How to Kill Your Husband (and other handy household hints) by Kathy Lette (top 10 novels to read TXT) 📗

to test its endurance levels, as though I’d been a special effects stuntwoman. And guess what? It hadn’t endured. My lower lip trembled.

‘I didn’t interfere.’ Jazz prodded Hannah in the chest with a stiletto nail, not hard, but enough to make Hannah stand up, her evening dress creaking floorward. ‘I just pointed out how she was being exploited. Cassie worked the rest out for herself. Self-enlightenment is just one of the services I offer,’ Jazz then gave another deranged twirl.

Hannah, who’d been dragged away from her charity dinner for this, tossed some nuts into her mouth with startling violence. ‘Your trouble, Jazz, is that you openly despise every man on the planet and secretly despise the few exceptions.’

‘And I’m bloody well right too. Look at what Rory has done to Cassie. It’s male nature to be lying, two-faced and rodent-like.’

‘Do you agree with this puerile analysis, Cassandra?’ Hannah asked imperiously.

I took a breath while trying to devise a way to earth the electrically charged atmosphere. ‘Look, all I know is that Jenny had this mouse she named after her dad, who was extremely messy and slob-like. He lived up in the mice tower in their cage and only came down for a feed or sex. Well, one day, a mate of my husband’s, who’s a mobile vet, popped in for a cuppa and I asked him to de-sex Rory. Once he’d worked out that I wasn’t referring to my spouse, I got him to neuter the male mouse. The next thing, Rory is cleaning the nest, nurturing the babies. Crikey, he was practically reading The Female Eunuch.’

‘You see! That’s what all husbands need. Castration! Or maybe we should replace their Viagra with Oestrogen? Sprinkle some on their cornflakes? Or . . . I know!’ Jazz’s apron strings were unravelling as she danced around the kitchen. ‘I could get Billy to take him out! Why didn’t I think of it before? My boyfriend is a murderer, after all. He could kill your husbands too – the cheating, duplicitous scum. He could award them a Prison OBE – One Behind The Ear. Three for the price of one.’

Hannah drummed her nails on the tabletop. ‘Not all husbands are dishonest. Pascal is faithful to me. He supports my career. We are very, very happy.’

Jazz stopped flitting about abruptly. ‘Is he now?’ There was something menacing in her voice. It was as though a switch had been thrown. ‘I am so sick and tired of your Holier Than Thou attitude, Hannah. All husbands have things to hide. Including yours.’

A spasm of irritation darted across Hannah’s forehead and she thumped the table again. ‘This is your modern take on the sewing bee, isn’t it? We bitch and stitch. Bitching about, then stitching up every man we know. I’m sorry you’re so unhappy, Jazz. I really am. But why are you hellbent on destroying your girlfriends’ happiness too? So that we’ll be as miserable as you are?’

Jazz raised a combative eyebrow. ‘I am not the kind of friend who goes round ruining girlfriends’ lives – otherwise I would have told you about your husband’s secret life and I haven’t, have I?’

‘What secret life?’ Hannah stared at Jazz, non-plussed.

‘Well, let’s put it this way. I suggest you call the mobile vet because you have a very large rat on your hands.’

I nervously ripped off a hangnail with my teeth. I don’t like to be scared – it scares me. After all, getting scared half to death, twice, could be fatal. And this conversation was definitely headed into unchartered waters.

‘Why would you say Pascal is attracted to you?’ Jazz went on sweetly. ‘What’s your best feature, do you think? Your marble Jacuzzi or your Mercedes convertible?’

Hannah waved a dismissive hand. ‘Bitch and stitch. I should worry.’

‘Well, you know what they say. A fool and her money are soon married. And in you, Pascal found a wife he can really bank on.’

‘If they made a movie of your life, Jasmine, do you know who’d play you? Bette Davis,’ Hannah announced off-handedly, but her face flickered and tensed.

‘The man you love and worship and sing the praises of constantly has a whole other life. I’m sorry to have to tell you, but . . .’

Hannah gave off an air of aloofness, but her voice had become high and girlish. ‘You’ve gone quite mad, do you know that?’

‘David has been Pascal’s doctor since they were students, writing out prescriptions for this and that. He always treats old mates and family, here at home. And the needy, of course – asylum seekers claiming torture et cetera. Well, as you know, I’ve been snooping on Studz for months. So, I was riffling through his filing cabinet last week, the one he keeps locked, and, well, I read your husband’s entire confidential file. Pascal’s been seeing David privately because of a very private matter. The thing is, Hannah, he’s – well, he’s shacked up with an art student. She . . .’ Jazz hesitated before delivering the final blow. ‘She . . . I mean they have a son.’

Hannah relaxed then, snorting with laughter. ‘I thought you were going to tell me he had a gambling addiction or something. Pascal hates children! He’s always laughed at those fathers, padding around Sainsbury’s on invisible dog leads called “commitment”. You know that.’

‘It’s not that he didn’t want children. He just didn’t want children with you. I’m sorry, Hannah, but the man’s just been using you as a cash cow all these years.’

I looked at Jazz aghast. The woman was obviously self-medicating from David’s doctor bag.

‘Where is your proof?’ Hannah stropped, but her pursed mouth was as taut as an archer’s bow.

Jazz clicked down the hall in her satin mules and clattered up the stairs, with Hannah and me in tow. We were like a human fuse burning towards a bomb. On the mezzanine was an office which doubled as a small surgery. There was an examination table in the far corner and sherbet-toned walls the colour of a nurse’s uniform. With its medications and