Mother-in law’s Tongue.
She was speaking.
I imagined the elongated prongs of a roasting fork.
‘To Beth – daughter, mother, principle earner – your promotion is so well deserved.’ She held a wine glass like Robert the Bruce waggling his sword at the English.
Three months, each morning, I’ve headed to the library for seven hours’ monotony – so you, cunt-in-law-next-door, can twitch the curtain and think I’m still employed. Beth says it’s just easier. Well, where’s my congratulations?
I cleared my throat. ‘Hear, hear. I’m proud of you, Beth.’
Glasses tinkled, and as the compliments settled, the cunt-in-law piped up: ‘So, Mark, how’s work?’