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The Best Scandal Ever

“How about I tell you about it over some food?” Sam donned his particularly foxy mirrored
Another meal. Poor Sam worried a little, but if he was going to get today‟s prize, a meal was
necessary to provide the time necessary to close the deal. This one hadn‟t been taking his advice for
very long – she still had the skin of a conventiona l eater. A little encouragement, he thought, and soon
she would have the glowing skin and bright eyes of the raw vegan.
Two hours later and Sam was dressing after a lengthy shower during which the offending mascara had
mercifully been removed.
“Well, thank you, maam.” He smiled at her. She, not believing her luck, smiled back. What a story
for her hard drinking „normal‟ friends when she saw them later for a not-at-all-raw beer and Corn
chips. Sam Redwood, who would be lieve it!
“When will you finish?” Una looked at the heap of bedclothes concealing her daughter, who was
trying to hide under her handstitched patchwork quilt in an effort not to be seen slacking.
“I don‟t know, mum. Please just go to bed. It will be done in the morning.”
Kira had been painting the narrow tall bathroom for five hours, fifteen minutes at a time, and was
having another lie down to regain the strength to continue. A combination of liver disease, exhaustion
and grief was making a normally simple job very, very hard.
“I tried to put the ladder up in the bath to get to the corner, but I thought the bath would probably
crack under my weight.”
Kira was four hundred pounds. She hadn‟t always been this weight, it had gone up and down
constantly for fifteen years, between cancer, attempts to give up smoking and continuous
bereavement, she had „given up, giving up‟ and was hoping for a swift death. Painting the bathroom
was essential however. Kira was not a girl for giving up on work, even if she had given up on her
misbehaving body.
The doorbell rang and Una went to answer it, shaking her head slightly. She knew Kira would finish
the job, but the tiredness was worrying. She wasn‟t going to let Kira know that, however. It was not
the Scottish Presbyterian way to show compassion on a day-to-day basis. Compassion was for very
special occasions.
It was ex number four.
“Kira?” The tall aging punk smiled apologetically.
“She won‟t see you if you‟ve been drinking, you know that.”
“OK” Harry turned to go. He had never grown out of his fear of Una in the twenty five years since he
had started seeing Kira. He knew he was one of a crowd of men who had never got over her, but he
still felt the need to try and get her back after a few beers for courage. Kira was special, it didn‟t
matter what size she was she was still specia l to him. So special, in fact that took some personal pride