"Daisy! Daisy! Come here, will you?" John's excitable tones were coming from the window area.
"Why? What's going on?"
"It's Gordon!"
Surprise!
"He's just got out of the car with some carrier bags."
"Christ! Why didn't you say? I'll come over and take a photo for Instagram." I rolled onto my side and snuggled further into my pillow. "Who bloody cares, John?"
"Having driven, Daisy. He got out of the driver's side."
I tried my best to zone out but he just wouldn't give it up. "He's perfectly capable of doing those deliveries, Daisy. Come and see. He doesn't have a limp or anything."
I shot up in bed, causing the cat to spring up in the air, meowing in fright. "Will you just shut the fuck up about Gordon, John? I have had it up to HERE … " I flung my arms up above my head, theatrically, " … with your fascination with that man. It's gone TOO FAR. You've even beaten him up and you're still not satisfied."
The last time that John had delivered for the church group, he'd returned looking like he'd been on the losing side of a military operation, but I'd been too drunk to pay proper attention; this time there was no escaping the fallout.
I was siting in the garden with the kids when I heard the car pull up. I braced myself. Thirty seconds later, John came staggering through the side gate, in a state of soggy disarray. "You'll never guess what happened to me," he said.
I took in the rips at the bottom of his jeans. "Cockapoos?" The word made Molly laugh, at least.
"They are INSANE! They actually pounced on me, taking an ankle each. Look!" he said, indicating to the bottom of his jeans. "But their owner is even worse. When I FINALLY prised the little bastards - sorry kids - off me, she came after me with a rake. I accidentally trampled all over her crumpets and Eccles cakes as I made a getaway. She had the cheek to shout after me that she was reporting me to the RSPCA!" He peeled off his t shirt.
"And dare I ask why you're soaking wet?"
"The bloke next door heard the commotion, decided that I was some sort of unwanted visitor and turned the hosepipe on me in an effort to protect his batty old neighbour."
"You go in and get changed," I said, trying to suppress any hints of a smile and attempting as best I could to sound like a caring wife. "I'll pour you a drink, love."
The kids were obviously on the same page as their mother, as not a sound was uttered until we heard the click of the patio door and we simultaneously burst into fits of laughter.
I gave John time to dry off and change before heading in to find him a cold beer. Margaret popped her head out of their back door as I approached the house. "All ok with the deliveries, Daisy?"
"Oh, yeah. Fine thanks," I said. "I think he quite enjoys it." I heard giggling coming from the paddling pool as I went inside, to play sympathetic wifey.🍺
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