How to Kill Your Husband (and other handy household hints) by Kathy Lette (7 ebook reader .TXT) 📕

class. Luckily, there was a super-bug running rampant in London schools, so constant vomit-mopping kept me busy.

I had my coat on to go home one afternoon when Scroope called an impromptu staff meeting to announce that the promotion was going to Perdita. I sensed my mouth twitch into what I hoped was a smile, but was more like a rictus. Actually, the smile felt as though some multi-legged tropical insect was climbing across my chin.

Perdita was so gobsmacked with surprise that she nearly dropped her acceptance speech. ‘Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is mystery. And today is a gift. That’s why it’s called “the present”. Thank you for my present, Mr Scroope. I look forward to working as Deputy to such an inspirational Headmaster . . . No hard feelings,’ Perdita effervesced as she passed me, her voice so sickly-sweet that I nearly slipped into a hyperglycaemic coma.

As the other staff members expressed their strong desire that Perdita made a success of her new job, I expressed my strong desire to anchor her with weights in a Jacuzzi with a school of piranhas.

Like a wayward schoolgirl I was once more summoned to Scroope’s office. He explained that the Board of Governors, having seen my three written warnings, had left my fate in his hands. But as I had made my hostility to his new Deputy Head so apparent, it was clear to all that it would be best for the school if I saw this as a lifestyle down-scaling opportunity. When I looked at him blankly he tried speaking in English and suggested that I move on. I thought the same thing. But where should I move to? Emigration to Mars looked attractive at this point.

As Scroope droned on about my shortcomings, I looked out of the window through the drizzle at the brutish traffic. There was too much acrimony and way, way too much orange acrylic carpet in this school for me. The uninspired aspidistra in the Principal’s office was dusty and wilting – and I knew just how it felt. As I watched the day dying through the wet window, I felt as though I was buckling from pressure – like trying to close a submarine hatch against a weight of water. As a primary school teacher, I had missed my calling. I was much more suited to a job in a Philosophy Department. ‘What is a grade? In fact, what is life? And is it really worth fucking living?’

An urgent, choking sob burst out of me and I was up, blundering from the office, down the corridor and out of the gate into the squelching world.

There is no doubt that the most satisfying sensation in the Universe is to bump into the woman your husband has left you for, in a bikini in a communal change room, while you’re still dressed and she’s naked, unwaxed and has gained 8 pounds. But needless to say, it never, ever happens this way. As I barrelled blindly on towards Camden, who did I run smack bang into? Rory and Bianca, of course. To say I wasn’t looking my best was to put it mildly. I was gasping and wheezing, my nose was streaming and my eyes were swollen into slits from weeping.

As I stood there dripping in the rain, they remained in an oasis of warmth and calm, cocooned beneath their huge brolly. I thought about smiling hello, but it was just a waste of facial muscles.

‘Oh . . . I’ve been meaning to call . . .’ Rory stammered. His tone was one of pained geniality.

‘Oh, don’t worry. My life’s been so busy, what with the sale at Asda and the dishwasher filter needing changing and all. ’

I wanted to cling to my husband, like Robinson Crusoe clinging to his life-raft. Rory’s eyes were bright and he swallowed hard several times. The muscles in his throat tensed and knotted, which made me feel that he too was fighting off an emotion he did not want witnessed.

Bianca gave me a chilly smile. ‘Cassandra, that coat! I’m sure there’s a homeless person in Romania who would just love it. Although, actually, on second viewing, I think even a homeless Romanian would send it back!’ she chortled appreciatively at her own wit.

Bianca, of course, was looking delicate and expensive in fur-trimmed cashmere. ‘Well, your coat looks very pretty anyway,’ I said, wondering if Rory had bought it for her.

‘Oh, but it’s such a burden you know, being pretty. Especially when you want people to take you seriously. I’ve always thought I’d gain more intellectual respect if I had a broken nose or a scar or something.’

‘Really? Well, would you like me to smash your face in right now?’ I offered.

Rory quickly stifled a laugh. Bianca, on the other hand, looked shocked and a little frightened before sighing condescendingly. ‘You just make it clearer and clearer why your husband left you. Come along, Rory.’

Emotions scudded like weather across Rory’s face. He hesitated – a pooch pulling on his leash. ‘I’m taking the kids tonight, Cass. To the cinema. And then they’re sleeping over. You didn’t forget, did you?’

I had forgotten, in fact. With no job, no friends, no husband, Mum busy burning down Dad’s shed, and now not even my children for company, I was adrift with no shore nor rescue in sight.

‘Yeah, I must be going too,’ I said. ‘I’m sooo busy . . . I need to get home urgently to clean the neck of my tomato sauce bottle.’

And I turned on my heel to walk in the other direction. With my head bent against the rain, I must have looked like a dark question mark in the headlights of passing cars. And the question I was proposing was this – what the fuck had happened to my life?

I followed my feet, crisp packets scuttling and skittering in the windy gutters. It was 5 p.m. and already dark. I should have gone back to school for my books, but I just walked on, not caring about getting lost. It was