Black Widow

11th Aug 2009

Took Mrs D into town on Sunday to see No2 son’s new ‘pad’. And very impressive it was too, – a 5-bedroomed apartment, situated in the heart of the Jewellery Quarter.

Following the brief tour of the flat and a bit of a chat to allow Mrs D time to get her breath back, we went for lunch. Mrs D had fond memories of a nearby pub on the edge of St Paul’s Square so we headed there.

[Click on pics to enlarge]

The food was excellent, the waitress welcoming, and afterwards – the weather being warm – we took our drinks outside and sat in the courtyard for a bit.

Mrs D is very frail now. The outing to town drained what little strength she has left and she was exhausted by the time we got home, but she enjoyed herself – especially my discomforture.

Mrs D has a best friend, who lives a couple of streets away from us. It was her birthday on 10th June and Mrs D bought her a present, wrapped it and asked me to take it round to her. Yesterday morning, it was still sat in our spare bedroom – well, I’ve been busy, just not had the time to drop it round. All right, all right, if you want the truth – her friend frightens me. More than Mrs D does!

To preserve anonymity I’ll call Mrs D’s best friend ‘Dot’. I’ve been wary of her since we first met over 20 yrs ago – and now even more so since her husband died about 3 years ago.

Dot is ‘dangerous’. Dot is a ‘man-hunter’.

Even when her hubby was alive, she was an outrageous flirt. Parties at her house were reminiscent of ‘One Man and his dog’. All the blokes would huddle together in the kitchen, there being some safety in numbers. On seeing her approach, we would move into the garden, from there through the patio doors into the living room, then back to the kitchen shuffling together in a tight knit bunch while she circled looking for an opportunity to pick one of us off.

During the meal yesterday she talked about how lonely she felt being on her own, coming back to an empty house in the evening etc – and how she would love to find a new man to share her life with.

Later, the conversation turned to what I would do when Mrs D dies – stop in Birmingham or go home to Scotland?

There was a time that question wouldn’t need to be asked – of course I’d go home – but things are different now. I explained I would be staying in Brum. Most of my friends now are here rather than in Scotland. I talked about my fear that my own health may give way and I worried that I might end up one of those sad cases one occasionally reads about in the papers or sees in the news – some poor bastard who collapses and dies and whose body is not found for days or weeks afterwards. I explained my worry about that happening to me and the dogs being left untended until my body was found. For this reason, I would feel ‘safer’ stopping in Birmingham since – in the event that ever happened – someone would notice my absence sooner here than if I was to move back to Scotland where no-one knew me. As I said all this, I sensed I was walking on the edge of an abyss.

She pounced !!!

You could phone me

I ignored her – pretended not to hear her remark. I turned my body slightly away from her and started talking to No2 son about his latest laptop. She was not fazed by the change in conversation. From behind me I heard a voice saying – ‘I’m just up the road. I could be at your place in a few minutes. Much faster than could Peter or Mick. You’ve got my number haven’t you? You could call me. Would you call me, if you were feeling unwell?

She obviously wasn’t going to let me get away with not answering her. Across the table, I could see Mrs D grinning as Dot put me on the spot – she knew what was coming next. Mustering all the tact and diplomacy for which I am famed, I turned to Dot and said . . . NO !!!

She was momentarily struck dumb by my response (a welcome relief) then said –

Oh you ! for a moment there I thought you were being serious.

I smiled at her and made a mental note to change all the locks on the windows and doors of the house when Mrs D dies