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Authors: Susan Buchanan

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Humor, #Contemporary, #Romantic Comedy, #Humor & Satire, #General Humor, #Romance

Sign of the Times (20 page)

BOOK: Sign of the Times
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Chapter Twenty Nine

Fortunately the morning sped past.
  
Oscar’s team sensed he needed time to himself.
 
He was just starting to feel better around lunchtime, when his mobile rang.
 
Gaby.

“Hi honey. How are you?”

“Don’t you hi honey me! What the fuck is going on?”

“What do you mean?” Oscar asked, surprised at her attack.

“I come home early….”

Oscar didn’t hear the end of the sentence. He knew this couldn’t be good. The lounge was a mess.
 
He hadn’t cleared up, because Matt was still asleep.

“Honey, I can explain.”

“Explain!
 
Explain why there’s some guy I’ve never met, in my shower?”

Ah. Timing wasn’t the best for the shower, Matt
. “That was Matt.”

“Matt who? What the fuck is he doing in my shower?”

“He’s a mate.
 
I hadn’t seen him for ages.”

Gaby didn’t let him finish, “So, you haven’t seen him for ages and I find him in our shower!
 
Oh and since I thought it was you, I opened the cubicle to surprise you.
 
Instead, some other guy’s tadger was looking out at me.
 
And for the record,” Gaby yelled, “it was far bigger than yours.”

Ouch!
 
Take that one on the chin, Oscar, she’s just angry.

“I wasn’t expecting you back early,” came his lame response.

“Oh, so when the cat’s away, the mouse will play, is it?”

“We just had a few beers,” Oscar continued.

“Eight to be precise and a full bottle of whisky.”

“Well now, that’s not fair, Gaby, there
was
a little out of it already.”

“I don’t
care
,” she roared.
 
“And you left this guy in our house?
 
Someone you haven’t seen for ages?
 
He could have robbed the place.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”
 

“You let me walk in on a complete stranger, in my own bloody shower, in my own damn house!”

“Well, yes, now you put it like that, I can understand why you are upset,” conceded Oscar.


Understand
why I’m upset? You had better believe I’m upset.
 
The whole house stinks of stale alcohol and sweaty men. Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Like what?”

“Are you gay?”

“Am I what?” Oscar spluttered.

“Gay, you know, homosexual, batting for the other side, lover of men,” Gaby continued.


No, no, no and no!
Are you crazy?” Oscar was emphatic and then realised he shouldn’t have said crazy.

“Crazy? Yes, that’s me, crazy bitch.
 
I’m not the one who gives our spare key to a total stranger.
 
Anyway, I might be mad, in fact you can bet I’m mad, but I’m not crazy.”

She was sounding crazier with every passing second, Oscar thought.

“I’m sorry.
 
I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Oscar was penitent.

“Sorry is not going to cut it, Oscar. I am sick of this. You don’t spend any time with me, but you can go out and get hammered the second I am away. You don’t take time off your precious work for me.”

“Well, I didn’t take time off work. I met Matt at the gym and then we went for a few beers and…”

“I don’t care.”

She was being irrational now.
 
Here was he, trying to make amends and he still couldn’t see what was so bad.
  
If she actually stopped and thought about it, her walking in on a total stranger in the shower was actually quite funny.
 
In the past she would have thought that was hysterical.
 
He didn’t know what to say, so he let the silence hang between them whilst he thought of something intelligent or Gaby hit him with another tirade.
 
Nothing.
 
Then the phone was slammed down.
 
Not good.
 
Oscar called Gaby’s number.
 
Voicemail.
 
He tried again, voicemail.
 
On the third attempt, he left a message.

“Gaby. I’m sorry.
 
I screwed up.
 
I should have made Matt leave this morning, or better still left him at the pub. I’ll be back early to clean up the mess,” Oscar finished.

But, he wasn’t really sure what he was apologising for. He could apologise for her finding Matt in their shower in a compromising position, but not for going out.
 
He had to let his hair down every so often and it’s not as if he was away shagging someone.
 
He’d make it up to her.
 
Flowers or a nice gift, but what?
 
She had everything already.
 
He’d get her a takeaway from Thai Garden. That was her favourite takeaway place.
 
Pity he couldn’t cook, that would have worked wonders.
 
He’d best crack on.
 
Luckily he had no more meetings, just prep for tomorrow’s sales meeting.
 
Boss man was coming up to flex some muscle.
  
He’d work like a fiend, get finished on time and then nip to the supermarket on the way home.
 
He wondered if they sold lilies.
 
They wouldn’t do gifts though, unless he was going to buy her a CD or a book. What was he thinking?
  
The grovelling required in this instance needed more than a ten pound gift.
 
Would
Next
deliver to the office, he wondered.
 
He had to get these reports finalised.
 
What to do, what to do?
 
Alison.
 
Maybe his sister could help?
 
She would probably be far too busy, but he had to try.
 

“Ali? It’s me.
 
Where are you?”

“In town?
 
Oh, thank God.
 
I need a favour.”

Five o’clock came and Oscar shot out the door as if pursued by a rottweiler.
 
Alison had dropped off a beautiful chiffon top and complementing ruffle skirt, which he thought Gaby would like and hoped would appease her.
 
It was just the kind of luxurious material she loved.
 
It wasn’t quite Nicole Farhi, but he knew Gaby would appreciate it.
 
It did, however, depend on whether or not she had forgiven him.
 
He called her from the supermarket car park.
 

“What do you want?”

“To talk to my wife. What have you done with her, you grumpster?” Oscar tried jovial and cheeky.

“Oscar, I’m not in the mood. I am still pissed off at you.”

“I know and I am sorry.
 
Can I make it up to you?”

“That depends,” Gaby said.

“On what?”

“Well, it’s going to cost you,” Gaby was smiling now.
 
He could hear it in her voice.

“A lot?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m passing Thai Garden and was going to treat us.”

“What?”

“It’s a surprise. You like surprises, don’t you?” he teased, knowing she loved them, or scratch that, she liked
nice
surprises, not nasty surprises, like finding strangers in her shower, starkers.

“OK,” Gaby relented.

“Great, see you shortly.”

Oscar was right on time.
 
He was hardly ever home when he said he would be these days. Work was taking over.
 
He searched for his keys.
 
He didn’t want to ring the bell in case Gaby was relaxing and he disturbed her, altering her earlier peaceable mood.
 
Or better still, perhaps she was luxuriating in a bath of aromatic oils and was intending to make an effort tonight too, like they used to.
 
Who knows where it could lead, thought Oscar, grinning.
 
The house was eerily quiet.

“Gaby,” he called.
 
No answer.
 
He was a little worried now.
 
Had she gone out?
 
Was this her idea of punishment? “Gaby?”
 
He dumped the bags on the marble worktop and moved from room to room.
 
She wasn’t downstairs, so he searched upstairs.
 
She wasn’t in the bath, more’s the pity, he thought.
 
He looked in their bedroom, but drew a blank.
 
Bewildered, he called again. “Gaby! Are you in?”

A slight sound came from the bedroom.
 
Oscar walked back in.
 
He heard a muffled sound again.
 
The door to the ensuite was closed. “Gaby, are you in the toilet?”

“Yes,” came a small voice. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Why didn’t you answer me before?”

“I didn’t hear you.”

“You didn’t hear me?
 
I’ve been shouting half the house…” Oscar caught himself.
 
It wouldn’t do to antagonise his wife, not when he was looking for forgiveness.

“Are you OK? You’re not ill, are you?”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a sec.”

“OK.”

It was a full ten minutes before his wife appeared in the kitchen.
 
She looked as if she’d been crying.

“You OK?” Oscar put a reassuring arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him.
 
“I
am
sorry you know. It won’t happen again.”

“I’m fine. I just have a bit of a migraine coming on.”

“Oh no, that’s awful. You haven’t had one for ages.”

“I know.
 
I think I’m just a bit stressed.”

“Come here,” and Oscar pulled her to him again.
 
“Let me look after you tonight.
 
Plus, I have a surprise for you.
 
Maybe this will cheer you up. Ta da!” and Oscar pulled out the gift bag.

“What is it?” Gaby enquired.

“Open it and see. It’s a gift for my beautiful wife, to apologise for being a drunken prat and leaving his drunken mate in our shower.
 
Not that I actually left him in the shower, you understand,” Oscar clarified.
 
“More like on the living room floor.
 
Nope, that still doesn’t sound good, does it?”

Gaby had to smile.
 
She opened the gift bag and pulled out its contents.
 
Her face lit up.
 
“Oscar, it’s beautiful,” she gasped.

“There are two items,” Oscar interjected.

“Good. I deserve them,” Gaby shot him a look, but it was one of affection.
 
Good-going thought Oscar.
 
The outfit did the trick.
 
He must remember to buy Alison lunch.
 

“Well, do I get a kiss?” Oscar feigned hurt.

“Of course.”

“Are you going to just stand there holding them, or are you going to put them on?”

“I might have to find something to go underneath,” Gaby murmured.

“Oh, I like that idea” Oscar said. “On you go. I’ll put the food out.”

“OK.”

Oscar chuckled to himself as Gaby went upstairs.
 
Worked like a charm.
 
Now all he had to do was whet her appetite with the feast he’d picked up at
Thai Garden.

“That was lovely,” Gaby enthused, after demolishing the last of her dinner. “I am absolutely stuffed.”

“I could make a joke there, but I’ll wait until later.”

“Ha ha,” Gaby laughed.
 
“You’ll get your chance, but you’ll have to wait.
 
I can’t move an inch.”

“You haven’t drunk much tonight.
 
Are you sure you’re feeling OK?”

“Could I have eaten all of that if I wasn’t feeling OK?”

“Fair point. Do you want coffee?”

“Only if it’s not instant.”

“I’ll make up a cafetiere.
 
The night is young,” he winked at his wife.

Oscar returned with two coffee mugs, sugar and milk on a tray and a steaming cafetiere of Brazilian roast, only to find his wife absent.
 
Damned woman, he remonstrated gently. She was always disappearing.
 
Sitting down, he picked up a magazine.
 
He didn’t want to switch on the TV, as that would spoil the mood, but he was getting restless doing nothing.
 
He didn’t really do relaxing.
 
Idly he leafed through the F1 magazine.
 
In the past, he followed F1 religiously, even watching the qualifying, which he knew made him a sad git, particularly when it involved staying up until the wee small hours.
 
He hadn’t realised how engrossed he’d become in the magazine, until he noticed he’d read ten pages.
 
Where was Gaby?

BOOK: Sign of the Times
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