This Holey Life Read Online Free PDF

back into our old world with a little
soirée has been a complete failure. We are left with a mountain of carrot batons and no washing up. We force ourselves to stay up till midnight to see the New Year in with the TV, watching
the fireworks and our council tax go up in smoke. I phone Dad to wish him a Happy New Year. He doesn’t answer. Steve phones his mum and dad. No answer. We turn in at 12.15. No sign of Martin
who must’ve had a wad of cash somewhere up his sleeve. Or crashed the party of some poor unwitting soul.
    What a depressing night. It would have been better to be in church with Desmond and Amanda rather than spending our evening ‘listening’ to Gerry’s tales of dovetail joints.
Whether we have been struck by a vengeful God for my lack of brotherly love or whether we are now too cringe-worthy for company is for me to fathom as I lie in bed, listening to the rockets zoom
into the night sky and the shouts of drunken camaraderie echoing on the London streets.
    Happy New Year, Vicky-Love.
    Thoughts for the Day: Do I actually have any friends? Why do our parents have a better social life than us?

Chapter Five
    I have finally inched my way towards a fitful sleep when the phone rings, cracking the night-quiet wide open. My heart thuds, like I’ve been stabbed in the thigh with one
of Martin’s EpiPens. Something must be wrong... While I am pinned to the bed in a state of paralysis, Steve has jumped up, phone in hand, all sticky-up hair and skinny legs.
    ‘Yes, yes, I’m Reverend Butler. Is he alright?’ He puts his finger in his ear, turns away – is that me shouting hysterically?
    ‘Yes, yes, of course, I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ He sits on the bed. ‘Thank you, officer.’
    Officer?
    ‘What’s happened? Is it Dad? Is he alright?’
    Steve puts the phone down beside him and turns to me. ‘It’s not your dad.’
    Thank God! It’s not my dad. Oh the relief. But then... ‘No!’ I leap out of bed and start pacing.
    ‘Calm down, Vick,’ Steve grabs my hand and guides me gently back to the bed, like I’m sleepwalking. Perhaps I am sleepwalking. ‘Don’t worry.’ He rubs my
neck.
    I shake him off. ‘What’s he done?’
    Steve scratches his stubble, considering how to break the news to me.
    ‘Just tell me, will you.’
    ‘He’s been arrested,’ he says, as if he doesn’t quite believe his own words.
    ‘ARRESTED? WHAT THE HELL FOR?’
    ‘Ssh, Vick, be quiet. You’ll wake Imo.’
    ‘Sorry. What for?’
    ‘Breaking and entering.’
    ‘BREAKING AND ENTERING?’ I am flabbergasted. Is Martin that skint he has to resort to burglary? ‘What do you mean breaking and entering? Where? Why... ?’
    ‘Vicky, ssh, calm down,’ Steve grips my shoulders, gets me to look at him, eye contact, body language. He’s been on a course. ‘I don’t know the details... only that
they feel I ought to get down to the station sharpish.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Apparently Martin’s agitated.’
    ‘Agitated?’
    ‘Agitated.’
    ‘I’ll give him agitated.’ I’m off the bed again, agitated myself.
    ‘No you won’t, Vick. You have to stay here. The kids, remember.’ Steve starts throwing on clothes, the nearest to hand.
    The kids. That’s when I think of Jeremy. Is it wrong for me to race ahead of the situation and hope for his father to get a custodial sentence? One way to get him out of here...
    And then there’s Claudia. I slump back onto the bed. ‘Shall I call Claudia?’
    ‘Best wait till we find out what’s going on,’ he stoops to kiss me. ‘I’ll phone as soon as I know more.’ He’s about to go out the room when he turns
back and puts on his shirt and dog collar over his vintage Anarchy in the UK tshirt.
    ‘What are you doing?’
    ‘You never know,’ he says. ‘Could come in handy.’ He fiddles with the collar. I can’t quite believe he’s my husband. A vicar. It seems ludicrous somehow. I
keep expecting him to turn back into Steve the plumber. To get my old