This Holey Life Read Online Free PDF Page A

close shave for a while.
    The poor woman must’ve been deluded. Who would fall in love with Desmond? Except for Amanda. Though maybe he didn’t always have a round belly and comedy hair. And how would dozy
Desmond ever manage without Amanda?
    I’ll never be like Amanda. I’ll never be a proper vicar’s wife.
    The carrots are done. My dress is ironed. The kids are in bed. Martin was supposed to be making himself scarce, going down the pub or something but he’s still here,
lurking in the kitchen, eyeing my food display with derision.
    ‘Is there a problem, Martin?’
    ‘Yes, there is, Vicky-Love.’ He swipes a carrot and crunches into it with his great big teeth. ‘I’m skint.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘So I won’t be going out after all.’
    ‘Oh.’
    He reaches for another carrot but I am quick off the mark and get the dish out of his way. He opts for his fag packet instead, watching me strain to keep my mouth shut.
    ‘Unless, that is, you can lend me some money.’ He gets out his lighter. ‘I’ll pay you back as soon as.’
    ‘How come you’re asking me for money? You’re the one that’s loaded.’
    ‘Cash flow,’ he says, as if I’m an idiot. ‘Go on, Victoria. Twenty quid should do it.’
    A moral dilemma: Do I lend Martin money – money we haven’t got – to go boozing? Or do I let him stay and ruin our evening?
    Martin looks out the window, unlit fag in mouth, lighter in hand. It is raining heavily. Big fat drips chasing each other down the panes of glass (must give them a going-over). He sighs like a
dog. He hates the rain. Hates getting wet. Sets his eczema off, the poor diddums. I can guess what’s coming.
    ‘The pubs’ll be full of students and chavs tonight.’ Another dog-sigh. He’s stalling, feeling sorry for himself that no-one’s invited him anywhere. ‘I suppose
I shouldn’t really leave Jeremy anyway.’
    Pitiful.
    ‘No, you shouldn’t leave Jeremy, Martin,’ I wag a carrot stick at him. ‘But why change the habit of a lifetime?’
    ‘Now, now, Vicky,’ he retorts. ‘Show some of your Christian ideals.’
    I ignore this bait. I might not have been overjoyed when Steve confessed he wanted to go into the Church but I won’t have Martin make fun of the unexpected turn our life has taken.
    ‘You can stay but you’ll have to make yourself useful.’ I make a point of thinking about this. ‘You’re on peanut duty.’ I get a large packet of KP nuts out of
the pantry and slap it into his hand. ‘You should know where the bowls are by now.’
    ‘But you should know I’m allergic to peanuts. And I’ve left my EpiPen at home.’
    ‘Oh dear, of course. You’d better go and get it then, hadn’t you? Better safe than sorry.’
    Martin eyeballs me for a few moments. If this were a cartoon he’d have steam coming out of his ears. But he’s not going to put me off. I’ve hit the ground running and I
won’t let him catch me. Ha!
    ‘You should go and see Jeremy’s voodoo doctor. She might be able to weave her magic on you.’
    If this were a cartoon Martin’s face would be pillar-box red. No, wait, Martin’s face is pillar box red. He lights his cigarette in the kitchen, my kitchen, and as he stomps
his way out of the room, he skids on a carrot baton which, had it been a banana skin, would have completed this cartoon moment. He swears, loudly, as he hobbles down the hall and for once I am
grateful for the eardrum-rattling volume of the TV so the kids don’t hear his disgusting expletives. But no-one can miss the bang of the front door as Martin exits (must get Steve to install
rubber stop).
    Two minutes later, our first guest arrives. Perfect timing.
    My moment of triumph is short-lived. Unfortunately Gerry the carpenter is the one and only guest to arrive. Over the following half hour the phone rings no less than eight
times with various excuses ranging from babysitting problems to the flu. There’s even an RTA thrown in for good measure. Our tentative venture