Free Whispers Through a Megaphone by Rachel Elliott

family to our sons. I love her partner, she’s been good to me, to all of us really.
    Suzie, tell me this: do you think I’ve been full of hate since I was born and it’s only now erupted? Do you think I desire my friend because I don’t hateher, and the only reason I don’t hate her is because I haven’t slept with her, and if I do sleep with her, will I hate her too? Do you think the person I actually hate is myself?
    Thanks for your time, it means a lot. I know you’re a busy lady.
    Very best wishes,
    SS
    PS My puppy really loves your home-baked cheese and broccoli dog biscuits.
    Sadie was shocked by Suzie’s reply.
    Dear SS,
    Jesus Christ! I’ve never read such a load of drivel in my life. Get a proper job—something meaningful, something to occupy your time that doesn’t involve sharing your own opinions. Throw your gadgets in the bin—you’re clearly addicted to them. You’ve forgotten how to relate to your husband.
    How the hell would I know why you fancy your friend and whether you’ll hate her if you sleep with her? Maybe you’re in love with her. I’ve had my fair share of women, SS, and my advice is just make a move. Get with the programme, basically.
    Also, there’s no such thing as luck. Hate is as much a part of being human as love. Yes, you probably hate yourself. We all hate ourselves. Talk to your husband instead of treating him like an idiot. Being a people person is about whether contact with others enlivens you or makes you feel tired—it has nothing to do with liking people. Most of us dislike other people, but wedon’t go around saying so because that can of worms doesn’t need opening.
    Instead of simply regurgitating your thoughts online, start reading more. You’re probably making yourself sick.
    Look out of your window, watch the rain, walk your dog.
    Suzie
    How dare she? thought Sadie. Who the hell does she think she is? She’s no Frasier Crane, that’s for sure. What are her credentials? Does she have any qualifications? That’s the last time I buy dog biscuits from her. I reckon she’s had a boob job. Nobody’s boobs are that upright, it’s disgusting .
    Earlier, while Ralph waited outside the bathroom door, Sadie set fire to Suzie’s letter and watched it burn in the sink. She was scared that someone would find it. It was embarrassing and full of lies. Now she took a bottle of Prosecco from the fridge and poured herself a glass.
    “Mum?”
    Sadie turned to see Stanley and the Canadian boy from Bennetts Lane. “Hi, Joe.”
    “Hi.”
    “How’s your mum?”
    “She’s good thanks. She’s a brunette now.”
    “Really? Since when?”
    “Last Tuesday.”
    “Wow, big change. Does your dad like it?”
    “Of course. What are you drinking, Mrs Swoon?”
    “Please, call me Sadie. I’m drinking Prosecco.”
    “I’ve never tried Prosecco.”
    “Would you like a small glass?”
    “That would be lovely, thank you.”
    “You’re very quiet, Stanley. Do you want one too?”
    “Go on then.”
    Joe squeezed Stanley’s bottom, which made his voice rise at the end of the sentence. His mother didn’t notice. She probably wouldn’t notice if the high note turned into a whole song from Annie , with Stanley singing as loudly as he could about the sun coming out tomorrow. She wouldn’t notice if Joe gave him a blow job right there in the middle of the kitchen. She was tweeting, pouring Prosecco, muttering about whether she had bought enough sausages. His mother the great multitasker, always in her own world, always oblivious.
    “So where’s your dad?” asked Joe. “I bought him a card.”
    “Did you? That’s thoughtful.” Stanley moved closer until their hands were touching. “I think he’s upstairs. Shall we go and find him?”
    “Sounds good.”
     
    Ten minutes later, Sadie was drinking alone in the garden, staring at her mobile phone. Arthur was in the bathroom, staring at a photo of Keeley Hawes in the Radio Times . Stanley and Joe were up against a locked