Read Online Invisible by Barbara Copperthwaite - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara Copperthwaite
Ads: Link
talking on the
phone while driving and does spot checks to see if they’ve been using them. Pah !
There are two things that
make me not believe him. First, he’s freelance, so even though he pretty much
constantly works for one company because they are always subcontracting to him,
he is in fact his own boss; and Daryl is not a man who likes being told what to
do by anyone, especially if he is meant to be the one in charge. And secondly,
it’s amazing how he breaks the ‘no calls’ rule when he wants to talk to me, but
suddenly when I talk to him it is a different story. And yes, it could be
argued that he is sweet and wonderful for ever breaking the rules for me and
that I should be grateful instead of narky, but I am really not currently in
the mood for accepting that sort of thing. Grrrr !
We’ve just had an argument
and the childish git put the phone down on me and has switched it off so I
can’t call him back. It’s so typical of him – if in doubt run away, put your
head in the sand and ignore the problem. Make the other person sweat so that
then at least he feels he has control over the situation. It’s pathetic,
infuriating, patronising, and has all the hallmarks of a control-freak who has
to be in control because they’re too damn cowardly to trust anyone else.
Manipulative bollocks!
The bastard actually said he
fancied Kim the other day (actually what he said was…and it is so un-PC I can
barely make myself write it… ‘That chinky mate of yours is all right looking; I’d have her.’ His nickname for her used to
be Thai Bride until I pointed out that she was born in Chelmsford and that her
mum is originally from China. I’d foolishly thought it might make him remember
her by her name, but instead he simply started calling her That Chinky Mate). I was annoyed by his comment, of course, but
held it in. I shouldn’t have done that, should have let rip there and then but
of course I didn’t because it’s not my way, for all he calls me a stroppy mare.
So in a way it’s my fault. I let it fester. But he shouldn’t have said it in
the first place! After all the talks we’ve had recently, the fragile state of
our marriage, it’s hardly surprising I’m feeling a little insecure. The last
thing I need to hear is that he’d ‘have her’. Flipping great! I can’t believe
the insensitivity of the man. He really has no idea at all.
So I tried to talk to him about
it last night. ‘Christ, I’ve just had a really stressful day; an accident
happened right in front of me, virtually. I got stuck in a massive tailback
because of it, and wound up delivering late. I’m so tired. We’ll talk about it
tomorrow, promise,’ he sighed.
That got my goat a bit but I
tried to understand. But when he called today he didn’t mention it, instead
simply asked me what I was doing. ‘Cooking salmon,’ I told him tersely. Then he
just went on about his bloody rota, which sounds more like a work of fiction
the more he talks about it (am convinced he has more say in it than he makes
out).
All I wanted him to say was:
‘Sorry about last night, let’s talk about it now.’ It should have been the
first thing he said to me. It wasn’t. So I waited and waited, listening to him
more and more impatiently and becoming increasingly furious and frustrated.
Finally he realised
something was wrong and made some half-arsed attempt to find out what. ‘So
what’s up with you? This about the other night?’ he grunted.
‘I don’t think I can be
bothered to talk about it, seen as you attach so little importance to it,’ I
huffed.
‘Fuck off,’ he said - and
put the phone down. Wanker.
Bet he thinks it’s all my fault. Well, stuff him. I’m off out tonight and I’m
going to look bloody glamorous and have lots of fun. I’m meeting Sophie, Amy, Hannah and Una tonight at a bar on Charing Cross Road. I’m really
looking forward to it because I never travel into London for a night out,
really. I refuse to sit
phone while driving and does spot checks to see if they’ve been using them. Pah !
There are two things that
make me not believe him. First, he’s freelance, so even though he pretty much
constantly works for one company because they are always subcontracting to him,
he is in fact his own boss; and Daryl is not a man who likes being told what to
do by anyone, especially if he is meant to be the one in charge. And secondly,
it’s amazing how he breaks the ‘no calls’ rule when he wants to talk to me, but
suddenly when I talk to him it is a different story. And yes, it could be
argued that he is sweet and wonderful for ever breaking the rules for me and
that I should be grateful instead of narky, but I am really not currently in
the mood for accepting that sort of thing. Grrrr !
We’ve just had an argument
and the childish git put the phone down on me and has switched it off so I
can’t call him back. It’s so typical of him – if in doubt run away, put your
head in the sand and ignore the problem. Make the other person sweat so that
then at least he feels he has control over the situation. It’s pathetic,
infuriating, patronising, and has all the hallmarks of a control-freak who has
to be in control because they’re too damn cowardly to trust anyone else.
Manipulative bollocks!
The bastard actually said he
fancied Kim the other day (actually what he said was…and it is so un-PC I can
barely make myself write it… ‘That chinky mate of yours is all right looking; I’d have her.’ His nickname for her used to
be Thai Bride until I pointed out that she was born in Chelmsford and that her
mum is originally from China. I’d foolishly thought it might make him remember
her by her name, but instead he simply started calling her That Chinky Mate). I was annoyed by his comment, of course, but
held it in. I shouldn’t have done that, should have let rip there and then but
of course I didn’t because it’s not my way, for all he calls me a stroppy mare.
So in a way it’s my fault. I let it fester. But he shouldn’t have said it in
the first place! After all the talks we’ve had recently, the fragile state of
our marriage, it’s hardly surprising I’m feeling a little insecure. The last
thing I need to hear is that he’d ‘have her’. Flipping great! I can’t believe
the insensitivity of the man. He really has no idea at all.
So I tried to talk to him about
it last night. ‘Christ, I’ve just had a really stressful day; an accident
happened right in front of me, virtually. I got stuck in a massive tailback
because of it, and wound up delivering late. I’m so tired. We’ll talk about it
tomorrow, promise,’ he sighed.
That got my goat a bit but I
tried to understand. But when he called today he didn’t mention it, instead
simply asked me what I was doing. ‘Cooking salmon,’ I told him tersely. Then he
just went on about his bloody rota, which sounds more like a work of fiction
the more he talks about it (am convinced he has more say in it than he makes
out).
All I wanted him to say was:
‘Sorry about last night, let’s talk about it now.’ It should have been the
first thing he said to me. It wasn’t. So I waited and waited, listening to him
more and more impatiently and becoming increasingly furious and frustrated.
Finally he realised
something was wrong and made some half-arsed attempt to find out what. ‘So
what’s up with you? This about the other night?’ he grunted.
‘I don’t think I can be
bothered to talk about it, seen as you attach so little importance to it,’ I
huffed.
‘Fuck off,’ he said - and
put the phone down. Wanker.
Bet he thinks it’s all my fault. Well, stuff him. I’m off out tonight and I’m
going to look bloody glamorous and have lots of fun. I’m meeting Sophie, Amy, Hannah and Una tonight at a bar on Charing Cross Road. I’m really
looking forward to it because I never travel into London for a night out,
really. I refuse to sit
Similar Books
