Women in a Spin
Exploring women’s relationships in a series of fun, sad, romantic, mystical and bizarre stories.
From the humorous story of sexual frustration and a temperamental bathroom in Getting a Man In, to the mysterious and magical romance of Calendar Girl, Women in a Spin features five short stories and two novelettes to make you laugh, cry and keep turning the pages.
Also including: The Man in My Phone, Help! My Breasts are Taking over the World!, Forgotten Children, Christmas with You and the ever-popular Matchmaker Cat.
Excerpt from Women in a Spin
Opening Story: Getting a Man In
I’ll use any excuse to get a man in. When I needed my bedroom decorated, I got a man in to do that. See that tree in the garden with the beautifully lopped branches? I got a man in to do that. So when the tiles started bulging out from the wall of my shower and the water starting making a damp patch on my ceiling in the living room, I knew I had to get a man in. My friend Dot recommended a plumber that her mum said did a wonderful job on her kitchen sink, so I rang him. Adam was his name, Adam Crozier. He said he’d come round the next morning.
There’s no telling, of course, what sort of man you’re going to get when you ring them up out of the blue like that. Especially when recommended by Dot’s mum who, let’s be honest, has got to be at least one barley sugar short of a sweet tin. There was one guy I had in to paint the windows, he must have been sixty if he was a day, with a bloody great wart on his face. He was a smoker and spent half his time out the back having a fag. When he’d gone, I found all his old cigarette butts chucked in my roses. I wasn’t going to ring him again, I can tell you.
At the bing-bong of the doorbell the following morning, there was a mixture of excitement and trepidation. I smoothed down my blouse, tossed my hair back behind my shoulder and went to the door.
On the doorstep was a hunk of a man in an old navy blue jumper and jeans with what looked to be paint or plumbers’ adhesive splashed all over it, and holes at the elbows and the knees. He stood about six feet — not too tall, not too small — with dark brown hair to below his earlobes and a clean-shaven chin. Finishing him off was a tool belt slung across his hips with spanners and tape measure and other unidentifiable metal implements hanging off them.
“I’m Adam,” he said.
“I’m Suzy,” I said.
There was a pause, like he was expecting me to do something.
“I’m the plumber,” he said. “I’ve come to look at your shower.”
“Oh yes,” I said, and invited him in.
He stepped into my spacious hallway. The house is seventeenth century and the entrance was obviously built to impress guests, with a high ceiling made even more impressive by the staircase which leads up to bedrooms and bathroom.
“The shower’s upstairs?” said Adam.
I let him walk up the stairs ahead of me. His tool belt swaggered on his hips with each step, tugging at his jeans so the waistband slipped down a little and revealed an inch of flesh. I flapped my hand in front of my face, creating a little breeze to cool my suddenly-hot cheeks.Go back to top
Also by Lucy Shea