4

  Most – if not quite all – successful vending establishments can point to some, rather specific, common foundations. The quality of the product, the excellent customer care and perhaps the expertise and knowledge of the staff.

  Well, it was fair to say that Anthea had tried all of that.

  But – at the end of the day – she seemed to have an almost total inability to comfortably engage in either eye contact or small talk with any other member of the human race. Even where it might, literally, mean the difference between her eating or not.

  And that time would come, soon enough. Her parents’ hints about her clearing off and letting them convert her old room into a bar were becoming more frequent and less subtle.

  There’d been a box of optics under her bed for over a year.

  But small talk and friendly banter?

  The very notions filled her with a mortal dread.

  The time spent in charge of that place so far had been truly horrible for her. She’d suffered sleepless nights, worrying about things she’d said or hadn’t said during the previous days and dreading what she may or may not end up saying during the following ones.

  It was a good thing those optics hadn’t been attached to bottles of booze of any description, or she’d probably have been an alcoholic by now.

  The revelation that this man – whoever he was – could make her so miserably introspective did not bode well for his survival.

  Neither did his next question.

  Had she considered a career rather more suited to her undoubted personal strengths: something like grave digging, for example?

  He’d been sincere by the look of it but Anthea had taken great exception to that suggestion.

  Well, you would, wouldn’t you?

  The question of her temperament was hardly a revelation. She was well aware that her character had one or two ‘issues’. Not necessarily ones that needed to be resolved, but she was certainly aware they existed.

  Some people might have described them as ‘flaws’ even.

  A barely sub-surface dwelling, latent homicidal tendency, for instance.

  And they might well have been right.

  But grave digging?

  You’d need a fair few muscles for a job like that, surely?

  So, in other words, on top of everything else, this man was suggesting she was on the hefty side as well.

  And that must have been the most ridiculous case of ‘pots and kettles’ ever known!

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  ‘No, actually I haven’t thought of that as any sort of potential career. But I will if you can be my first customer.’

  ‘Come off it, you’d need a platoon from “Kitchener’s Army” to help you dig a hole that size.’

  ‘Are you saying I’m old?!’

  ‘I’m saying I’m fat.’

  Anthea thought that one over for a moment.

  ‘That’s not a “no”!’

  5

  ‘Listen, when you start getting undressed on your wedding night and your new husband steals a look, then himself and then the first baggage trolley he can find, that’s a “no!”!’

  She glared at him.

  Her ex-husband stared back at her, trying to gauge something a bit more specific about her mood.

  Trust her to drag up all the gory details of their honeymoon.

  Saints preserve us, the way she described it sounded as though he hadn’t even wanted to be there!

  Ridiculous.

  Two weeks in the sunshine, all inclusive?

  Completely ridiculous.

  She’d never believed that he’d seen a gigantic spider on the wall behind her and had, consequently, rushed off for immediate assistance.

  Spiders could be very dangerous.

  Although, not quite as dangerous as her.

  He still carried the mark left by that Gideon Bible. Imagine putting one of those in a honeymoon suite.

  Mind you, it’d certainly been comforting – under the circumstances – to know that at least God had a fantastic sense of humour.

  Now, let’s see… what had he said to her to provoke such a ferocious response?

  Ah yes,

  ‘That’s not a “no”!’

  and that was it.

  Well, not quite it.

  He’d grown pretty tired of waiting for her to show herself in that shop, and he’d still thought she must’ve been watching him from wherever she was. So, rather courageously, he’d decided to try and leave without buying anything.

  If that didn’t smoke her out then nothing would.

  He’d been halfway through the door when he heard her voice. There she was, clutching on to the counter and cursing her knees.

  Odd.

  Ah, but then she began cursing him.

  That was much more like it!

  Well, she hadn’t seemed particularly pleased to see him so – naturally – he’d asked her if she wanted him to leave.

  As you do.

  She’d then told him she no longer cared what he did or where he went, which had certainly not been a ‘no’. And that’s precisely what he’d said to her.

  Heavens to Betsy, look at her now!

  The passion was still there, he could see it in her eyes. He had a bottle of nail varnish at home that was the exact same shade of red.

  He’d worn it for their divorce.

  Those eyes were puffy too; she looked like she’d suffered a severe reaction to peanuts or something.

  Or, just maybe, to him.

  The thought of her crying over him split his feelings precisely down the middle. He hated the thought of her weeping and wailing in general. But he rather liked the idea that she might be doing it because of him.

  His tie was distracting her, just as he’d hoped it might. She obviously still found him attractive, which was encouraging. Now they were divorced though she would not be expecting him to do anything about that. Which was more than encouraging, it was a huge weight off his mind, his shoulders and various other weird and wonderful parts of his anatomy.

  She’d made the first move, earlier on.

  Now it was his turn.

  He began fumbling through his pockets.

  ‘I tell you what, I could do with one or two little bits and bobs for my new bachelor pad. What can I get for… one pound twenty?’

  ‘Thoroughly knotted.’

  That was why he loved her.

  What a sense of humour!

  And to be able to betray no hint of a smile at all… the woman must have been some sort of comedy genius.

  He could’ve had her booked – solidly – until her next twenty-first birthday, if only she hadn’t hated people so much.

  And him. Allegedly.

  ‘I notice you still wear your wedding ring, Anthea. And your engagement ring, too. Is that because you miss me? Is it because you want me back? You can admit it, by the way. I won’t mind.’

  His jovial smile was met by a look of such iciness that it literally froze upon his face.

  ‘I can’t get them off, if you must know. My knuckles must’ve grown.’

  She stopped.

  There was no way out of this one that would make her look good.

  Her knuckles had indeed grown.

  So had the rest of her.

  Humphrey had become slimmer, over the years, while she had been rattling upwardly through her own bra sizes at a rapid pace. Her one chance here would be if she could – somehow – trick him into saying she was fat. Then she could go on the attack with both barrels and a clear conscience.

  Well, a vaguely opaque one at any rate.