him?â
âI met him in a bar, and it just went from there, really.â
âAnd?â
âAnd what?â
She comes closer to the screen and whispers down her mic, âHas he got a big...â She moves back and wiggles her little finger at me.
I laugh. âYes!â Then I change the subject. âHow are you and Marcus?â
âYes, weâre fine, thank you, although my poor baby had to have his nails cut yesterday, and he didnât like it at all.â
The Labrador hears his name mentioned and suddenly I catch a glimpse of his black head as he lowers it to rest on her lap.
âHello, Marcus,â I say in a baby voice.
Sally sticks her bottom lip out. âHeâs ignoring you, Auntie Ruth.â
I pout. âWhy?â
âBecause you havenât been to see us in a long, long time.â
âAww.â I frown. âWell, I promise I will be up to see you soon. And you, Sal,â I add.
She scowls at me, and I return her facial expression before going on to ask about her love life. Sheâs been on and off with this one guy, James, for as far back as I can remember. She ran away to Wales with him when she was eighteen, leaving me at home with Dad and the wicked stepmother, and sheâs been there ever since.
Heâs an all right guy, he just doesnât want the same things she does. He wants to watch EastEnders, she doesnât, he wants to have pork for Christmas dinner, she wants lamb. But the main fall out they have is over children. He wants kids, but she doesnât, yet, which I say is fair enough. At the end of the day, no matter how much she criticises him, I know she loves him. And no matter how many times she swears sheâll never have him back, I know within two hours sheâll be calling me telling me theyâve sorted their disagreement out and are going to give it another go. So now I just do what I quite frequently do to Liz, act like Iâm listening to every word, and nod occasionally.
She tells me things are the same old with James, then moves on to a more upsetting subject.
âYou know Dadâs been dead two years at the end of this week?â
I look down at my keyboard. âYes, I know.â
âAre you going to be doing anything? You know, like in remembrance?â
âIâm not sure.â I look back up to the webcam. âAre you?â
She shrugs. âI donât know. Itâs not like we can go to his grave or anything, is it? That bitch has got his ashes!â
I run my fingers through my hair. âI know. Try not to get too worked up about it, though. It doesnât matter where his remains are, Sal, heâs not there anyway.â
I can tell sheâs getting carried away. She always breathes heavily when sheâs annoyed or about to burst into tears.
This time itâs a mixture of both. She sniffs. âItâs just so unfair, Ruth. Sheâs an evil, cheating, back-stabbing-â
âStop it, Sal. I donât want to talk about it.â
âIâm sorry.â She wipes her nose on her sleeve.
Trying to lighten the mood, I joke, âGod, canât you get a tissue? Or at least use the dogâs tail? It looks like snails slithered over your top now.â It works and she judders with laughter.
âYes, maâam.â She salutes and goes on to bore me about her job at a local farm shop, and how the fruit there is so much nicer, and how everything is so much cheaper. I know she wants me to move there, but thereâs no chance. Iâm a city girl and thatâs that. Thereâs no way I could live there. There are no shops for miles, no gas, or electricity, and I donât look that good in wellies. Well, maybe Iâm exaggerating on the power supplies, but still, itâs not my cup of tea.
We go on to natter for the best part of three hours, until I finally throw in the towel and take myself off to bed.
Spread out like a starfish in my
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