The Tangled Web (2 page)

I looked down at my vibrator once more and shuddered to
think someone – anyone – had found it, let alone my Dad.  My Mum must have
sensed my awkwardness because she then turned to leave saying, ‘Don’t tell him
the truth, he’d be mortified.’

HE would be mortified?

I couldn’t have felt any more pathetic at that point.  I
was sure of that.  Until I absent-mindedly examined the device and realised
that not only had he retrieved it, he had also cleaned it and put fresh
batteries in it. 

FML.

Comments

Christos
Polycarpou
1st January 21:45

I was alone
too.  Jenny and the kids were in bed early.  You should have come online for a
chat.  But what on earth did you find using the dog’s profile that made you
vomit?

Vicky
Robertson
1st January 21: 48

I wish I’d
known :(  I’ll email you about what I found.

Adam
Robertson
1st January 21:56

Overshare
much?  Can’t believe you made a profile for the dog to spy on your boyfriend,
you bunny boiler!  And Bidean hasn’t accepted my friend request yet.  Sort it
out x

Vicky
Robertson
1st January 21:58

You know by now
what my blogs are like :P  Bidean has decided social networking isn’t for her x

Scarlett
McDonald
1st January 22:05

I will ignore
the jibe about me flitting from one disastrous relationship to the next.  I’ll
have you know, I’ve been with Peter since July!  And living with him since
August.  We’re very happy.  I didn’t go out last night either.  I wasn’t
feeling well.

Scarlett
McDonald
1
^st
January 22:07

And did you
know if you put a 2p piece in the battery connection thingy, those vibrators
will go twice as fast? ;)

Adam
Robertson
1st January 22:09

@Scarlett
TMI!!!

Vicky
Robertson
1st January 22:13

Thanks for the
tip Scarlett!  See you at work x

Ruth Watt
1st January 22:46

I want my Bag
For Life back biatch! XXX

Pamela
Robertson
1
^st
January 22:53

omg ur so sad
getting wreckd on 1 glass of buckfast n who puts it in the fridge??? seriously,
ur not normal. luv uuuuuuu! X

1

3
^rd
January

She was about to post an update which read “FUCKING MEN!”
being a sign of her exasperation.  Then she remembered the theme of updates on
this particular site was “What are you doing?”  Maybe not then.

Vicky had been glad of an opportunity to get out of the
office, even if it was only to visit a local church about special arrangements
for an upcoming funeral.  It gave her a chance to avoid a blow by blow account
of her colleague and best friend Scarlett’s latest step-child related drama. 
The last one involved replacing Scarlett’s KY Jelly with a medicated spot gel. 
Vicky shuddered at the memory.

The first working day of January was always disheartening
but even more so this year.  It always meant another year was over, and another
year of what-ifs were just beginning.  This time, on top of that and the
loneliness she’d felt since Colin left, there was a broken heart she hadn’t
expected to have mixed in with everything else.

Sitting down on a bench across from the church, she took in
her surroundings.  Maybe it was a good opportunity to count her blessings and
focus on the positives.

Number one: She was alive.  That’s always a good start. 
And so was her daughter Sasha, despite Vicky’s tendency to catastrophise every
little scratch or sniffle Sasha had. 

Number two: She was healthy.  Ish.  She blew her nose on a
pre-used tissue and reminded herself it was just a cold.

Number three: She wasn’t Scarlett.  That cheered her up
even more than being alive.  No hypochondria.  No drama addiction.  No
boyfriend who has really no time for a relationship.  No demonic teenage
step-children.  No attitude to life full of regrets and void of ambition.

Number four: She was in a beautiful place that she loved. 
Yes, it got a bit busy with tourists in the summer, but that was par for the
course.  To some extent she had her own addiction similar to Scarlett’s need
for drama.  Her addiction was travelling.  So it didn’t bother her when other
people took holidays in her home city.  And the fact that she loved to travel
didn’t change the fact that she adored her home in Inverness.

Staring across the river and allowing herself to become
entranced by a random tree and the gushing noises from the river below, Vicky
decided to count one more blessing and leave it at that.  But which one?  She
couldn’t count family.  They were all nuts.  As for friends, well they were all
a bit of a dead loss.  Most were paired off and had forgotten her in favour of
the men in their lives and their own babies.  A few had moved away.  And the
rest were a bit boring these days if she was honest.  At some point in the last
few years, life had moved them all along and left Vicky behind with only
Scarlett to have a laugh with during working hours and her daughter and
computer for company in the evenings.  There was always Christos.  He was a
florist she had met through work and started chatting to online.  They’d become
friends – close friends – with texts, emails and social networking.  But they
never spent any real time together.  He was just the little man who lived in
her phone.

There had to be another blessing to count. 

Her attention moved from the random tree to the clicking of
stiletto heels and a jolt as someone forcefully placed their backside on the
opposite end of the bench.  She turned her eyes discreetly to see who was
sitting next to her, doing her best not to move her head for fear that she
might be caught staring.  Before she had managed to catch a glimpse she heard a
sniff and a sob, followed by a popping cork and the swilling noise of liquid
being drained from a bottle.  She couldn’t now be discreet.  She must look.

The woman didn’t look like a typical wino.  Immaculately
dressed in a navy shadow-striped suit, red heels and matching red costume
jewellery, this woman screamed poser.  Vicky examined little details for a
moment, like the sharp creases in the navy trouser suit, French manicured nails
and the fact that the shoes had been polished enough to reflect the bottle in
this woman’s hand.  What was that she was drinking?  Was that…pink champagne?

This is someone who had made a serious effort just to get
drunk on a bench, Vicky surmised.  She imagined this is what vagrants would
look like in Monte Carlo – if there ever were any.  Even this woman’s mascara
was perfect, despite the tears.  Would it be worth asking what brand that was? 
Vicky had been looking for a well-behaved mascara for quite some time.

Shaking off the tinges of amusement and respect she felt,
Vicky internally sniggered instead.  This woman was fabulous and pathetic at
the same time.

Blessing number five: She wasn’t spending the first working
day of the year crying and getting drunk alone on a bench at half past ten in
the morning.

It was almost time for her to meet the beadle to talk about
tomorrow’s funeral.  Vicky stood and took one last look at the river, mentally
telling herself that if she visualised it happening, the water would carry away
all her heartbreak.  She brushed off the seat of her trousers in case she had
picked up any dirt from the bench and turned to walk towards the church – but
instead walked straight into a seagull.  Human squeals mixed with gull squawks
and somehow Vicky lost command of her arms, which had taken on a life of their
own, giving her the appearance of an out of control ninja.  Swinging her right
arm round instinctively, Vicky whacked the poor bird with her handbag,
propelling it straight into the fabulously pathetic tramp.

A pair of colourful curses slipped out from both Vicky and
the tramp before someone on the other side of the river hooted with laughter. 
Ignoring them, Vicky clasped her hand to her mouth in horror.

‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry.  Are you ok?’ she gushed.

‘Yeah,’ was the unaffected reply, before another swig of
champagne and a sniff.

‘It was an accident,’ Vicky continued.

The tramp shook her head.  ‘It doesn’t matter.  Just one
more calamity to add to my already wonderful day,’ she stated in a West Country
accent.

Vicky watched another mouthful of champagne escape from the
bottle.  Her victim had a feather on her shoulder and something black on her
left cheek, but otherwise her appearance hadn’t been altered by the mishap. 

Sitting back down on the bench, Vicky removed her
BlackBerry from her handbag, snapped a picture of herself, then surveyed the
damage.  Wow.  There was a
lot
of damage. 

‘You look a mess,’ the tramp affirmed without prompting. 
‘So does the pigeon.’

The two women peered down at the bird and Vicky thought it
unwise to correct someone clearly tipsy and emotional on which particular kind
of bird it was.  The seagull was barely moving.

‘Shall we try and help it?’ Vicky fretted.

‘Nah, I think it’s dead,’ was the blunt reply.

Vicky had to think quickly.  She couldn’t go and represent
the company looking like this.  She would have to phone and arrange another
time to meet the beadle.  She checked her recently called numbers and
re-dialled his.

‘John?  It’s Vicky from Silver Thistle Funeral Directors. 
I’m sorry, something urgent has come up and I have to make my way back to the
office…..you’ll be there until half twelve?  Great, I’ll be able to come and
see you around twelve if that’s ok?  Thanks!  I’ll see you then.  Bye.’

‘You’re Vicky from Silver Thistle?’ the tramp brightened.

‘Uh-huh,’ Vicky responded cautiously.

‘I’m Flic!  We’ve spoken on the phone a million times! 
Flic from Pebworth & Co. Solicitors!  I do all the estates,’ she beamed and
shifted to face Vicky.

‘Oh, of course, yes!’ Vicky nodded and smiled politely. 
She had always got the impression from their phone calls that Flic from
Pebworth & Co. was a snooty unhelpful cow.

‘Well.  I did do the estates.  I don’t any more.’  The tone
in Flic’s voice gave Vicky the impression that the mid-morning drinking session
might be work related.

‘You’ve moved on?’ Vicky ventured.

‘Got made redundant this morning,’ Flic saddened.

‘Oh.  That’s a bit callous, giving you that news on the
first working day of the year,’ Vicky sympathised.  No wonder this woman was
upset.

‘It’s ok, I suppose.  I don’t get a good redundancy payout
or anything.  Haven’t been there long enough to get much.  And I doubt there
are any jobs out there for me.  But at least I have my champagne!  Happy New
Year!’ she trilled and took another gulp.

‘How long had you been working there?’ Vicky asked.

‘Three and a half years.  I started around the same time I
moved to Inverness.’

‘Did you move here to take the job?’ Vicky asked, deciding
it would be dreadful to move somewhere purposely for a job and then be made
redundant.

‘No, I just wanted a new start.  My Gran lives here so it
was as good a place as any,’ Flic shrugged, gulping down another mouthful of
pink fizz.  ‘What’s your story?’

Vicky shifted uncomfortably.  ‘What do you mean?’

‘Nobody sits and stares at nothing in the freezing cold
unless they’ve got things on their mind.  Come on, I’m a good agony aunt,’ Flic
winked.  ‘And it’ll make me feel like less of a loser.’

‘Just man trouble,’ Vicky attempted to brush the question
aside.  She had no desire to pour her heart out to someone who was almost a
total stranger.

‘Ah.  That makes sense.  He’s cheated, hasn’t he?’ Flic
ventured.

‘Sort of,’ Vicky squinted, wondering how to relate her
heartbreak without sounding like a bitch.  And how to change the subject.

‘He either did, or he didn’t,’ Flic reasoned.

‘He did cheat, but not on me,’ Vicky frowned.  This was
getting too deep and meaningful for her liking.

‘Right.  So you were the bit on the side then,’ Flic
nodded.  She had clearly lost sympathy.

Vicky cast her eyes downward, feeling uneasy and
embarrassed.  She made no attempt to respond.

‘You didn’t know he was spoken for?’ Flic continued.

Vicky shook her head with force.

‘Don’t feel bad then.  It wasn’t your fault.  You’ve dumped
him obviously,’ Flic asserted.  Her statement was met with a nod.

‘I’m just going to forget I ever knew him,’ Vicky hissed,
attempting to appear strong and feisty rather than how she actually felt.

‘Good.  How did you find out?’ Flic continued her interrogation.

‘Tête-a-net.  He had two profiles.  One real one, for all
his family and friends.  Another fake one, for me and the two sleazebags who
knew about his antics.  I did think it strange he only had three friends, but
he assured me he never used the site and was only there to read my updates.  He
had blocked me from his real profile.  I just don’t understand why he was on a
dating site to meet women when he was married,’ Vicky sighed.  Her naivety was
rammed home now that she was narrating the events aloud.