Waiting for Wednesday

water.
    ‘Water only makes it worse,’
Reuben said. ‘Wine’s better.’
    Josef took a large forkful and munched.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Feel it in the chest.’
    Frieda toyed with the food. She took a salad
leaf in her fingers and put it into her mouth. Ted drank a glass of wine as if it was
water and, without asking, poured himself another. Dora simply stared at her plate and
then at Frieda with her huge beseeching eyes.
    Judith prodded the greasy pile in front of
her. ‘It’s very nice, but I think I’m going to go and lie down,’
she said. ‘Can I lie on your bed for a bit?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘I’ve been having revenge
fantasies about that bastard Hal Bradshaw,’ said Reuben, loudly and cheerily, as
Judith left the room.
    ‘Who’s he?’ asked Chloë,
looking anxiously at Ted.
    ‘He’s the bastard that conned me
and Frieda and set us up to public ridicule. I keep imagining different scenarios. Like
I’m walking past a lake and I see Bradshaw drowning and I just watch him as he
sinks below the surface. Or I come across the scene of a car accident and Bradshaw is
lying on the road and I just stand and watch him bleed out. I know what you’re
going to say, Frieda.’
    ‘I’m going to tell you to be
quiet right now.’
    ‘You’re going to tell me that
fantasies like that aren’t very healthy. They’re not
therapeutic
.’ He stressed the last word as if there was something
disgusting about it. ‘So what do you think?’
    ‘I think it might be a better revenge
fantasy if you rescuedBradshaw from drowning. Or staunched his
bleeding. And I think you’ve had too much wine and this is not the
night.’
    ‘That’s not much fun,’
said Reuben.
    ‘No,’ chimed in Ted. His cheeks
were blotchy and his eyes bright. ‘Not fun at all. Revenge should be
bloody.’
    ‘A dish served cold,’ announced
Chloë. ‘We’re doing it for GCSE.’
    ‘Staunched?’ said Josef.
‘Served cold?’ He was drunk too, decided Frieda.
    ‘I’ve been planning a real
revenge with Josef,’ said Reuben.
    Frieda looked at Josef, who had just taken a
mouthful. He made an effort to chew and swallow it.
    ‘Not the planning so much,’
Josef said. ‘The talking.’
    ‘There are things builders know how to
do,’ Reuben continued, apparently unaware of the tangible air of distress in the
room. ‘Josef can gain entry. You hide shrimps inside the curtain rails and behind
the radiators. When they start to rot, the smell will be staggering. Bradshaw
won’t be able to live in his own house. Then there’s more subtle things you
can do. You can loosen a water-pipe connector beneath the floorboards, just a little,
just so there’s a drip of water. That can cause some serious damage.’
    ‘That’s awesome,’ said
Ted, in a loud, harsh voice. His eyes glittered dangerously.
    ‘This is just a fantasy you’re
talking about,’ said Frieda. ‘Right?’
    ‘Or I could do worse than that,’
said Reuben. ‘I could tamper with the brakes on his car – with Josef’s help,
of course. Or torch his office. Or threaten his wife.’
    ‘You’d go to prison. Josef would
be sent to prison and then deported.’
    Reuben opened another bottle of wine and
started to fill the glasses again.
    ‘I’m going to take Dora to her
bed,’ said Frieda. ‘And when I come back, I think you should go. You and
Josef are going home.’
    ‘I’m having a second
helping,’ said Reuben. ‘More, Ted?
    ‘Reuben, you’ve gone far
enough.’
    But a few minutes later, when she came back
into the room, Reuben began again. She knew him in this mood – petulant and dangerous,
like a sore-headed bull.
    ‘I think you’re being pious
about this, Frieda. I’m an advocate for revenge. I think it’s healthy. I
want to go round the table and everyone has got to say the person that they would like
to take revenge on. And what the revenge would be. I’ve already named Hal
Bradshaw. I’d like him to be tied to a mountain top naked for all eternity and
then every day a vulture would come and eat his liver.’ He grinned wolfishly.
‘Or something.’
    ‘But what about when it had
finished?’ said Chloë.
    ‘It would grow back every day. What
about you?’
    Chloë looked at Reuben, suddenly serious.
‘When I was nine, there was a girl called Cath Winstanley. In year four and the
first half of year five, she spent the whole of every day trying to stop people talking
to me or playing with me. And when a new girl arrived, Cath would become her