What Are Mates For?

Re-take on Albert Square

“Thanks for coming Linda. I could really do with a friend right now.”

“You look terrible Sharon. What’s up?”

“Well, just as I’m getting back on my feet after Phil hired two thugs to smash my spleen, and Shirley nearly killed Phil on our wedding day and I found out he’d slept with her, and Phil was arrested for the crash that killed Emma and put Ronnie in a coma, and Ben handed over the Arches to Max, and Abbie moved in and rifled through my drawers, the scriptwriters have dug up my real mum to haunt me.”

“I’m just gonna knit my eyebows and pout for a bit, but carry on Sharon.”

“Well, I’m in a pickle now. I’m not likely to get work elsewhere – not like Ian who’s got some decent acting under his belt now he’s been given some believable scenes to play. Except Bobby being the killer of course. God knows where that came from.”

“True Sharon. But you’ve got a better deal than me. I admit I used to have it easy, looking glamourous with Mick following me like a lapdog. But that’s all changed. I’ve been raped by my brother-in-law and now Mick’s done him over; I can’t hold a wedding at the Vic without a shoot up, babies born in the loo, or the bride and groom disappearing while we carry on celebrating; and worst of all, I’m pregnant and it’s spoiling the line of my dresses.”

“That’s what I like about you Linda.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ve got a knack for helping me see when I’m well off.”

“Well, what are mates for, eh?”