Over Her Dead Body by A.B. Morgan

Author:A.B. Morgan [Morgan, A B]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781913793203
Published: 2021-01-04T22:00:00+00:00

26

Dinner with the dogs

Some things are better left unsaid, and I decided not to let on to my sister about my suspension from work, preferring a more palatable version of events. ‘I’m working from home this week until HR sort out the muddle with my registration,’ I told her when she called to confirm arrangements for our reconciliation dinner. Laura was well aware of the financial constraints I was facing and the problems in accessing my salary. But I had to be careful, I didn’t want her getting wind of the true extent of the mess, the drastic level of debt I was getting into, or the deeper, more sinister goings on.

It had come as a horrible shock to discover that the coffee I’d unknowingly consumed on Monday had cost three pounds twenty and was in fact tea. An extortionate amount of money for a hot drink. The receipt in my purse boldly informed me I’d ordered a Chai Latte Massimo. It was a puzzler, I couldn’t recall ever having such an extravagant cup of tea before, so why order one when I’d never even heard of a Chai Latte Massimo?

As a penance for such reckless spending on one drink, I opened a tin of tuna which I thought would have to last the whole of Tuesday. However, salvation came in the form of a Big Mac and use of the free WIFI when I found two pound coins and a few coppers on the floor of a wardrobe. The joy was momentary. More unpleasant news confronted me when I checked my pile of redirected post while living it up in Macky D’s.

Blue Box Storage wanted immediate payment for my monthly bill. My bulky furniture, what there was of it, was placed in secure storage waiting for me to get the house up to scratch. With the direct debits not being paid, this was to be the first of many requests for settlement of bills. Blue Box Storage were forthright; pay or we sell off your furniture. If I failed to pay within thirty days, my goods and chattels could end up on one of those awful reality TV programmes where so-called traders bid for unseen contents of a container.

The rest of Tuesday and much of Wednesday I spent making a list of food stocks, searching the house, garage and shed for useful items, and noting potentially saleable goods. There was increasing likelihood of me lowering the tone of Derwent Drive by holding a garage sale if I were forced to survive for much longer on cash alone.

When I completed the physical chores, I sat down to make a chronology of my life, for Peddyr’s benefit. Stirring up partial memories of my adolescence, I still experienced painful emotions. Not as raw as they were when Kit had died, but they were there, gnawing away, as were niggles about the time when Laura had arrived in our family. Even as a selfish teenager I had been aware of something going horribly wrong between my parents.

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