I cannot quite believe it, but I have a job, a writing job, a proper writing job!  Not that lavatory installation isn’t a worthy thing to write about.  I am lucky to have been given the chance to enter into the “how to” market.  But unfortunately no one has answered my emails enquiring if there might be room for more “how to ” leaflets.
Meanwhile, I have my boss at the café to thank for the writing commission.   The wonderful Pierre had taken my iced wedding cake, fruit no marzipan, along with his own éclairs, and rum babas, a particular favourite of the groom’s, to Pentonville Prison for the reception following the groom’s marriage.   I worked very hard on that cake.  I used royal icing, traditional of course, but I covered the sides with apple green icing intricately woven to look like a trellis.  I piped little pink roses on to the pale green trellis.  And on the top there was a spray of roses.

Apparently Pierre’s favourite hard man was thrilled with the cake, which made Pierre very happy.  Pierre told me he was going to “put an extra £30 in your wages this week”.  That made me very happy! 

The bride’s mother asked who iced the cake.  Pierre announced that I was a writer, a real writer.  The bridegroom, a man with a questionable past in armed robbery, but “a diamond” according to Pierre “he would never hurt civilians, and he protects children.  It is the banks, with their big vaults, that he targets”.   I try to cope with the morality of that statement.  “but they are civilians, the people who actually work in the banks” I tell Pierre.

Pierre informs me that “the diamond” only ever goes in at night, and his boys are told only to use the guns to frighten people.   “But if someone is stupid enough….  Enfin…”   There is a Gallic shrug of the shoulders.   Pierre, whose heart belongs to Gerard Depardieu, is just a touch too romantic about Bank Robbers.  But the Bank Robber has decided to tell his story, warts and all, and I’ve managed to sell the piece to a weekend glossy.   All I have to do is write it, which is going to entail several trips to Pentonville.  Not sure about prison visiting, but hey it’s a gig.

And Barry is really pleased.  “Things are looking up, Madelaine.  Didn’t I tell you?”

I mention the ex is coming for dinner.  “Probably wants to shirk his maintenance payments.”   I hate to tell Barry that it is quite a long time since I had any maintenance payments. 

“Don’t you give him one of your fancy suppers Madelaine.  A tin of spaghetti hoops on a bit of white bread will do him.  And don’t let him get too comfortable.  Next thing you know he’ll have his shoes under the bed.”

I assure Barry that the ex is long past wanting to put his shoes under my bed and the sodden tissues bearing witness to his infidelity were flushed down the lavatory some eighteen months ago, along with the arrival of Michael.   Come

to think of it, where is Michael?  He hasn’t been around since he used the aubergine, potatoes and onions in his omelette.

“Madelaine, you still there?” Barry asks.  “It’s gone very quiet your end”

It’s nothing, my mind wandered a bit.  Sorry.

“You’re not worried about the ex are you?  Want me to come and sort him.  I will, if you need me”

Oh Barry, you are so good to me.   No, I’ll be fine.  How are you?

“Madelaine you do not want to know.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love my daughter but when she and my wife go shopping, Oxford Street bucks the recession!   The husband’s still crying in his tea, and the chancer wanted to take my grandchildren to the zoo!  I soon put a stop to that, I can tell you!”

I can hear Barry’s getting upset.  Don’t stress about it, she’ll get bored of not being in her own house, and she’ll go home, I tell him. 

“With the chancer no doubt, not that I would blame her.  That husband of hers is a waste of space.  I never wanted her to marry him, but the wife wouldn’t hear a word against him.  He’s an estate agent.”

Wouldn’t that have put your wife off?

“No!  She’s easily fooled that one.  Put any ox in a dark suit and shirt and tie, and she’ll think he’s a racehorse.  Speak to you in the morning then.  And good on you girl, for getting that job.”

I put the phone down.  I can’t help it, I am anxious about Barry. All this upheaval at home can’t be good for his blood pressure.