The Perfect Wife

by Kimberley Louise

  “Doctor Marsden is off with the flu,” Francis observed.

  “Oh dear,” commiserated Jean. “She’s nice. Isn’t she?”

  “Yeah, she’s all right. Alison is settling in well.”

  “Yeah. She’s been really nice to me since I’ve got back. Really supportive.”

  “I missed you when you were away,” Francis told Jean.

  “You missed my coffee, you mean,” Jean countered, laughing.

  “Speaking of which.”

  Jean smiled and stood up. “Still black with one sugar?”

  “You got it.”

  Jean made the coffees in the kitchen area. When she returned, she noticed Natasha serving Emma at the reception desk.

  “Hello, can I help you?” Natasha asked Emma.

  Emma gave Jean a sidelong glance. “I’m here for my appointment with Doctor Williams at 10:20.”

  Natasha checked the computer. “Great. If you take a seat, the doctor will call you when he’s ready to see you.”

  “Thank you,” Emma said. “Morning, Jean,” she added.

  Jean didn’t smile. “Morning.”

  Emma sat in the waiting area. Jean wished the doctor would hurry and call Emma. She made Jean nervous.

  Francis brought in another bunch of files and placed them on the desk.

  “I’d forgotten how good your coffee is,” she said. “Alison asked if you could take these files into her office.”

  “Why me?” Jean asked.

  “I think she wants to have a chat,” Francis said with a smile.

  “A promotion, do you think?” Jean joked.

  “I hope not,” Francis said. “Your head is big enough.”

  Jean took the files and headed to Alison’s office. But, as she passed the ladies’ toilets, Emma stepped out, brushed against her and Jean dropped the files. A flush of heat crept across Jean’s cheeks as she knelt to pick them up. Emma stood on one folder. Jean looked up at her. The smile was twisted, sinister, as she removed her foot slowly. Jean glanced around and everyone stared at her. She was so embarrassed, she clutched her chest. The pain got tighter and tighter.

  Jean’s body burned as she stared at the heap of files on the floor. Charging into office, she grabbed her handbag and coat and raced through the rear entrance.

  Leaning against the wall outside, she gasped for breath. She felt so stupid for dropping the files like that. She’d lost control. She kept seeing Emma’s face as she struggled to breathe. The door flew open, and Alison stood in front of Jean.

  “Are you okay?” Alison asked.

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Your daughter-in-law was just telling me how much you’ve been struggling lately.”

  “I’m fine,” Jean snapped.

  “Maybe. But, is it too soon for you to come back to work? Your husband said you weren’t feeling well.”

  “No, I’m fine really. It was just a mistake.”

  “Please, Jean. Don’t think I’m getting at you. I just need my staff to be at their best that’s all.”

  Alison smiled sympathetically and went back into the surgery. Jean staggered to the bench and sat. She wanted to cry. How dare Emma talk to Alison about her? She really was taking liberties. Jean took a sweet out of her bag and pushed it into her mouth. She then went to the bin and pushed the wrapped inside it. When she went back to the bench, her handbag was gone.

  Jean rushed back into the surgery. Francis and Natasha were tending to the long line of patients forming in the waiting area.

  “Have you seen my bag?” Jean asked.

  “Sorry, Jean,” Francis replied. “I’m just tending to the patient.”

  “My bag has gone,” Jean said.

  Jean looked under the desk, the chairs, and the stationary cupboard. Natasha and Francis watched her.

  “Jean, are you alright?” Natasha asked her.

  “I wish people would stop asking me that,” Jean said.

  “Where did you leave it?” Francis asked.

  “Well, if I knew that,” Jean said.

  Alison came out of her office and into the reception area. “I’m still waiting for those documents I asked for. What is going on?”

  “Jean has lost her bag,” Natasha told her.

  Jean was still looking for her bag. She looked in the waiting area. Alison came up to her.

  “Jean, why don’t you come into my office?” Alison said.

  “My bag has been stolen!” Jean stammered.

  “Please come into the office,” Alison said firmly.

  “You don’t understand. There are pictures of my son in there.”

  “We can sort it out in my office.”

  Jean followed Alison into her office.

  “Sit down. Would you like me to call the police?”

  Jean shrugged her shoulders. “I left it outside. I just turned my back for a minute, and it was gone.”

  “I’ll call the police. Maybe it was stolen. There are some shady characters hanging around out there. Don’t worry, Jean. It will be alright.”

  “It’s only my first week back,” Jean mumbled.

  Alison gave her a slight, worried smile as she made the call to the police.

  Chapter 22

  Jean was standing in Alison’s office with two female police officers. One of them looked like a teenager with pink lip-gloss and a dark side-swept fringe that covered her short forehead. The other one was black, a little older, stern looking.

  “Can you tell us what happened, Mrs–?” the older officer asked.

  “Saunders, Jean Saunders,” Jean told her. She sat at Alison’s desk, feeling nervous. The police always made her nervous.

  “You’ve reported a stolen handbag. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, I was outside, you see. I went to put a sweet wrapper in the bin and when I returned my handbag had gone. I’d left it on the bench.”

  “Did you see anyone else around the building?”

  “No. Alison came out to talk to me, but then she went back inside.”

  “And you saw no one after that?”

  “No. I was alone.”

  “If I may interject,” Alison said. “There is a homeless man that sleeps at the side of the centre. I don’t know his name.”

  “David,” Jean said.

  “I’m not sure what his name is,” Alison said.

  “His name is David. He told me the other day when I took him for a coffee.”

  “You took this David for a coffee?” The officer asked Jean.

  “I was just trying to do something nice. He looked like he hadn’t had a meal in days.”

  “I don’t think that was wise, Jean.”

  “So what do you suggest I do? Ignore him?” Jean said. “He’s somebody son.”

  “When was the last time you saw this David?” the officer said.

  “The other day,” Jean said. “Thursday, I think. It was when I came to see Alison about coming back to work.”

  “Well, we might want to talk to him.”

  “About what?” Jean asked.

  “Jean, it’s possible it could have been him,” Alison said.

  “What about one of the patients?” Jean asked.

  “Surely not.”

  “Did you hear the back door open?” The officer asked.

  “No.”

  “You didn’t hear any footsteps, anything like that?”

  “No.”

  “I think if somebody took your bag from outside, you might have heard them running away or breathing heavily.”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Jean insisted.

  “Are you sure you took your bag outside?” The officer asked.

  “Positive,” Jean said. “But, then, yes I must have done. I remember taking the sweets out of my handbag. I always keep sweets in my bag.”

  The officers looked at another.

  “Well, we will ask around.”

  “When will
I get my bag back?” Jean asked.

  “I can’t answer that I’m afraid.”

  “There’s a picture of my son in that bag. It’s my favourite picture. I carry it everywhere. My son, Eddie, he died. He was killed in a car crash.”

  “I’m sorry,” the officer said.

  “So I need that bag back. I don’t care about the money. I just want that picture of my boy.”

  “We will try our best, Mrs Saunders. But, we can’t promise anything,” the officer said. “You do need to cancel any credit or debit cards. Let your bank know what’s happened.”

  Jean nodded. “I don’t care. I just want the picture.”

  “Well, we will need you to come down to the station and make a statement. Could you do that now? Or maybe after work?”

  “I don’t think she’s in the fit state to return to work today,” Alison said. “She’ll go now.”

  “Is that okay with you, Jean?”

  Jean nodded, stood up, and followed the officers out of the office. Before she left, she looked at Alison. There it was again, that smile of support, but also of pity.

  After Jean went to the police station to give her statement, the officers gave her a lift home. They told her she’d need not hope for her the return of her bag, but they would do their best. Jean told them she understood. But, she was heartbroken that her picture of Eddie had been taken. It was one of them standing on the beach at Blackpool in 1995. Eddie was ten years old. Jean was kissing his cheek and Eddie was laughing. Derek took the picture with his old camera. Jean had carried that picture in her handbag for years. It reminded her of her son, as he was always smiling.

  Once Jean said goodbye, she let herself into the house, she hung her coat up at the coat rack and saw Derek’s coat hanging. Walking down the hall, towards the kitchen, she bobbed her head around the living room door and saw Derek sitting on the couch. He had a tray on his lap, with a bowl of reddish soap, two crusty bread rolls, and a glass of water.

  “Hi,” Jean said.

  “Hello,” Derek replied. “There’s soup left in the pan. You need to warm it up.”

  Jean pulled a chair from under the dining table and sat. “It’s okay. Listen, Derek, I had my bag stolen today.”

  “Your bag? Where?”

  “At work.”

  “Are you okay? How did it happen?”

  “I was carrying files to Alison’s office, and Emma was there. She bumped into me. I dropped the files and was so embarrassed that I ran outside and took my bag with me. I went to the bin to put a sweet wrapper in and when I turned my bag was gone.”

  Derek looked confused. “Did you call the police?”

  “Yes. Alison called them. I may not get my bag back. They think David took it.”

  “Who’s David?” Derek asked.

  “He’s this homeless guy that sleeps outside the medical centre,” Jean explained. “I brought him a coffee the other day.”

  “You did what?”

  “Why is everyone so surprised by that? It’s called being caring.”

  “And the police think this David has nicked your bag?”

  “I suppose so, but I’m not sure. He didn’t seem that kind of person.”

  “He’s homeless. He begs for a living.”

  “Derek, don’t be so stuck up. Not everyone has the privilege to live in a nice house like we do.”

  “That’s not the point,” Derek said. “You brought him a coffee, and he nicks your handbag. Is that how he repays you? Wait until I get my hands on him.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Jean said. “Besides, we don’t even know if it was him.”

  “I don’t see who else it could have been.”

  “There were several people in and out of the centre all day. Emma was one.”

  “Emma? Why would she steal your handbag?”

  “I didn’t say it was her. I said she was there. Oh, Derek, I’m so upset about this.”

  Jean had hoped that Derek would have held her, but he touched her hand as though she was a friend at work.

  “It will all right,” he said. “You need to call the bank.”

  “I did it at the police station.”

  “Would you like a drink? Tea?”

  “Thanks. I’ll just wash my face.”

  “Okay.”

  Derek switched the kettle on. Jean was about to climb the staircase when she saw something on the floor. It looked like a picture. Jean bent down and picked it up. It was the photograph of Eddie. It was the one of Jean and Eddie at Blackpool in nineteen-ninety-five. Jean pressed her hand against her mouth and ran back into the kitchen. Derek was pouring boiling water into a cup.

  “Tea’s ready,” he said. “What’s that in your hand?”

  “It’s the picture of me and Eddie.”

  “What picture?”

  “The one in my bag.”

  “Where was it?”

  “It was on the doormat. Somebody must have posted it through the letter-box.”

  “I heard nothing.”

  “They must have done. This picture was in my handbag.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “You could have dropped it and not noticed.”

  “Never! I guard this picture with my life. I always carry it my bag. Besides, it was in my bag when I was in the medical centre. I remember seeing it.”

  “Jean?”

  “I remember seeing it. I touched it. I looked at it. It was there in my bag.”

  “So, what’s it doing on the doormat then?”

  “Somebody put it there.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. But, I’m calling the police.”

  Jean went into the lounge and called the police.

  “Can I speak to the PC Hickman, please? It’s Jean Saunders, and it’s regarding the theft of my handbag.”

  Jean looked back at Derek who was standing behind her, shaking his head.

  That night, Jean asked Derek to come back to their bedroom. She didn’t want to sleep alone. While they slept, Jean turned over and rested her hand on Derek’s chest. It had been a while she had done that.

  “Are you asleep?” she asked him.

  “No,” he replied.

  “I know you don’t think I should have called the police about the picture.”

  “You could have dropped it. That constable said that.”

  “I didn’t drop it, Derek. It was in my handbag. I saw it myself. Somebody posted it through the letter-box.”

  “Why would somebody steal your bag and then post a photograph through the letter-box? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Jean sighed. “If the person had malicious intent, then yes.”

  “Malicious intent?”

  “Yes. If the person was trying to get at me.”

  “Who would do that?”

  Jean paused. “Emma?”

  “Emma?”

  “She was at the surgery today. She could have taken the bag.”

  “My God, Jean.”

  Derek flipped the bedsheets off his body and pulled on his dressing gown. As he tied his robe, he glared at Jean. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I didn’t say it was her. But what if it was?”

  “She’s not like that.”

  “You didn’t see what she was like. The way she was looking at me. I don’t think we can trust her.”

  “So, she posted the picture through the letter-box.”

  “I know it sounds crazy.”

  “Too right it does.”

  “Derek, I don’t think Emma should look after our grandchildren. Please, let’s consider going for custody.”

  “What are you talking about now?”

  “I’m talking about protecting Eddie’s legacy.”

  “This isn’t about Eddie.”

  “It is,” Jean said.

  “No. It isn’t,” Derek said. “This is about you and your vendetta against Emma.”

  “Have you ever wondered why I have a vendetta ag
ainst her?”

  “So you admit it then?”

  “Derek, she is fooling you. I think she took my bag.”

  “Jean, you dropped your picture. Emma didn’t take it.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I just know,” Jean replied.

  Derek said. “I don’t think you should have gone back to work. It was too soon.”

  “I was fine to go back to work. I was ready.”

  “I don’t think you were. Maybe you should ask for more time off.”

  “I will not. I will not let Emma drive me away from my place of work.”

  “She’s not doing that, Jean. You are.”

  Derek stormed out of the bedroom and Jean heard him going down the staircase.

  The following morning, Jean was preparing breakfast in the kitchen. When Derek came downstairs, he already had his workbag strapped over his shoulder.

  “So, you will not discuss this anymore?” Jean asked him.

  “I need to go to work. I said all I would say last night. For all the good it did me. You never listen to me. You never have.”

  “I’ll listen to you when you listen to me. You can’t expect me to give up my job.”

  “I never said that. I meant to take more time off.”

  “What I need is a husband who supports his wife instead of his crazy daughter-in-law.”

  Derek was about to storm out of the kitchen. But, he was interrupted by the doorbell. Jean went past him and into the hall. She answered the door and was greeted by the two police officers.

  “Hello, Mrs Saunders. Can we come in?”

  Jean widened the door, and the two officers stepped inside.

  “Has something happened?” Jean asked.

  Derek came into the hall. “What’s going on?”

  “We have spoken to David Amory, the homeless man you befriended.”

  “I didn’t befriend him exactly.”

  “He claims he was nowhere near the medical centre on the day your bag was stolen. He was in hospital, and we have verified that.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Never mind that. What happens now?” David asked.

  “Well, we’ll continue our enquiries,” the officer said.

  “Thank you,” Jean said. “At least I got my picture back.”

  “Yeah. At least that’s something,” The officer replied. “I’m always losing things.”