pervert
’ so
an amicable divorce ensued and now Anita
received a nice monthly cheque. ‘
Hush money, bastard will keep paying it as well. He thinks I’ve got pictures on my mobile phone, but
the
truth is th
e
crappy
mobile
that
I had then didn’t even have a camera
’.

Anita
smiled pitifully at me
. ‘
You’re not fine, dear. Yo
u’re overweight and underhappy, I can see that. And I don’t like to see my friends unhappy. So, I think m
aybe you can be my project now I’m back.’

I snorted. ‘Anita, what do you mean, your project? I’m fine.
Really
.’

‘Hmmm,’ Anita said, my words bouncing from her shoulders. S
he turned back to the menu. ‘
Now, let’s see, should I give the veggy curry a go,
ummm, no, ma
ybe not a good
i
dea, not after the
ones I had in India, it’s bound to be a disappointment.
Did you know, Andy dear, you can actually buy cookies filled with
hash in India
?
Legally! It’s fantastic.
I went camel-trekking in Rajasthan after having one
of those cookies. You could buy them at a little shack at the edge of the desert
,
just before you got on your camel. There was a menu and everything, you could choose how potent a cookie you wanted. Of course, dear, I’ve dabbled on occasion before, as you well know, so I went for a su
perstrong
one. And they weren’t exaggerating,
I tell you, Andy, that was some experience. Those sand-dunes certainly look a bit different when you’re stoned off your tits.’

I chuckled. ‘Aren’t you a bit old to be doing drugs?’

Anita pulled a fake stern face. ‘How dare you, Andy? FYI, I was not “
doing
”
drugs, I was merely indulging in the local culture. It’s not my fault that the local culture encouraged me to get doolally
in the desert
.
’ She took a swig of wine and giggled. ‘Mind you, I probably shouldn’t have gone for superstrong. I nearly fell off the bloody camel twice, and when we hit a sandstorm, I got a bit paranoid and thought the world was ending. I ended up screaming and hugging my guide.’

I laughed at the vision of an Indian guide being clutched tightly against Anita’s ample bosom, and we both sat for a moment enjoying a companionable silence. I had forgotten how much I had missed Anita. I pointed
at
her
empty glass.
‘
Another?’

‘Andy, dear, how long have you known me? Have you ever known me to refuse a glass of wine?’

I
t was a wonder to me how
Anita
stayed so slim.
She had always liked to drink, even back when we were in the care-home. I remembered the
very
first time
I
tried alcohol, I was with Anita and Francesca on a balmy afternoon.

‘R
ight, you two, it’s high time
you were introdu
ced to
the joy
s of
alcohol,’
Anita
had said with a large smile across her face. ‘
For girls like us, it is not simply a pleasure, but is, in fact, a necessity
.’

‘What do you mean, girls like us?’ asked Francesca. We were sitting in the old shed at the bottom of the garden.
The shed was hidden from the main buildings by some thick, gnarly trees and the staff of the Home didn’t usually bother wandering around this part of the garden. There was an underground stream running nearby, meaning the grass was always damp, and I guessed they didn’t want to ruin their cheap loafers. The shed itself
was usually locked and the gardener, who only came in
a couple of days
a week, was the only one with a key. Well, the only one except Anita.

‘I mean
us
, the forgotten ones. Waifs, strays, the abused.
We’re the ones with n
o parents,
nobody give
s
a toss
about
us
. We’re o
rphans
. Like Oliver Twist.’

‘
But y
ou’ve still got a dad.’

‘My D
ad is as good as dead, Andy. And
you don’t even know who your old man is
. As
for Frankie, well...
no, offence, Frankie.
’

‘No, s’alright, I know what you mean,’
Frankie shrugged. Her parents had been killed in a car crash when she was five years old, and
with no extended family
s
he had been in care ever since.
‘
Still, not all the girls are the same as us. Susie’s parents come and visit her sometimes, she’s only in here temporarily.’

‘Don’t be daft, Frankie,
temporary my fanny. T
here’s no way Susie’s parents are ever getting her back. You’ve seen the cigarette
scars
on
the back of her legs
, Social Services are wise to it now, she ain’t going home with those bastards ever
.
Look, no-one lives in this shithole by choice,
and certainly not
if they’ve got relatives who give a toss. I mean, it’s not a lot of fun being picked on by your mates at school just ‘cos you live here, is it? And when
we
’re not
getting
bullied at school,
we
’re here getting perved at by that lezzy Miss Wallen. Or
, even worse,
Mick.’

Miss Wallen was the secretary of the care home, a frumpy, tweed-clad woman who smelt a little of cabbage. She had been at the home for years but not as long as Mick the caretaker. It was rumoured that he had
been at the home since it was opened over thirty years earlier. He had a glass eye, but the other was bulging and all-seeing. He didn’t touch, as far as we knew
at the time
, but he certainly did look.

Frankie frowned. ‘But
y
ou’re
not at school
,
Anita.
’

‘I’ve only
just
finished school, Frankie. Anyway, you get the point I’m making.’

‘Yeah
, you’re right about this place,’ I said. ‘And, don’t forget, t
he food is really shite
as well
.’

Anita laughed. ‘Yes, Andy, it is, maybe that’s the worst part
. And that is why –’ Anita drew her hand from deep within the back of the shed – ‘booze was invented. To take us away from all this.’