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purple that clashed with the neon-yellow nail polish. Sheā€™d shoehorned herself into dark skinny jeans and an orange chunky-knit jumper, and her hair sat in a bun on her crown.

Inside, gagging for a coffee and a fag to steady her nerves, Brenda led her to the kitchen, turning on the light. She scrolled the blind up above the sink then flicked the kettle on, anxious because Cassie would be here soon, and while the element crackled and rumbled, Sharon taking a seat at the table, Brenda sent her boss a message: Sharonā€™s here.

Phone on the worktop farthest from her unwanted guest, Brenda got on with spooning instant coffee into two mugsā€”she couldnā€™t wait for her machine to filter, it took at least twenty minutes. She ought to clean really, the plates and whatnot from last nightā€™s late dinner still sitting in the bowl ready for the dishwasher. Sheā€™d been too tired from looking after Sid Watson, one of her elderly marks, to bother loading it. ā€œSo, whereā€™s the fire? Itā€™s a bit early for this kind of malarky, isnā€™t it?ā€

Sharon sighed, picking at a fingernail, the tick, tick, tick of it loud. ā€œLook, Iā€™ve got to talk to someone. Thereā€™s stuff you donā€™t know about Karenā€¦ā€

I know plenty, duck. ā€œOh right.ā€ Feigning nonchalance came so easily. It had to when you worked for Cassie. A poker face was part of your armour, something sheā€™d learnt while under Lennyā€™s rule. Never show your opponent whatā€™s on your mind until youā€™re prepared to speak. Heā€™d said that to her once, and sheā€™d taken it on board.

Sharon stuffed the fingernail between her teeth and ripped it off.

ā€œDonā€™t even think about spitting that on my floor, you dirty cow,ā€ Brenda said. ā€œThe binā€™s just there.ā€ She nodded to the grey flip-top by the internal door.

Sharon got up and disposed of the result of her gnawing, returning to her seat with a weary thump. ā€œSheā€™s got some stupid scheme on the go, and Iā€™m worried sheā€™s gone and done it.ā€

ā€œDone what?ā€ Will she admit it?

ā€œI know I said I needed to talk, but I canā€™t say.ā€ Sharon studied the fruit bowl, maybe the already-going-brown bananas, a bunch that had Ripens Over Time on the bag.

Well, Brenda had only bought them two days ago, so that claim was a load of old bollocks. That was the thing with bananas. One minute they were green, and the next time you looked, they had bruises, the yellow stage a mystery.

She told herself off for letting her mind wander.

ā€œI canā€™t grass on her,ā€ Sharon reiterated.

Loyal to the last then. ā€œIs that why youā€™re panicking, walloping her door at ten to six in the chuffing morning?ā€ Brenda added sugar. ā€œI mean, itā€™s enough to wake all the neighbours, and if Karenā€™s ā€˜schemeā€™ is meant to be kept quiet, you havenā€™t done a good job at making sure it stays that way.ā€

ā€œI didnā€™t want fuck all to do with it, I said no when she asked me, I wasnā€™t going to be in on it, but sheā€™ll do it anyroad. Sheā€™s obsessed, that one.ā€

ā€œSo because she hasnā€™t answered your texts or her door, you think somethingā€™s happened, is that it?ā€ Brenda flinched at her phone going off.

She read the message from Cassie: Perfect.

What the fuck was going on?

ā€œYes.ā€ Sharon got up and opened the long pale-pink curtains in front of the back door, staring out at the garden, the fir tree branches in Mrs Roderickā€™s border weighed down with snow, the bushes covered in a glaring white wig, an old ladyā€™s perm. ā€œI should get hold of Cassie. Should never have kept this to myself. But Karenā€™s my mateā€¦ā€

Brenda sighed inwardly. Karen was supposedly her best mate, although Brenda had long since realised Karen only bothered with her when she wanted something. It didnā€™t sting as much as it should, and Brenda had got used to only being needed when it was convenient. She acknowledged there and then that she hadnā€™t been such a good friend herself. If she had, sheā€™d have tried harder, gone to see Karen a bit more, but saying that, why should she when it was clear she wasnā€™t wanted in that way anymore?

Life, it changed things. It got busy, and there wasnā€™t enough time in the day to continue nurturing friendships. Neither of them were who theyā€™d been when theyā€™d first become pals.

ā€œDo you get it, though?ā€ Sharonā€™s breath turned to condensation on the glass in the door, and she drew a sad face on it. ā€œItā€™s not like Karen is the same lately, is it. I mean, she barely comes to see you. Not being funny, but she uses you when Iā€™m not available.ā€

ā€œShit happens.ā€ Brenda poured water into the cups, thinking life didnā€™t change that much.

Here they were, still talking like they were in their teens, going against their friend, although Brenda hadnā€™t said owt bad. A trio of mates was never ideal. One always spoke about either of the others, then made out they didnā€™t when faced with the person theyā€™d slagged off. It wasnā€™t Brendaā€™s style these days, she was way past that, but how unsettling that Sharon had gone down that route now, a regression of sorts. Why bring that up? Why tell Brenda something that could potentially hurt her? Was she jealous Karen was mates with Brenda?

ā€œAnd, wicked as it sounds, I was relieved when she turned to you,ā€ Sharon went on. ā€œThereā€™s only so much of Karen you can take, know what I mean? Sheā€™s got so arrogant as sheā€™s aged. Or more arrogant.ā€ Her cheeks flushed. ā€œThat sounded bad. But you must know what Iā€™m saying. She can be a bit full-on, and recently, sheā€™s been even more so. I canā€™t cope with her by myselfā€”I donā€™t want to cope with her. Iā€™m getting on in years and just want a bit of peace

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