The Perfect Marriage

by Debbie Viggiano

  The gambling had begun so innocently. He’d started off in the local internet café which had been illegally operating an online casino. In there, Dave had seen a few other desperate faces gambling away rent or mortgage money. Thanks to his parents leaving him their house in their Will, he didn’t have to stump up to a landlord or regularly find mortgage money. As Dave played roulette, slot machines, poker and keno, he told himself that spending his benefits money was harmless enough fun and he wasn’t hurting anybody. Okay, so it wasn’t helping put food on the table, but Rosie earned a tidy sum cleaning for her posh girlfriends. Nobody was going to starve, were they? But then some of the local residents had complained to the police about public intoxications and the loitering of gang members, not to mention fighting in public and generally being a nuisance. The internet café had been raided, and Dave had nearly cacked himself when he and thirty other patrons were detained while the authorities ran their names for warrants. He’d spluttered his innocence and protested he’d had no idea his actions were illegal. After searching one woman’s name and discovering a one-hundred-thousand-pounds narcotics warrant, the police had let him go – they had bigger fish to fry.

  Dave had had every intention of staying away from gambling after that, and he would have done if it hadn’t been for a small weasel-like man sidling over to him and telling him about the poker parlour.

  ‘I win thousands in there,’ the man had boasted. ‘You should give it a try.’

  So Dave had. Except this time the stakes hadn’t involved his dole cheque. Instead they’d been based on borrowing. In hindsight he supposed he should have been a little bit suspicious of the fact that the parlour plied patrons with free drinks whilst gambling. But at the time he’d just thought everybody was friendly – such lovely, lovely people.

  They weren’t such lovely people now though. Not since Dave had amassed arrears of so many thousands he couldn’t begin to pay off the debt without selling his house. He wasn’t too sure what Rosie was going to say about being made homeless. Perhaps they could move in with Hester? Yes, good idea. The crafty old bird was worth a few quid. Perhaps Dave could persuade her to lend him five thousand pounds – just so he could have one really good win and resolve all this worry. Or, better still, perhaps they could quickly sell the house and simply run away? Yes – brilliant thinking!

  Dave didn’t bother going into the lounge. If he had he’d have seen the Dear Dave note propped up on the mantelpiece in Rosie’s round handwriting. Instead he tugged off his shoes and tiptoed through the gloom and up the stairs. The house was unusually quiet. More often than not Rosie would be awake at this time, either giving Luke a feed or changing the child’s nappy. Dave shuddered at the thought of Luke’s nappies. How could something so small make such a noise and produce so much crap? Dave shook his head. The vagaries of babies were beyond his understanding. Still, Dave mused, it was good that Luke was apparently sleeping right now and not making a racket, the likes of which would have agitated the hangover nudging at his temples.

  Dave pushed his way into the main bedroom, stubbing his toe on the bottom of the door. He swore softly. The last thing he wanted was to wake Rosie up and have questions fired at him about where he’d been or how he’d obtained enough money to smell like a brewery. He swayed unsteadily in the dark and held his breath lest the mound on the bed reared up and started a nagging interrogation. Exhaling slowly, Dave moved across the bedroom and perched carefully on the edge of the bed. Leaning forward, he peeled off his socks. He jumped as some loose change tumbled from his shirt pocket and jingled merrily across the floor. His heart skipped a few beats in fear, but another look at the shape on the bed assured him he’d got away with the disturbance. Dave had forgotten about the change in his pocket. He wondered how much it was. It had made enough racket, so possibly there might be as much as a fiver in change? Best pick it up now, then he could go down to the bookies first thing in the morning and place a potentially lifesaving bet.

  Carefully, Dave reached out to flick on the bedside light. Fifteen seconds was all he needed to scoop up the coins, and then he’d quickly snap the lamp off and Rosie would carry on sleeping like the dead. The room was suddenly flooded with soft lamplight. In a trice Dave was down on his hands and knees gathering up the coins. Two pounds, three pounds and twenty pence. Oooh, another pound coin was over there, so that was…four pounds twenty…and…yes!…five…no, six!...six pounds twenty pence. Result! Sighing with relief, Dave pulled himself upright and was just making a long arm towards the lamp flex when he froze. For stretched out along the bed wasn’t Rosie sleeping like the dead, but something else. And it definitely wasn’t breathing.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Terry sighed with happiness. Tracey was so lovely. Never bossy. Never demanding. Unlike his gorgeous fiancée, Tracey never flew into a pre-menstrual rage about God only knew what. Sometimes Terry thought Tracey existed just for him. After all, he was her lord and master.

  ‘You look sensational,’ he told her.

  Tracey smiled sadly. ‘You know that’s not true. I’m just a Plain Jane.’

  ‘Rubbish. To me you are the most beautiful woman in the world.’ And he meant it. But keeping Tracey lovely was a full-time job, although Terry did his utmost to help her. It took literally hours to help Tracey achieve the way she looked right now. It was hard work, and sometimes quite a bit of discomfort was involved. But when Terry took Tracey for a walk down the street, with her skirt so narrow at the knees it forced her heels to make rapid clicketty-clicks along the pavement, Terry would feel his heart expand with pride. It was such a great feeling to know that heads turned. The women would look and envy Tracey her wardrobe. The men would look and envy whoever she belonged to. Maybe they thought she didn’t belong to anybody, but they were wrong.

  She belongs to me, Terry told himself. I'm the man whose hands run over her body...and I’m the man who touches her where only a lover is allowed to touch. Terry couldn’t deny that he took great pleasure from Tracey’s body. It was more than just sex, he knew that now. It took the place of sex. It was like a tingle throughout his whole body. He wondered if that was how sex felt to a woman.

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Terry, ‘I have a bit of time on my hands. How do you fancy me taking you out for some lunch?’

  Tracey chewed her lip anxiously. ‘I don’t know. What if we bump into somebody you know? I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s such a lovely day; it would be a crime to hide away indoors. I know, let’s go to Knole Park. It’s only a fifteen minute drive away, and we can check out the deer and enjoy a lovely cream tea. I can’t imagine meeting anybody I know there. Go on,’ Terry smiled encouragingly, ‘say yes. Please? Pretty please?’

  Tracey twiddled a piece of hair around an index finger while she thought. The temptation to go out, to act like any other normal person, was overwhelming. She took a deep breath and then looked Terry in the eye. ‘You’ll look after me won’t you?’

  ‘Darling girl,’ Terry said softly, ‘of course I will. Always and forever.’

  ‘Okay.’ Decision made, Tracey picked up her handbag. Taking a deep breath, she smiled shakily. ‘Let’s go.’

  Walking through the showrooms created by Thomas Sackville, Tracey couldn’t stop marvelling at rooms still smouldering away centuries later with such intriguing beauty. There was no denying that coming out today was simply wonderful. Thrilling even.

  ‘You’re doing fabulously,’ Terry murmured in her ear.

  Tracey smiled shyly. Thank God for a man like Terry – her rock. Her tummy gave a gurgling rumble. ‘Shall we indulge in that promised cream tea?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Terry nodded. ‘I’ve heard the scones here are out of this world.’

  Wandering into The Brewhouse, Tracey found a table near a family and sat down. Her original desire for a scone wavered as she considered a porcelain plate covered in syrupy flapjacks.

  ‘Have both,’ said Terry, ‘don’t worry about
your figure.’

  ‘No, that would be greedy.’

  ‘Tell you what then, let’s share.’

  Tracey beamed. ‘You smooth talker.’

  Time passed and Tracey felt herself relaxing. She sipped her tea and took a huge bite of the scone. Mmm, it was Godly. Nobody had taken any notice of her at all. But just as she was tucking into her share of the flapjack, her eyes snagged on the family sitting nearby. The two young children, a boy and girl, kept staring at Tracey. She smiled at them shyly. They stared back at her with wide eyes. Tracey fidgeted in her seat uncomfortably. She was starting to feel self-conscious.

  Terry noticed Tracey’s unease. ‘Is everything all right, darling?’

  Tracey nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her eyes darted to the children again. The little girl was tugging at her mother’s sleeve. Now she was cupping a hand around her mother’s ear and whispering. Moments later the mother’s eyes had swivelled over to Tracey. She stared, shock momentarily registering on her features, before giving Tracey a filthy look. Tracey’s eyes skittered away. With her hand shaking slightly, she picked up her teacup and took a sip. Rattling the cup back into its saucer, she looked up again to see that the mother was now whispering to her husband. Tracey could feel her heart rate picking up speed.

  ‘Are you sure everything’s all right?’ Terry frowned.

  Tracey shook her head. ‘The people at the next table,’ she whispered, ‘they’re staring at me.’

  Terry glanced at the family. The mother was brushing crumbs from her fingers and telling the children to leave the remnants of their cream cakes. Now she was gathering them up and pulling them from their chairs, all the while giving darting furtive glances at Tracey. Terry pursed his lips in fury. What the hell was the matter with the stupid bitch? The way she was carrying on you’d have thought Tracey had two heads and a machine gun sticking out of her handbag. And now the father’s brows were knitting together. He was wiping his lips with a napkin and looked like he might be intent on exchanging a few words. Terry stared at him defiantly.

  ‘What are you staring at, mate?’ the man asked.

  ‘I’m staring at you staring at me.’

  ‘I don’t know what your game is, but you must be some sort of sicko to act out your fantasies in a place like Knole Park.’

  Terry’s face darkened. ‘How dare you speak to me like that? I’m doing nothing wrong other than sitting in a tearoom trying to enjoy a day out with–’

  ‘You’re upsetting folk, and rightly so. There’s a name for people like you.’

  ‘I can think of a few choice names for you too, you ignorant arsehole.’

  ‘Don’t you call me an arsehole, you weirdo. You should be bloody ashamed of yourself upsetting women and small children. I’m going to report you to the staff.’

  ‘For what?’ Terry asked mildly. ‘Having a cup of tea and a scone?’

  The man leant across the divide between his table and Terry’s. ‘No, for being a pervert.’

  Tracey jumped up. Her whole body was now visibly shaking. ‘I can’t take any more of this abuse,’ she said to Terry, ‘I privately wondered if it would end in tears, and I was right.’ Picking up her handbag, she slung it over one shoulder before giving the man a hurt look. ‘I hope your children grow up healthy and happy and never have the sort of problems I’ve had to endure, because you don’t seem like a very sympathetic person.’

  ‘That’s because I’m not,’ snarled the man, ‘so piss off, freak.’

  Terry was in two minds whether to punch the man’s lights out, but Tracey was already fleeing across the tearoom with a small stunned audience staring after her. He had no choice but to go after her. Dear God, what a catastrophe. He shouldn’t have forced Tracey’s hand to come out. He felt terrible on her behalf.

  ‘Tracey!’ he called.

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘I can’t leave you alone,’ he said hurrying along and matching her stride for stride, ‘you know that’s impossible. Come here,’ Terry put an arm around her and tried to give her a hug. ‘Don’t take any notice of idiots like them.’

  But Tracey was crying now. ‘Just get me to the car. Please Terry. And make it quick.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ he sighed. ‘Let’s get you home.’

  ‘Please,’ Tracey sniffed.

  In no time at all Terry had the car cruising along the A21, with the nightmare scene in the tearoom firmly behind them. He touched Tracey’s knee and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  ‘Feeling better, darling?

  Tracey nodded. ‘A little. It was just a bit of a shock having that happen in a rather public place. Especially being called a freak.’

  Terry signalled and overtook a lorry. ‘The guy was probably jealous. Did you see the state of his wife? A total dog.’

  Tracey giggled. ‘She was a bit. Two inch black roots and dried-out peroxide hair. Certainly no Cinderella.’

  ‘More like one of the ugly sisters. There, you’re laughing now.’

  ‘That’s because you’ve cheered me up.’

  They spent the rest of the car journey travelling in companionable silence. Later, when Terry was saying good-bye to Tracey, she put her arms around him and held him tight.

  ‘When will I see you again?’ she whispered.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Terry said sadly. ‘I’ll text you.’

  When Terry greeted his fiancée later that day, the only clue that he’d been near another woman was the faint smell of a floral perfume on his skin.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Rosie first awoke she had trouble remembering where she was. She glanced around the swish bedroom which was nothing like the room she’d shared with Dave. Luke’s cot was in the corner. Her baby was still fast asleep and it was nearly nine o’clock – that was a record. Stretching blissfully, Rosie sought out her mobile phone and decided to bring her mother up to date.

  ‘You’ve done WHAT?’ shrieked Hester.

  Rosie held the phone away from her ear. ‘I’ve left Dave and–’

  ‘Actually, I did hear you the first time,’ Hester ranted, ‘I just can’t quite believe what you said about moving in with another man. My God, Rosie, what will the gels say? I won’t be able to hold my head up in church again. Only three weeks ago Sonya Baggins’ daughter took off with the postman and the gossip was horrendous. All sorts of innuendo about the size of his letterbox.’

  ‘Mum, will you listen to me,’ Rosie hissed into her mobile. ‘I am not, repeat not, co-habiting. This is a temporary arrangement. In fact, as we speak, I have Dartford’s local paper on my bedside table with a number of circled properties appropriate to rent.’

  ‘Why on earth have you left Dave? The poor, poor man.’

  ‘Yes, he is a poor man, Mum, you’re quite right. Poor because he doesn’t work and–’

  ‘Rosie, there is a recession going on! Do you think it is either fair or right to walk out on a husband simply because he’s lost his job? What sort of a wife are you!’

  ‘Mum, he’s a lazy layabout. An alcoholic. And to top it all off, he has a gambling addiction which I strongly suspect has spiralled out of control because–’

  ‘Nonsense! He’s been suffering depression from being out of work, and there’s nothing wrong with a little drinkie every once in a while, or a tiny flutter on the gee-gees to cheer oneself up.’

  Rosie gritted her teeth. ‘Mum, you have no idea what it was like being married to Dave. If you have so much sympathy for him, you give him a shoulder to cry on.’

  ‘Oh no, Rosie, I can’t do that. That would be interfering. And that is something I never do.’

  Not much, thought Rosie. If it hadn’t have been for your interference, I’d never have married the man in the first place. ‘Well I just thought I’d let you know where I am for now so that you don’t worry.’

  ‘Worry? The only person I’m worried about is dear Dave. Shame on you, Rosie, shame on you.’

  ‘Well, really I–’

  ‘Sorry,
Rosie, but I have to end this call. I’m suddenly not feeling very well and need to lie down. This is just too upsetting.’

  ‘Right,’ Rosie sighed, ‘I hope you feel better soon, Mum.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ Hester snapped.

  Rosie ended the call. She only had a small amount of credit left, so texted Lucy and her cleaning clients to bring them up to date on her impending new job. Lucy immediately texted back.

  You’ve made your break for freedom – well done, Rosie! Now don’t forget about my little gathering later today. If you can’t get a babysitter, bring Luke xx

  Rosie stared in dismay at Lucy’s text. There was no way she could bus it from Penshurst with Luke and then back to Matt’s again, not with the distance involved. She presumed Lucy wouldn’t be staying in her North London apartment Saturday night, otherwise she could have slept in Lucy’s spare room. No, she quite simply wouldn’t be able to go. Rosie instantly texted her friend back.

  So sorry, but going to have to pass. Travel problems. But have a fabulous time and hopefully we’ll see each other again soon xx

  Lucy texted back her disappointment and wished Rosie a lovely weekend, adding that Rosie should keep her updated about any ‘Matt developments’. Rosie rolled her eyes and tossed the mobile into her handbag. Unlike her friend, Rosie wasn’t about to embark on any relationship with another man. From now on she wanted a simple life. Just her and Luke. And the sooner she sorted out alternative living accommodation, the better.

  At that moment Luke stirred in his cot. Rosie hopped out of bed, wrapped herself in her dressing gown and scooped up her little boy.