Nomance by T Price (read an ebook week txt) 📕

late, like all the jars of chillie pickle she’dhad to buy recently in order to feed her craving. This pregnancywas getting to be less a money spinner by the day. No doubt thatwas why she had started getting these weepy spells. From time totime a near unbearable frustration would well up within her andreduce her to tears.

If pregnancy alwaysstuffed you up like this then she could well understand why fewerwomen were having children these days. Actually, it was sobering torealise how much better off she was compared to most pregnant women– at least she going to get a cash lump sum at the end of her terminstead of a baby.

It just goes toshow, she told herself, there’s always someone worse offthan you.

And this very formula,as applied to Gwynne, was her most tried and trusted source ofcomfort.

Six: Love’s in Superstore

At work, later thatday, Gwynne was glassy-eyed and bad mannered, rather than plain badmannered.

The way that his wholelife had been turned upside down this morning was preoccupying him.In the past he had always banked on Carla being a failed lesbian.It comforted him to believe there was no chance she would everbring a bloke home who might try and turf him out of the house.However, after Carla’s shocking revelation, this had begun to looklike a distinct possibility. See, it stood to reason that someonewho had already gone to the trouble of getting Carla pregnant wouldalso go to the trouble of turfing him out the house.

Gwynne frowned.

Then he frownedharder.

He was still frowningby lunch time, when he sat down in the staff canteen.

His frown looked muchlike his usual scowl, but it was, in fact, a different animal. Thisfrown betokened deliberative thought, rather than any other pain inhis head. He was trying recollected all the blokes who had evercome into the shop. That wasn’t so difficult. Romance didn’t havemany male customers. And anyway, could any man who bought flowersbe up to the job of getting Carla pregnant?

No, the more likelypropositions were the van drivers who delivered the stock – bogpeat and the like. The salesmen were a bit too flash for Carla, butthe van drivers looked like right psychos. And psychos, Gwynne hadalways felt, had a distinct advantage when it came to the wooingand winning of a woman. That said, it was also true that psychosnever failed to display good taste. Somehow he couldn’t picture onetaking Carla to bed. To the back of a garage, maybe . . .

That’s when the answerhit him!

She’s been raped!

At that, a great weightwas lifted from his mind. The last thing a rapist would do was movein with his victim. Gwynne heaved a hearty sigh of relief andslouched back in his chair with a rare smile.

Charmaine, the officetrainee, who had walked into the canteen just a moment before,smiled back. Then, without warning, like she had acted before shecould think about it, she sat opposite him and said, ‘You ought tocrack your face more often, mate, you’d be less ugly.’

And Gwynne picked it upfrom there.

Over the days to come,this harshness of tone would lessen until they spoke to each otherwithout any particular inflection whatsoever.

Yes, Gwynne was on theway to true love. It made him feel sort of protective and warm.Chivalrous even. In which case he had to ask himself what wouldCharmaine say if ever she found out his sister had got raped and hehadn’t done anything about it? No doubt she would demand to knowwhether he didn’t have any balls or something. After all, wasn’tCarla getting raped as near as damn it a personal insult to him aswell?

God damn it, Charmainewas right! He couldn’t take that sort of shit off another guy. Hehad to do something. Him and his mates had to go out there andround the fucker up. Then they’d teach the bastard to think twicebefore he raped his sister again.

But to round anyone up,even a fucker, one needs a description. Well, that should be easyto get hold of – or so he thought. But whenever he got back homeand found himself face to face with Carla, his usual masterful waywith words deserted him. He couldn’t understand it. The questioncouldn’t be simpler, could it?

You know that guy whoraped you? What did he look like?

And yet he foundhimself hesitating in a way he had never hesitated before. Theproblem was him and Carla had never talked about anything foryears, apart from stuff like housekeeping and taking deliveries ofbog peat. And conversations like that did not lead straight up herskirt the way rape did.

The more heprevaricated, the more difficult it seemed to get.

However, they werewatching television in the lounge one evening and Gwynne wastelling himself that he was never going to be able to get the wordsout, when he heard this voice say, ‘Carla, you know you’re pregnantand all that?’

Gwynne couldn’t believehis luck. It was his voice. He’d blurted the question outwithout having to think. Once again he had to tell himself that inlife you never think too little. He didn’t let himself think now asCarla fixed him with a stony stare. ‘What did he look like then,the man?’

‘Never set eyes onhim.’

‘What? Bastard! Whatdid he do? Use drugs?’

‘Yes, a sedative andlocal anaesthetic.’

‘Jesus Christ. If Icatch the fucker . . . ’

‘Aw, relax will you.It’s all over and done with now.’ Carla turned back to the TV.

Gwynne found himselfmulling over his sister’s reluctance to discuss the situation.Something told him, maybe a film he had seen once, that there weresome women who preferred to try and forget rather than exactrevenge. It was a baffling reaction and he could scarcely creditCarla with not wanting to break the swine’s neck.

But hey! Perhaps – justperhaps – she didn’t think her little brother was up to the job ofbreaking a swine’s neck. Maybe she already thought he had no ballsor something.

And worse still, itlooked like she wasn’t going to give him the chance to proveotherwise.

Well, God damn . ..

Slowly but surely,Gwynne’s simmering resentment against the man who had raped hissister turned instead to a simmering resentment against hissister.

He was back to hisnormal self.

In actual fact,