Pretending Not To Care

Pretending Not To Care

‘Where is it then Mum?’

‘I’ve emailed it to you.’

‘Oh’

Jude fished her phone out of her pocket, thumb digging through the layers of pixels to the little envelope with the red number, quadruple digits.

Miss Makeup

We miss you Jude! Peek inside for 20% off until midnight on Sunday.

Cabulous

Hurry! £5 off your next fare!

DONOTREPLY@hertscouncil.gov

Changes to your council tax.

Gemma

Re: Saturday?

*ComCom

Your latest invoice

*Mary.Hellier56@wowmail.com (Unverified sender, report as spam?)

My Book!

Maddisons

Great news! Your parcel is arriving today!

BeeBank

Discover flexible instalment plans as unique as you are.

Jude tapped on the message.

‘This message is from an unverified sender and may contain malicious software. Are you sure you wish to continue?’

Yes.

‘The attachment(s) on this message are too large for YMail to scan for malware. Are you sure you wish to continue?’

Yes.

‘Hello darling,

Would love to know what you think of attached!! Was wondering if you could pass it along to Georgie? She still works for Guillemot right?

See you on Saturday!

Love mum xxx’

Attachment(s): How_To_Kill_Your_Husband_(And_Get_AWay_With_It!)ByMaryHellier.pdf

Pressing download, the grey circle inched round slowly.

Low Battery - 10% Remaining.

‘Uh this battery is f-. Flipping useless. Is your wifi ok?’

Mary didn’t look up from The Complete Curry Guide.

‘I think something’s up. They’ve been digging up the road. You know Ken down the way?’

‘The guy with the big dog?’

‘Alfie, yes. Doberman, but very friendly, wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s no Jingo.’

Jingo was Jude’s grandmother’s dog, who had bitten Jude on the cheek when she was five. She still had a little mark but no one who wasn’t family had ever said anything. Getting rid of Jingo was discussed among the adults but not Granny. No-one volunteered to deliver the bomb. Eventually they all settled uneasily on the conclusion that Jude should not have tried to stroke Jingo when he was guarding his cushion and they would all watch him extra carefully from now on around the kids. Next time they went round, Granny showed them where Jingo was buried and called them all cowards.

‘Yeah, I think I know who you’re talking about, I didn’t know his name was Ken though…’

‘Well he’s been complaining about the internet on the street chat all week, missed a lot of important meetings apparently, had to go into London which he really hates doing because, well you know what it’s been like with the trains…Oh look the woodpecker’s back!’

Straddling the peanuts in the back garden the red cap jagged back and forth, long beak digging into the feeder. Jude moved closer to the kitchen window to get a better look. The speckled wings flashed back up into the sycamore and disappeared.

‘That’s three times I’ve seen him this week!’

‘He doesn’t like me obviously.’

The book finished downloading and opened on the phone. A spidery, calligraphy font spilled down the pages.

‘So anyway poor Alfie has been in the house on his own a lot. I could hear him from here. In the end I put some leftover stir fry beef through the letterbox I felt so bad.’

‘What did Ken say?’

‘Oh he doesn’t know, he’s got floor boards in the hallway.’

‘Mum when did you write this?’

‘Last week dear. Tea?’ She flicked on the kettle which started to drag itself to the boil with a pneumonic rattle.

‘Yes please. What do you mean last week? It’s six hundred pages!’

‘Do you think it’s too long? Helen at the gym said 300 to 400 is better but I don’t know. If the story is good enough I never mind how long a book is.’

‘No I mean how did you physically write that much in a week?’

‘Well I had a little help…’

Jude’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses.

Mary read the silence as she fished the tea bags out of the elephant tin.

‘Have you heard of Gonzo?’

‘Oh. Right. So you didn’t actually write it.’

‘Excuse me! It’s my idea!’

‘What was? The title?’

‘Yes, and the plot and everything. I was looking around for another series. You know I finished all The Mince Pie Murder Society ones.’

‘I didn’t but go on.’

‘Well I did, the last one wasn’t so good, I guessed who it was at the end of chapter three.’

‘You know I heard the guy who wrote those…’

‘Henry Coleman.’

‘Yeah him, I’ve heard he’s a prick in real life.’

‘Well that doesn’t surprise me. I didn’t like him on Radio 4, he was very rude to Kirsty Wark when she interviewed him and she’s a very good judge of people. I do like his books though.’

‘But now you’ve read them all…’

‘Yes, this is what I was saying. So I was looking around for a new series and I typed,

‘books like The Mince Pie Murder Society please’

into the computer and a bunch of things came up, most of which I’ve already read, but then this box pops up and says:

Hi, I’m Gonzo, nice to meet you! If you liked The Mince Pie Murder Society books, why don’t you write your own?

And I type back.

Nice to meet you too Gonzo. I’d love to but I don’t really have the time. I’m Mary by the way.

And he says,

Well, why don’t I help you? What would your book be called?

Mary handed Jude a cup of tea in a china mug, flower pattern faded nearly to white by the dishwasher, bag still in.

‘Thanks.’

‘So I give him the title which has been rattling round up here for years and Gonzo loves it. Thinks it’s so good, starts sending me all these graphs about how ‘optimised’ it is and then starts asking me about the plot and I say it’s about a group of friends, actually based on my book club group… You know, Pam and Sandra, Julie and those lot?’

‘Mm hmm.’

‘Women of a certain age shall we say. And anyway this murder happens in the village they all live in and they all sort of get together to solve it and that’s it basically.’

‘And what, this thing spat out 600 pages and you just saved it on your computer and sent it to me?’

‘No, no, no! It was days and days, honestly, we went into so much detail on the characters and what happened and all of that. It was a lot of work. And he can only do a chapter at time you see, or you know, 3000 words I think it is. So we did the first chapter and then I changed some bits and then we were on a roll so did a few more and I was adding things myself and that and then I hit a problem because you only get so many tokens you see.’

‘Oh mum you’re not paying for this are you?’

‘Well hardly it’s like £12 a month or something and I can cancel it whenever.’

‘Mum honestly!’

‘Oh it’s fine, I can afford it and it’s fun! Something to do during the week. I’m creative too you know! Where do you think all your talent came from? Certainly not your father!’

‘I haven’t ever thought about it to be honest. And I wouldn’t go so far as to call it talent. Stubbornness maybe. Bloody minded stupidity.’

‘Well you definitely get that from him.’

‘The tokens…?’

‘Yes, sorry, the tokens. Basically Gonzo has only got so much memory and after he’s sent you something like 30,000 words he basically resets himself and forgets everything you’ve talked about before, so I had to keep reminding him about the book every couple of days, sort of summarise it all again, and sometimes he really didn’t get it and got quite angry, denying that he’d ever written any of it but then I sent him the chapters we’d done and he really liked them. You know when you see something with fresh eyes?’

‘Except it doesn’t have eyes of course.’

‘No but you know what I mean Judey! You’re not jealous are you? Because I’ve finished?’

‘Ha, no mum. I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.’ A soft alarm sounded from somewhere near the microwave.

‘Oh, that’s for the washing. I’ve got to hang it upstairs in the spare room because the dryer’s on the fritz but sit down there and read the first chapter or something and tell me honestly what you think.’

‘Ok.’

Jude pulled out one of the kitchen chairs that were in all her baby photos and sat down at the table while the washing was dragged, sopping out of the drum into the basket.

‘Won’t be a mo.’

The font was very hard to read on the white light of the phone, so much so she had to manually adjust the brightness of the screen.

Plumstead-on-the-Wold was a typical English village, at least that’s what it seemed from the outside…

Jude’s thoughts wandered from the glass. The house was clean and tidy, more than usual actually. The roses by the front door had been hacked back to raw stumps and the usual tangle of shoes by the front door had been tidied neatly into pairs. Movement was still a little stiff but the consultant had said up to 9 months post op it could be.

‘You’ll notice the difference most up here though’ and he’d tapped the side of his head.

The patronising tone had annoyed her but she had to admit he was right. She was better up there.

Less grimacing, more smiling, getting out and about again. Should have been last summer. Anger bubbled up thinking about the months of waiting.

‘I’m alright Jude, honestly!’ Inching steps on an eroding hip, shuffling through the rusted gears of the system.

‘How’s your writing going though love’ a faint voice came down the stairs. ‘Sorry I forgot to ask. I read that article on Jacknife is it called? Very good, I showed it to Ian and he agreed with you as well about America. I don’t know what’s going on over there…’

‘Yeah it’s going ok thanks Mum. You know, busy which is good. Working on another piece that should be done next week.’

‘Weren’t you writing a book as well?’

‘Trying to. About halfway through the first draft.’

‘Well done darling’ the faint voice replied ‘I’m so proud you know…’

‘I know…thanks Mum…Mum?’

‘Yes darling’

‘Have you read this?’

A pause, filled with the sound from upstairs of a top being rung out over the bath.

‘Erm, most of it yeah…’

‘This guy Reverend Gupta…?’

‘Oh yes…’

‘Yeah, why does he have Boticelli’s Venus in his kitchen?’

‘Oh, he loves art darling, that’s one of his traits you see. He did Art History at University but then all the beautiful paintings of God and saints and things made him want to become a priest…’

‘Yes but I don’t think he’d have Boticelli’s Venus in his kitchen?’

‘Why not? It’s not the real one darling, it’s a copy. It’s probably his favourite painting.’

‘Well Mrs Revisham…’

‘That’s me by the way!’

‘Yes I can see the similarity. Mrs Revisham says ‘I do like that painting Reverend Gupta, a stunning example of early Renaissance art notable for the fact it’s painted on canvas which was unusual at the time’ and then he says ‘Thank you Mrs Revisham, yes it is very beautiful. I bought it when I was in Florence, from the Uffizi gallery for between 700 and 800 million euros…’

Silence descended from up the stairs. Then Jude heard the slippered feet coming down hesitantly, one step at a time, left foot first. The mousy brown head, greying in the middle, popped round the kitchen door.

‘Does it really say that?’

Jude, chewing the inside of her cheek hard nodded.

Mary came and sat down next to her.

‘Oh.’

‘Venus is lucky, she is young. I haven’t menstruated in nearly 11…’

‘OK you don’t need to read anymore.’

‘I think it needs another pass…’

‘So stupid.’

‘Oh no, sorry mum. It’s not stupid. You’re not stupid.

‘I sound like Gemma. Do you remember? Always hard on herself.’

‘Yeah.

‘You were always quite confident though.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh yeah.’

‘She’s going to try and pop round tomorrow I think’

‘Really? She hasn’t told me that.’

They watched a squirrel, stop start dart it’s way along the grass to the stem of the feeder. Little claws scratching on iron came faintly through the glass of the door and the blue tits on top fled for their lives.

‘Did you send this to Gemma?’

‘No. I did send it to your Auntie Kelly though.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She liked it.’

The book ran out of battery and closed.