Placing the telephone receiver down into its housing, Roxanne finished reading the last letter and placed it in the Checked Once tray. As soon as Rita was finished skim reading all of her letters, they would do a swap.
She looked across at Rita and said, ‘I’ll make us a brew after a fag break.’
‘Just because I'm trying to give it up, doesn't mean I mind you smoking in here. I'd say if I did,’ Rita said.
‘I know you would, but Miss Idle-Snooty-Pants will only complain to his lordship. ‘Tea or coffee? Any preference?’
'Brian's all right.' Rita threw her an amused glance. ‘I'll have whatever you're having. Roxy, will you stop fishing! I’m too old to get pregnant and it's only cigarettes I'm giving up because I want to start saving for a place of my own.’
‘Forty's not too old to have babies.’
‘You’re only saying that because you’re catching up with me!’
‘Anymore insults like that and you can make your own bloody brews!’ Handbag over her shoulder, Roxanne left with a wide smile on her face. The rag-mag’s offices were based on the top floor of the old building that once was a family home. And the only access to the different levels was by the stairs.
Outside a passing car’s radio was blaring out Abba’s Voulez-Vous. Though frowning at the driver's chosen volume level and for not having his windows closed, Roxanne couldn’t help humming the catchy tune as she clicked her lighter into life and lit up. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes momentarily as she inhaled deeply.
‘Thought you were cutting back?’ said Brian, taking the cigarette off her and putting it to his own lips.
‘Hey! Go get your own,’ Roxanne said, frowning at him as he handed it back. ‘I’ll have you know a pack of twenty's gone up to 62 pence.’ She squinted at him through the smoke. ‘You’re looking a bit smart today. Been to a boring business meeting?'
'Not too bad. Food's getting better.'
'Oh? Sneak any back for us? I love cheese and branston pickle sandwiches. Don't mind egg mayo either.'
'Not with the top brass watching.'
'Who gets all the left-overs then?'
Brian shrugged. 'Never given it a thought. The caterers maybe?'
'‘There's no perks in what Rita and I do. Hint, hint.’
He took the remaining cigarette she offered. Finishing it, he flicked it to the floor and ground it under his shoe. ‘Making me my afternoon coffee can be your perk for today. That vending machine spurts out rubbish. Shall we go up?’
‘Better had. Don’t want the boss sacking me. I need this job to pay for the ciggies he nabs.’
‘Want me to have a word with him?’
Roxanne laughed. ‘Only if it’s about a pay rise.’
‘Steady on.’
They were still smiling and talking as they reached their offices. Roxanne immediately set to with boiling the kettle and dispensing coffee into mugs.
‘I’ve done a few drafts,’ said Rita. ‘J.C.’s is at the top.’
The draft reply read:
Dear J.C. Yours is not an uncommon problem for these days. However, the caring responsibility inevitably lands wholly on the shoulders of the woman/mother/wife, no matter what the good intentions of her spouse/family. Give your wife time to come round.
R. & R.
‘I pity J.C.’s poor wife,’ Rita said and took another sip of her drink before returning to composing replies to more letters.
3rd story in the R&R Agony Aunt series. Copyright Robyn Cain, April 2024
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