Iced Slices

John was going out for a paper. I offered to go with and get it on the card while shopping.

He carried the bag back and was a prolonged time at the fridge putting something away.

Behind his beer he’d hidden iced custard slices that were glutenous as if I wouldn’t find them. I charged him with stealing iced buns. “You make a drama out of everything. Two slices. They’re not buns.” He claimed they had been given away free with the paper he’d gone of to get. “You have a glib answer for everything.” “What does ‘glib’ mean?” “Plausible – rolls off the tongue. They have a reduced sticker on them – and they’re glutenous. I can’t eat them.” “Are they?” he asked disingenously. Forby, they were not in evidence at the self-service checkout when he commandeered the bag.

I was so angry at being lied to, at his bad faith, a concept he cannot grasp in relationship, and planned to go to Tesco’s to ask had they given away iced buns with papers though it showed I already didn’t trust him. The plan eased my anger off. “Where are you going?” he asked. I said where and why. “For two iced slices!” he said. “If you can lie to me about that, you can lie about anything.” He admitted he’d lied about the two iced custard slices and threw in half a white chocolate block while he was at it. I burst out laughing at the gesture. He then told me before Alan had sent the subitex to help get him off his addiction to opiates he’d been lifting £150 worth of stuff a day for the £50 to spend on them. My paying for his travel card and giving him pocket money had simply facilitated his addictive criminality he’s good at and that gives a dopamine buzz. He later upped the £50 to 70. He said it was good his stealing was down to 50p a day. The iced slices were priced at 60p. How else was he to get the little treats I denied him? “Only because they’re glutenous!”

We had sex.

He counted how much he’d cost me before his coming off heroin and how little he was costing me now. That was good, wasn’t it? It’s like the stealing down to 50p, relatively good.

He said my woman neighbour had been buzzing me and shouting through my letter box but he couldn’t wake me. I’d offered to accompany Diana to her hearing at court. She definitely did not want me to. She must’ve changed her mind. She’s not at court nor in her flat and I’ve no idea where else she might be.

I found out she had been at court after all and her case has been adjourned to another court. That she had done it by herself was good. “My brilliant girl!” She had a good time, being continually told to be quiet, countering with, well, she didn’t know the legal procedures, did she.

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About johnbrucecairns

I'm a retired history teacher who's written for most of his life with a book readied for publication.
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