by Tanith Morse
We arrived at half three. Beth found a parking space directly opposite and for a couple of minutes, we kept to the safety of her Prius, talking in earnest like members of M16. We had the semblance of a plan, but still had to agree on the fine details.
‘Okay, are we ready then?’ I asked.
Beth killed the engine. Nodded.
We got out and crossed the road. I shivered slightly. The air had cool, stale feel to it. Passing through a set of automatic doors, we entered the comfortable reception area. The walls were painted white, and to one side, there was a faux leather sofa for visitors and an array of plastic plants and flowers. Behind the desk stood a chinless wonder of thirty-five. She wore funky, purple-framed D&G specs and an ill-fitting skirt suit. Her face was long, lean and hollow like Peter Cushing’s and she wore her blonde (roots badly needed doing), straw-like hair in a bun like a Geisha girl. Not very attractive at all. But then, are the other women in marriages ever as glamorous as one expects? Men don’t necessarily cheat because they have found a younger, prettier model. No. They do it because they can. Because the opportunity was there and they just couldn’t say no.
Peter Cushing simpered at us from behind the desk. ‘Hello, can I help you?’
‘I’m here to see Philip Watson,’ Beth replied tersely.
‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘I don’t need an appointment. I’m his wife.’
Peter froze. Swallowed hard. ‘Um, okay. I’ll just phone up and announce you.’
Beth sprang into action. Lunging forward, she slammed her fist over the receiver to prevent her from dialling. ‘Now listen to me, you little bitch, I’m not here to play games. I know about you and Phil. I know all about your little rendezvous so spare me the pleasantries, okay?’
Peter nodded. Her hands were shaking like a leaf.
‘Right,’ Beth continued, relaxing her grip, ‘we’re going to play a little game. You are going to do exactly what I say, or my sister here is going to make things very uncomfortable for you. Very uncomfortable. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ Peter chirped.
‘Good!’
I stifled a smirk. The whole scene was playing out just as I had envisaged.
Beth rummaged through her Louis Vuitton bag, took out a scrunched up piece of paper and shoved it in Peter’s face.
‘Now darling, read through that please. Familiarise yourself with it. And when you’ve composed yourself, I want you to call Phil, put on your slinkiest, sexiest voice and read it to him.’
‘I-I don’t want to. You can’t make me. You’re crazy!’
Beth raised her hand above her head like she was going to slap her, and then thought better of it. ‘Look darling, I am fighting a terrible urge to beat the living crap out of you, so don’t rile me. If you think this is crazy, you haven’t seen anything yet. You’ll do what you’re told or suffer the consequences.’
Peter gulped, looked towards me. I pulled my Rottweiler face, and she cast her eyes downward in quiet defeat. We had her in a corner and she knew it. After reading silently through Beth’s script, she cleared her throat and tentatively dialled Phil’s number.
‘Hi babe, it’s me. What are you doing now? Uh-huh . . . yeah, well I’m just down here all alone thinking of you. I really want you baby. I want to take you for a ride in my pussy wagon. I-I want to run my hands over your hot body. I want you to butter my muffins and spank my koala.’ Peter spoke the words like she was chewing on a rock. ‘I want you to put your icing on my cake. Ooh yeah baby, are you getting turned on yet? Okay, can you do something for me please? Take your clothes off and wait for me. I have a sexy surprise for you . . .’ She put down the phone, couldn’t meet our eyes. ‘He’s waiting for you.’
‘Have you ever thought of going into acting?’ Beth quipped. ‘That was a brilliant performance. Honestly darling, your talents are wasted here.’
We took the lift to the third floor. My heart was racing as I followed Beth down a long corridor towards Phil’s office. We both hesitated outside the door, playing for time. Beth looked at me.
‘My hands are shaking,’ she whispered, ‘I don’t know if I can go through with this, Mads.’
‘Course you can. We’ve come this far. You can’t chicken out now.’
Taking a deep breath, my sister pushed open the door. Stopped. Stared. Covered her mouth with shock. I glanced in and quickly looked away. Phil was standing there stark naked. His face had a shocked expression, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
There was a long, terrible silence as husband and wife glared at each other. Then Beth broke the deadlock, her voice dripping with venom. ‘What the fuck is this, Phil? I’ve caught you red-handed, haven’t I.’
‘Beth, please, just listen, I can explain - ’
‘Explain what exactly? That you thought I was your fucking receptionist? Well, sorry I’m not the aphrodisiac you were expecting.’ She shook her head incredulously. ‘But really Philip, if you had to cheat on me, you could at least have done it was someone credible. Someone that doesn’t look like some voodoo priestess just raised her from the dead. I mean honestly, what were you thinking? That slut looks like an extra from a Hammer Horror movie.’
I poked my head round the door, peeked in. Phil was clutching a cardboard folder over his privates to preserve his modesty. I stifled a giggle. He looked so pale and scrawny and pathetic that it would have been funny had it not been so tragic.
‘Beth, I’m so sorry. I know I’ve fucked up, but can’t we work this out? She means nothing to me, I promise you. It was just sex. It’s you I truly love; you that I want to spend the rest of my life with. Please, you’ve got to believe me . . . ’
My sister wasn’t listening anymore. She picked up the nearest plant pot and hurled it at his head, missing him by inches. The ceramic pot smashed against the wall, broke to pieces and covered the carpet in a mound of soggy compost.
Visibly shaken, Phil took a step towards her. ‘Darling, please don’t be so violent. You know how much you scare me when you’re like this.’
‘Back off, Phil! I don’t want you anywhere near me.’
The folder slipped from his fingers and I got an eyeful of his shrivelled penis. I looked away. His face was mottled with rage. ‘Why the fuck is she here anyway? Can’t we even have a domestic without your bloody sister tagging along?’
‘Don’t you dare have a go at Maddy, Phil. She’s been the ray of light in all of this. No Phil, you’re not slipping out of this so easily. You’re the one who’s in the wrong so don’t try to deflect blame elsewhere.’
‘I’m sorry, Maddy,’ he said quietly. ‘Please, could you just leave me alone with my wife. I’d like a couple of minutes to talk to her in private.’
‘Maddy’s staying put, Phil. Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of her. You lost your right to privacy when you decided to bring a third party into this marriage.’
Phil nodded miserably. ‘Tell me what I can do to make things right. Please, if you want me to give her up, I will.’
‘You’ll not only give her up – you’ll sack the bitch with no references.’
‘All right. Done. What else?’
‘I want a divorce.’
He stared at her, incredulous. ‘Darling, you can’t be serious!’
‘Just try me. Try me! I’m going to make your life hell, Phil. I’m going to make you feel the pain that I feel. I’m going to take you down, and I don’t care what happens to me in the process. That’s how much I hate you right now.’
He burst into tears. It wasn’t often that I saw grown men cry, and there was something particularly pathetic about his brand of tears. Shrill, whiny little sobs that made me want to slap some sense into him. What a loser, I thought. What a snivelling piece of shit. He could at least have been man enough to take Beth’s reprimand on the chin.
‘Right Maddy, we’re going.’ She turned on her heel. ‘Oh, and Phil, I want you out of the house by the time I get back.’ She slammed
the door so hard that I thought the glass would break.
We took the lift back to reception where we found Peter Cushing cowering behind the desk. Beth walked up to her and dealt her the loudest, dirtiest slap I’ve ever seen.
Peter’s eyes stung with tears. ‘I-I’m sorry, I suppose I deserved that.’
‘You bet you did, you slut.’
Then, silently, I followed Beth through the automatic doors into the street. We crossed the road. She clicked open the door to the Prius and jumped behind the wheel. I got in beside her, clipped on my seatbelt. Then for long moments, neither of us said anything.
Beth started up the engine.
‘Yesss!’ she screamed suddenly. ‘Yes, yes, yes! I feel so good for getting that off my chest!’ She honked her horn and turned up James Brown’s I Feel Good on the stereo. A couple of passers-by stared through the windows like she was a mad person.
Beth laughed manically. ‘Did you see his face when I told him I wanted a divorce? It was priceless!’
‘And are you?’
‘Am I what?’
‘Going to go through with it? Are you really going to divorce Phil?’
‘Oh I don’t know. I haven’t made my mind up yet. But let him sweat for a bit. I’m having too much fun to stop now!’
There was a devilish gleam in her eye. I smiled. It was like we were schoolgirls again and she had just super-glued Mary Trump’s fingers together.
Just as we were about to start moving, a Civil Enforcement Officer appeared out of nowhere and stuck a parking ticket on Beth’s windscreen.
He walked away smirking.
‘What the hell is that, Maddy? Please tell me he didn’t just put a ticket on my window.’
‘Er, I’m afraid he did.’
In a rage, Beth jumped out the car and stalked after the grinning officer. ‘Excuse me, but why did you just give me a ticket?’
The man turned and stared at her blankly, his face dark and emotionless. ‘There’s no parking here unless you’re loading or unloading. It was very clear that you did neither, so that’s why I issued the ticket.’
Beth was incensed. ‘Excuse me but I was unloading something. I just unloaded an unwanted husband!’
The officer stared at her. Then he burst out laughing. ‘Very funny. I don’t know if that’ll hold up in court, but you can give it a try.’ He turned to go. Beth gripped his arm.
‘Please can’t you just cancel it? Look, I’ve had a really bad day and this is making it worse. You see, I’m in the middle of a breakup. My twenty year marriage is crumbling and -’
‘Lady, go bother someone else with your problems. I’m busy.’
‘Busy doing what? Spreading more misery? Don’t you have a shred of humanity in you? Didn’t you hear what I said? I want you to cancel this ticket right now!’
‘Abuse will get you nowhere, ma’am. And anyway, I’ve already put your registration number in the system. Couldn’t cancel it now even if I wanted to. Look, just read through the notice I gave you and follow the appeals procedure. You’ll have your day in court.’
‘But I don’t want to go to court! I want to settle this with you now.’
‘Sorry. No can do.’
‘You bastard! You’re not human, are you? You’re like a bloody robot. Is there ever a day when you don’t follow procedure? You probably can’t take a shit without checking with your bosses first. What kind of a man are you?’
‘Like I said, abuse will get you nowhere.’
Beth suddenly saw red and lunged at his throat, knocking him to the ground. I scrambled out of the car and desperately tried to pull her off of him.
‘You crazy bitch!’ he choked. ‘I could get you locked up for that!’
I finally managed to extract her fingers from his throat.
‘Well go on then, call the police. Call them! I don’t care anymore.’ Beth burst into tears. I pulled her to me, wrapped her in my arms and tried to soothe her. I locked eyes with him.
‘Listen, I’m really really sorry for what she did. Please don’t call the police. I know it’s no excuse, but she just caught her husband cheating on her and she’s really stressed out. She’s not usually this psychotic, believe me.’
The young man stared at us. He touched his throat reproachfully. Then, he picked up his handheld computer from the pavement to check that it was still working. It made a funny little beeping noise. He heaved a deep sigh. ‘All right. I won’t call the police.’
Beth attempted a smile. ‘I’m sorry I attacked you. I don’t know what got into me. Please, please forgive me.’
He nodded gently, turned and walked away.
‘God Beth, what the hell were you thinking? You’ve got to get a grip of yourself! I can’t believe you just did that.’
‘I know; I can’t believe I just did that. It’s Phil. He’s really messed my head up.’
We got back in the car, drove for a couple of minutes in silence. I kept my eyes fixed on the road. I didn’t know what to say. There was nothing that could articulate quite how shocked I was by her behaviour.
‘So can you get this ticket written off for me then?’ she asked presently.
‘You know I can’t. Islington’s not my borough.’
‘Oh yeah. Sorry, I forgot.’
‘Just pay the goddamn ticket, Beth. After what you just did, you should be lucky to have got off so lightly.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘I bloody hate Phil. This is all his fault. He’s going to pay.’
Chapter Eleven
I stared forlornly at my laptop screen. Clicking open a Word document, I scrolled to the title page and read through it again.: Jane Bloggs by Madeline Smith . . . Jane Bloggs by Madeline Smith . . .
I tilted my head. Squinted at it. The font looked way too small. Or was it too big? I switched off the computer. What was the use? I’d had writer’s block for half a year and the saga of Jane Bloggs hadn’t even progressed beyond the title page.
I got up, walked over to my dresser and opened the top drawer. I took out a bundle of letters (bills mostly) and sat down on my bed. I had been putting this off for ages. Each month when I got my credit card statements I hid them away, trying to forget about them. Trying to kid myself they didn’t exist. But once in a while, when there was absolutely nothing else to do, I’d sift through them and try to reconcile my debts.
I’d known for some time that my job at the call centre didn’t pay nearly enough for me to live comfortably. The bulk of my salary went on my rent which, to be honest, was rather high for a one-bedroom flat. But I liked the area so much it was a sacrifice I was willing to make. The rest went on travel, Council Tax, gas, electricity and service charges - a never-ending drain on my finances that I could see no way out of. My monthly outgoings meant that I could just about cover my food expenses. On the other hand, new clothes were a luxury I could rarely afford to indulge. After Mum had died, I’d toyed with the idea of buying my own home, but found that London property prices were so high my meagre salary would never convince a bank to give me a mortgage. Add to that a bad credit rating and I was left pretty much excluded from the property ladder.
With a sigh, I pushed the bills back in the drawer. It was no use. Unless there was a miracle and I won the lottery or something, my future looked bleak. It wasn’t even that I was asking to be a millionaire; I just wanted enough to be able to afford a holiday once in a while without having to count the pennies.
I looked at my watch. It was half six. Time to start thinking about what to cook for dinner. Tonight was a toss up between pasta or steak and kidney pie though for some reason, I didn’t particularly feel like either.
Then the doorbell rang. My heart raced. David? Self-consciously, I patted my hair, glanced in the mirror before answering the door.
‘Hello Madeline.’ He handed me a bunch of roses.
I clutched them to my chest. He was beaming at me like an angel.
‘For me?’ I stammered. ‘You shouldn’t have.’
‘They�
��re just a little thank you for looking after me the other day. You were really great.’
I sniffed the flowers, breathed in their gorgeous scent.
‘They’re beautiful, David. Thanks so much. How are you feeling now?’
‘Much better.’ He raised the Tesco bag he was holding in his other hand. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Of course.’
David followed me through to the living room and put the shopping bag on the table. ‘Have you eaten yet?’
‘No. Funny you should ask, I was just going to rustle something up.’
‘Never fear, David is here. I want you to leave everything to me.’
I raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘What, you’re going to cook for me?’
‘Yes. Anything wrong with that?’
‘Er no, no. Sounds great.’ My mind raced back to his filthy kitchen, the stacks of plates piled up in the sink, and I just hoped his cooking was better than his hygiene.
David rolled up his sleeves, took the bags into the kitchen.
‘What are you planning to make?’ I shouted after him.
‘It’s a surprise. You do like beef, don’t you?’
‘God yeah, I love beef.’
‘Good. Then you should like this. You’re not allergic to anything are you?’
‘No, no, I pretty much eat anything.’ I grinned, momentarily aware of my weight as I said it.
‘Okay, get comfortable. Let David work his magic.’
I was mystified by what he was cooking up. In a way, I found the suspense quite exciting. No man had ever offered to cook for me before. Still, I didn’t get my hopes up too high though.
Over the next hour, a succession of gorgeous smells wafted in from the kitchen. In the meantime, I watched TV to keep busy, but every so often my mind wandered as I tried to imagine what he was doing in there. Whatever it was smelt surprisingly good.
Eventually, David shouted to me that dinner was ready, and I turned expectantly towards the living room door. He walked in carrying a plate of Thai green curry and steaming jasmine rice. When he placed it in front of me on the table, my eyes nearly popped out my head. It looked like something out of a Michelin star restaurant. The rice was moulded into a perfect circle and the curry delicately garnished with sweet basil leaves and chillies.
