Read Online Divorcing Jack by Colin Bateman - Free Book Online Page A

Gnarled-looking. She wore a creamy-white cap-sleeved T-shirt that revealed a blotchy tattoo: the letters UVF, only her arm was so thin that the F was lost round the horizon and all you could really see was UV, like she was advertising a sunbed. Her hair was wild and greasy, tinged red. Or maybe it was the world's first nicotine-stained hair.
    The Belle of Belfast City dropped me at the corner of the estate. 'I'm not going into that fuckin' Fenian hole,' she said.
    I thanked her and walked down towards Margaret's. Even from the end of her street I could see that every window in her house had been smashed.
    Jesus, Patricia.

7
    She had tears in her eyes. She threw her arms around me and hugged me tight and before I knew what I was doing I was hugging her tightly back, like we were long-term lovers not the remnants of a one-night stand. We had hardly exchanged more than a few words in sobriety. But it felt right. Margaret kissed me lightly and I could taste the salt on her lips. She took me by the hand and led me into the lounge. Her portrait stared down at me and if I hadn't known better I'd have sworn that those oily eyes followed me across the room to where she sat me down in an armchair beside the record player. It was like being in an episode of Scooby Do. I could hear Patch growling from the kitchen.
    Margaret said: 'I'm sorry.'
    'What on earth have you got to be sorry for?'
    ‘I should have left you alone.'
    'Rubbish - I'm as responsible as anyone.' She sat on the floor, her legs folded under her and looked up to me, her black eyeliner smudged, tear stains on her cheeks like a dried-up river bed. My hand rested on her shoulder, I raised it to her cheek, held it lightly, then bent towards her and kissed her. Lingering.
    'Tell me about it,' I said when we had finished.
    She was wearing a short black skirt over black tights and a black sweater; her hair was tied back, not as spiky as on our first meeting. Her pale face looked fragile. She took a tissue from her sleeve and blew delicately into it.
    'There was a knock at the door on Sunday morning and she was just standing there. I didn't know what to say. I just stared at her. I was in shock. She said, "It's taken me a while to find you," but it wasn't angry, really cool, really calm. She had this bag with her, like a shopping bag. She opened it up and took this potato out.'
    'A potato?'
    'A potato. She held it up to me and said: "This is a Comber potato. If you're going to sleep with him you can bloody well cook for him as well," and she heaved it through the front window. I just stood there. I didn't know what to do. Then she took another one out and fired it through the top bedroom window. She did every window in the house.'
    'Jesus.'
    I just stood there the whole time, frozen. All the neighbours were out but they didn't go near her, just stood around watching. When she finished the potatoes she turned and went to her car - then she turned and said: "He likes turnip as well. I'll be back tomorrow." I just went in and bawled my eyes out.
    'I cleared the glass up later and some friends of my dad helped me board the place up. I wouldn't let them put glass in. I didn't want her coming back and doing it all over again. But she didn't come back. Not yet.'
    'Did you call the police?'
    'No.'
    'Why not?'
    'I couldn't have your wife arrested. I couldn't. Dad told me not to. He said it would be too embarrassing for him if it got into the local papers.'
    'God love him.'
    'No, it would, he's having some sort of trouble at work, he wouldn't say, but I could tell he needed me in bother like a hole in the head.'
    'I don't care about his troubles, I care about you.'
    I was looking at Margaret, but I could see Patricia. Stonyfaced, a cool white anger masked by steady determination. Outside the house, bag of potatoes in hand. A novel revenge, calculated to cause the maximum of embarrassment and expense. She would have guessed that Margaret wouldn't go to the police. She'd discovered my lie,