Free Ghosts in the Morning by Will Thurmann Page A

cooked differently – well-done, medium, rare, medium to well – and it just became a pain , too much fuss. Graham liked his steak very rare – blue – and if we were in company he would always made the same stupid joke; ‘ blue, please - just wipe its arse and put it on the plate .’ He would follow this with a silly chuckle and sometimes it took all I had to stop me from sticking my fork in his eye.
    No, sod Graha m, I wasn’t cooking steak. Maybe I’d do some fi sh – sea bass, perhaps, that was easy to cook , and it was easy to make it appear exotic with a few of the right herbs and a dash of lemon juice.

 
    Chapter 7
     
    We all stood in the lounge, clutching champagne flutes , smiling politely and generally looking awkward. Piers , Graham’s boss, cleared his throat, about to speak, but he was beaten to it by David, one of the audit partners from London.
    ‘ It’s a l ovely house you have here, Graham, very nice indeed , I do like the way you’ve utilised the space. I recall reading once that the placement of mirrors is very important when you’re trying to give the illusion of a larger room.’ I saw Graham smile through gritted teeth, at the rude slight. ‘ I’m sure I right in assuming your good wife is responsible for the interior decor? After all, wo men are usually much better at that sort of thing, aren’t they?’ boomed David. He had a very loud voice.
    ‘Yes, yes, they are, hah hah,’ Graham said, adding a forced chuckle. He glanced at me and wobbled his glass, his signal to me that we needed another bottle of champagne. That would be the third one. Good. It meant I there was plenty of room for error in my cooking , none of this lot would be able to taste a bloody thing .
    I grabbed a sweating bottle, topped my own glass up and took a large swig before heading back into the lounge. Graham came towards me, glass outstretched. He seemed to be drinking fast er than usual and I knew it was because he felt uncomfortable. I knew, too, that part of the reason for his discomfort was that h e was embarrassed by me. Against the other women in the room, I stood out like a sore thumb. A sore very fat thumb. I looked like a giant marshmallow in a bed of pencils.
    Piers’ wife - Lindy - was young , attractive and very slim , with large, high breasts . Glossy and blonde – on the surface at least - she was a schoolboy’s wet dream, but I couldn’t help thinking that a gainst her sylph-like silhouette, her breasts seemed out of place. Too big and forthright, like freshly-launched torpedoes, I knew it had to be a boob job.
    The London visitors had also brought their other halves. They appeared to be girlfriends rather than wives - there were no wedding rings. Like Lindy, they too were slim with over-large t its, creamy lumps of cleavage spilling from the scooped necklines of their dresses.
    I topped David’s glass up, and he nodded at me with a brief smile, but said nothing. I turned to Matthew, the other London partner . ‘Was your flight over okay, Matthew, not too bumpy I hope ? We’ve got a fairly short runway at Jersey airport, it can be a rough landing sometimes , ’ I said, easing more champagne into his glass.
    ‘ I’d rather M att, please, not Matthe w,’ he said in a voice that was used to telling people what to do. The result of a posh public school perhaps, or maybe just plain arrogance .
    ‘Oh, okay, sorry,’ I said.
    ‘ Shit , ’ cried Matt suddenly .
    I looked down. I had overfilled the glass and champagne was now dripping over Matt’s hand. The cuff of his suit also looked very wet .
    ‘Oh no, I’m so sorry, I’ll get a cloth or a towel, I’m so sorry,’ I said .
    ‘That’s okay, honestly, it’s okay, I’ll just go to the loo and sort it . Look, don’t worry about it, accidents happen , I suppose. ’  He was trying to sou nd cheery, trying to underplay it like it didn’t matter, but I could sense the barely-controlled anger beneath the surface. His face had gone