The Woman Who Knew Everything

by Debbie Viggiano

  Chrissie absolutely hated it when it was Andrew’s turn to ‘host’ a games evening. The lounge would be filled with burly men stabbing at consoles, carrying on like they were Darth Vader taking over new universes. Invariably, on those nights, Chrissie would absent herself. She’d climb into bed with an old paperback that Dee had finished with, only to nod off but then be awoken in the early hours by the stink of weed creeping through the gap under the bedroom door. Last time around she’d caused a bit of a rumpus. How dare Andrew let these men outstay their welcome and stink her home out with illegal substances!

  Throwing back the thin duvet she’d marched, bug-eyed and sporting bed-hair, towards the lounge. The door had crashed back on its hinges startling everybody.

  ‘That’s IT!’ she’d bellowed. ‘Some of us have work in the morning. Get your feet off my chairs and shift your backsides out of my house, NOW. And take your funny fags with you – do you HEAR?’

  Andrew had been appalled. He’d squinted at her through the fug, his eyes glassy from dope, as one of his mates had rounded furiously on Chrissie.

  ‘Fuck me, Andy. Is this yer missus? I’d give ’er a right pasting for speaking to yer like that. It’s fuckin’ humiliating. What a cow.’

  ‘GET OUT,’ Chrissie had screamed. On the other side of the maisonette’s wall, Fran’s kids had woken up and started bawling. Seconds later Fran could be heard shrieking at them to shut up and go back to sleep.

  After everyone had left, Andrew had been so disgusted he’d spat at her. Chrissie had been stunned. In the morning he’d grudgingly apologised, but remained livid that she’d laid down the law in front of his mates. The ridiculous thing was, Chrissie had ended up feeling the guilty one. Just because she didn’t do recreational drugs, did that make her a prude for not allowing Andrew and his mates to “relax” with a bit of wacky-baccy? Had she really been bang out of order? Was she a harridan?

  Occasionally, and it really was very occasionally, Chrissie would fantasise about being swept off her feet by some gorgeous hunk who didn’t run up credit cards, didn’t drink gallons of lager, didn’t break wind to order, and actually gave her some attention. But another part of Chrissie pushed such thoughts away. She had no self-esteem or confidence. She didn’t believe herself to be attractive, like Amber or Dee. Her long brown hair was never styled. She wore it every day in a ponytail that trailed the length of her back. She didn’t have money to waste on hairdressers and highlights, and she rarely wore make-up.

  ‘Any chance of eggs and chips?’ asked Andrew, jolting her back to the present. ‘I’m off to the pub in half an hour with the boys, and need something to mop up the booze.’ He patted his stomach by way of explanation. ‘Oh, and before I forget, the lads will be here tomorrow night. It’s my turn to be host, so no barging in and kicking off.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’ll be out.’

  Andrew’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘Oh? I was counting on you making us all chip butties.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she shrugged.

  ‘Do you have to go?’ asked Andrew irritably.

  ‘Yes. It’s a work thing,’ said Chrissie, bending the truth. ‘It would be bad form not to.’

  ‘Right,’ Andrew huffed. ‘Well don’t let me hold you up with the egg and chips.’

  Chrissie shut the door. On her way to the kitchen, she hung her coat on one of the pegs in the hall. She was twenty-seven years old, but right now felt older than Cougar Kate, although nothing like as glamourous. Ha, and she was hoping some unknown clairvoyant would have her grinning with pleasure at news of Andrew proposing!

  Chrissie sighed as she set about pulling the frying pan from the cupboard and shaking oven chips on a baking tray. She couldn’t leave Andrew unless she moved back home with her parents – and who wanted to go home to Mummy and Daddy at the age of twenty-seven?

  This wasn’t the life she wanted, but she didn’t know how to extricate herself. Maybe this Madam Rosa could give her a few pointers. Roll on tomorrow night.

  Chapter Four

  Dee slotted her key into the front door of her Northfleet apartment. It was a pleasant low-rise block set back from the main road. She and Josh had bought it off-plan when they’d first started living together. By coincidence, it was the same block that Chrissie’s brother lived in. Sometimes Chrissie would pop in on Dee after visiting her six-month-old nephew. Chrissie was besotted with the baby boy.

  ‘I reckon it’s the closest I’ll ever get to having children,’ Chrissie had said.

  ‘Why? Aren’t you and Andrew planning on having a little’un one day?’ Dee had asked.

  ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Chrissie had looked flustered for a moment. She’d spoken without thinking. ‘But I suspect it won’t be for a long time. Not until we’ve managed to buy our own place. I wouldn’t want to raise a family where we currently live. The kids are more street-wise than sewer rats. By the time my son reached two, he’d probably be mugging other toddlers for their toys. Where I live, any child over ten is too scary for words.’

  ‘How’s the saving-up coming along?’ Dee had asked.

  ‘Nicely, thanks,’ Chrissie had replied, and then swiftly changed the subject.

  Dee had thought Chrissie to be very twitchy on the whole subject, so hadn’t asked her friend any more personal questions.

  She walked into the flat’s inner hallway and slipped off her coat. Dee wouldn’t mind moving. Perhaps Chrissie might be interested in buying this flat? It was light and airy with a big balcony. It afforded a pleasant view of the communal landscaped area to the rear. However, it was crammed with hers and Josh’s belongings. The longer they lived here, the longer starting a family would be a non-event. Such plans required a second or even third bedroom, and preferably a little garden. Dee loved Amber’s green postage-stamp lawn bordered by shrubs and blooms. It was perfect for a child to play in. Some time ago she’d broached the subject of moving to Josh, but he’d shaken his head.

  ‘Not yet, Dee. We can’t afford it.’

  His reply was at odds to what he grandly liked to tell people. Josh liked nothing more than showing off and telling anybody who’d listen that he was managing director of his own company. High Fliers Limited oversaw cleaning contracts. However, when you stripped away the fancy words, the reality was that Josh was a window cleaner. Even so, his earnings were good. He’d secured work with the management companies of several blocks of flats and offices in the area, which had given him the idea of the company name. Putting on a safety harness and leaping, like Spiderman, down the walls of a high-rise block to clean external windows didn’t daunt him. What did scare Josh, however, was spending money. And Dee knew it. Josh was meticulous about finances. He made sure all their bills were split fifty-fifty. Josh never indulged Dee. Even if they went out, she always paid for her share of a chicken korma and glass of wine.

  Dee loved working for Alan Mann in the matrimonial department at Hood, Mann & Derek, but her wage was only in line with local businesses in that part of the country. If she’d worked in London she could have doubled her salary, but she’d held off doing that until her CV could show loyalty and experience. Apart from anything else, she was now twenty-seven years old. She was very keen for Josh to make an honest woman of her before knuckling down to the business of making babies. These days it wasn’t important whether babies came first and the wedding second, but either way both subjects were close to her heart. Unfortunately, as yet they weren’t close to Josh’s. She knew that if they went down the road of starting a family first, they’d need a bigger home. With her biological clock starting to stir, Dee thought it might be better to move first, have a family second, and finally get married. She had all the time in the world to walk down the aisle in a big white dress, but ovaries had a shelf life. Her mother had taken years to get pregnant. If Dee experienced the same problem, she wanted to ensure she was young enough to have time for tests and all the rigmarole that came with it.

  She folded her coat in half and, seeing
the bedroom door open, leant through the doorway and aimed the garment at the bed. It sailed through the air and landed with a gentle whoosh. The wardrobe space in their one-bedroomed apartment was at a premium. Coats took up a lot of room. These days Dee and Josh increasingly seemed to be using the top of their bed as a place to dump coats, which wasn’t practical. Also, it looked messy. Josh hated untidiness. Come bedtime they’d be fighting their way through a layer of coats, jackets, and waterproofs just to get to the duvet. She decided to tackle the subject of space – as in the lack of it – with Josh later this evening. Hopefully the idea of moving would register in his brain.

  Dee went into the kitchen. She hung her handbag over the corner of one of the tall stools next to the breakfast island. Now then, what to cook for dinner? She didn’t want to mess about preparing from scratch. It was Friday night, and Dee wanted something quick and easy so she could later relax. Peering into the fridge, she selected a quiche, some slices of ham, and a pot of fresh potato salad. Dee was preparing a salad when she heard Josh come in.

  ‘Wotcha,’ he called.

  ‘Hiya. I’m in the kitchen. Tea’s ready.’

  ‘Really? That’s quick.’ Josh appeared in the kitchen doorway.

  ‘That’s because it’s a cold meal tonight,’ Dee explained.

  ‘Oh,’ said Josh. The one word was loaded with annoyance. ‘I was expecting something hot. In case you’d forgotten, Dee, it’s January. Outside it’s colder than Mr Frosty the snowman’s bum. I’ve been working out there. All day. Some of us don’t have the luxury of warm offices to sashay off to, or drink endless cups of coffee while we gossip with our mates.’

  Dee felt peeved, but held her tongue. She supposed Josh had a point. It was cold outside. However, his snide words that she did nothing at work other than put the kettle on and have a tête-à-tête with Chrissie or Amber had infuriated her. She worked damned hard for Alan Mann, churning out Petitions and Statements and Affidavits and piles and piles of correspondence – not forgetting fielding calls from distraught clients. Sometimes it was a stressful job. Of course she enjoyed a bit of chit-chat with Chrissie and Amber, but it was hardly all day. If that were ever the case the three of them would be sacked.

  Two angry blotches began to mottle her otherwise pale face. Not for the first time Dee realised that, lately, Josh tried to provoke arguments. She wondered why? Yesterday he’d complained about the heating being on, and turned it off. Josh had pursed his lips and told her to wear a fleece if she was cold – which hardly made sense after professing to be frozen due to being outside all day long. The day before that Josh had asked if she’d put on weight because her face looked fat. Dee had felt incredibly hurt. There were other little digs that had occurred over the last several weeks. Her clothes were frumpy. Her short hair was unfashionable. Her conversation was boring. And no, he didn’t want sex with somebody who only ever lay in the missionary position. Embarrassment whipped up the two red marks on her cheeks until her whole face felt like it was on fire. Her self-esteem was unravelling faster than dropped knitting. She gave herself a mental slap.

  Come on, Dee. Buck up. Take a trip to Bluewater this weekend. Buy a ramped-up bra so your boobs are bigger than Cougar Kate’s. Then push Josh backwards onto the bed, tug down his trousers and straddle him like a cello.

  She picked up the plate of quiche and moved towards the microwave. ‘This won’t take a second to warm up.’ She pressed a button and the microwave’s door sprang open.

  ‘Don’t heat it up in there,’ Josh warned, ‘it will make the pastry soggy. I can’t bear microwaved pastry.’

  Dee tried not to show her frustration. It seemed she couldn’t do right for wrong. ‘I can put it in the oven, if you’d prefer. It will only take half an hour.’

  ‘No, Dee. I’m hungry. I don’t want to wait half an hour. Just forget it,’ said Josh moodily. He turned on his heels.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Dee called after him.

  ‘Out. I’ll get myself a takeaway. Preferably one that’s piping hot to warm me up.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, trotting after her boyfriend’s rigid back. ‘By the time you’ve driven to the restaurant, waited your turn in the queue, and then got back home again, the quiche would long be hot from the oven.’

  ‘No thanks,’ Josh growled. ‘I don’t want bloody quiche.’ He stomped past the open bedroom door and saw Dee’s coat lying on top of all the other coats. ‘And put that little lot away,’ he snapped. ‘The flat looks a tip. You’ve turned into such a slob, Dee.’

  Dee’s mouth dropped open, but she hastily closed it again. Now was as good a time as any to mention the lack of space in their apartment. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised, ‘but there’s no room in the wardrobes. Perhaps, darling, we could spend this weekend looking on-line at some properties? It’s about time we took the next step up the property ladder.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Josh roared. ‘If space is such an issue we’ll buy another wardrobe. There’s plenty of room for one in the hall. Oh, and before I forget, I’m out tomorrow night.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good,’ said Dee with a conciliatory tone. ‘I forgot to tell you that I’m out too.’ She watched as her boyfriend shoved his feet back into his work boots, and bent down to do up the laces. ‘It’s a girlie evening. What about you?’ she gabbled, desperate to diffuse Josh’s anger and get everything back to some level of calm.

  ‘I’m schmoozing a potential client. There’s several blocks of flats in Thamesmead that are run by the local council. I’m wining and dining the contracts guy and his wife.’

  ‘That’s brilliant, Josh. Well done. Don’t you need me there?’ Dee’s brain whirred. She’d happily forego her evening at Cougar Kate’s if it meant helping Josh.

  Her boyfriend suddenly stopped lacing his boots. He glanced up at her in bemusement. ‘Why would I need you there?’

  ‘Well…to…to…support you. Maybe I can keep the gentleman’s wife company while you talk business.’

  ‘My mistake,’ said Josh, finishing his lacing. ‘His wife isn’t coming.’ He straightened up. ‘But even if she was, I wouldn’t want you there. You’d bore the pants off her.’ He opened the apartment door. ‘See you later.’

  And then he was gone. As the door shut behind him, Dee stood in the hallway shocked to the core. Had Josh really said that? Her lovely, good-natured, sunny Josh? Surely, she’d imagined it? The words reverberated round and round in her brain like a merry-go-round, until she swayed with dizziness. And she wanted to marry this man and be mother to his children? As two fat tears ran down her cheeks Dee decided not to forego Cougar Kate’s psychic night, even if Josh came back and kissed her feet by way of apology. She hoped this Madam Rosa was as good as Cougar Kate proclaimed, because Dee wanted to know what the hell was going on in her relationship. Roll on tomorrow night.

  Chapter Five

  Chrissie didn’t have a car, so Dee had offered to be taxi on Saturday night and pick Chrissie up en-route to Cougar Kate’s house. As Dee approached the outskirts of the council estate where her friend lived, she felt as though she’d parachuted into a scene from Taken. Gangs of watchful hoodies stood on every corner. Dee swung a left and then a right, sensing narrowed eyes following her vehicle. Progressing into the depths of the estate, the only thing that changed about each gang was their age. As she took another left, a mob of five stared after her. They couldn’t have been more than nine years old. Since when did a group of primary school kids become so intimidating?

  Dee drove past a burnt-out car. It was wrapped like a Christmas present in blue and white ribbon – except it was police tape. A few yards on, she cruised past another car that had fallen victim to prey. It was jacked-up on bricks because its wheels had been stolen. Dee continued to take various lefts and rights through the estate’s maze of inner streets, before arriving at Chrissie’s maisonette. Dee was most reluctant to get out of her car and ring the doorbell. She felt that if she left her vehicle for more than thirty seconds, a
ll the gangs would converge as one and strip her car to a metal shell before she could say, ‘Hoodies ‘R’ Us’.

  Scuffing her tyres against the kerb, she opted to toot her horn. Every visible curtain in the street began twitching like a Tourette’s sufferer. Dee sucked on her teeth. How the hell did Chrissie stomach living here? It was a wonder her friend had never been mugged on her own doorstep. Seconds later the maisonette’s tatty front door opened. Her friend stood haloed in light from the inner hall, checking the contents of her handbag. Suddenly Chrissie blinked out of sight as two burley guys walked past Dee’s car window. A second later Chrissie was back in view, but the men were walking menacingly towards her. Dee squeaked with anguish as she watched them move closer to her friend. What were they doing? Dee clenched her car’s steering wheel in anguish. They looked like they were going to shove their way inside Chrissie’s house, no doubt grabbing her handbag at the same time. Bloody hell. This estate was the pits. Dee was witnessing robbers oh-so-casually committing a crime. She didn’t know what to do. Chrissie had spotted the approaching men. She was looking at them with a mixture of loathing and apprehension. Now they were speaking to her. Chrissie’s entire body had tensed. Her face showed anguish. Dee couldn’t stand it for a moment longer. Sod the car. The gangs could strip it. This was an emergency. She had to help her friend.

  Dee threw open the driver’s door ready to rush to the rescue, but was nearly garrotted by the seat belt. Fighting her way out of the belt’s constraints, she picked up the bottle of wine she’d bought for Cougar Kate and waved it about.

  ‘Oy. You two. Bill and Ben. Stop right there!’

  The men paused. Turning, they stared unblinkingly at Dee. ‘Are you talkin’ to us?’ said one with a growl.