A Moral Dilemma
by
Zara Kingsley
Copyright © 2013, Zara Kingsley
All rights Reserved
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book is protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this book is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
DISCLAIMER: This book is a work of fiction. A name, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
C hapter One
I had to do it. He’d left me with no other conceivable choice. He seemed intent on driving me crazy, turning me into a dithering, pathetic, neurotic maniac. The lying toe-rag!!
“Becky, sweetie,” he would gently croon, whenever I’d mention the distinct scent of Dior about him. “It’s all in your imagination. You know you’re the only one for me.” Then more vigorously, “What the bloody hell is wrong with you!” when confronted with the unmistakable evidence of lippie on his shirt collar. “You really are going stark raving mad.” And I thought I was. For a while. His reverse psychology skills were second to none. So I made a decision to either prove myself sane, or allow myself to be declared insane! I set about achieving mission (according-to-him) impossible, and catch him in the act.
I’d always fancied myself as a bit of an actress. I was still dancing around my bedroom at home, singing merrily into the hairbrush when I was sixteen years old! Yes, Annie had definitely left its mark on me. In fact, after watching that film, for the remainder of my childhood, I had wanted to be Annie (without the ginger hair and freckles, of course). I desperately wanted to be rescued by Mr Squillion Billion Dollar Man and have a dog called Rufus. Needless to say I never got rescued – but I definitely ended up with the dog. His name is Jeremy. And today I caught him cheating. So tonight, I’m kicking his lying toe-rag arse out of our apartment.
OK, I say I caught him cheating; well he wasn’t actually in the full throes of fornication or anything like that. It was more of a…foreplay situation, which in my world still counts. So how did I catch him? Well, like I said, I’ve always fancied myself as a bit of an actress, so; black bobbed wig, reading glasses, camcorder – hired not bought – even less make-up than usual, i.e. basically none, so as not to draw attention to myself, and a shot of brandy (YUK) for Dutch courage.
Wheelers, was an average enough, discreet British pub, on an average enough discreet City street, and was also Jeremy’s choice location for a not so discreet illicit tryst.
“Look, would you be ordering something or not lass?” the barman asked me with a slight Irish accent.
Shoo shoo shoo I had wanted to say, but for fear of him drawing any more attention to me, and in light of the fact that he was actually blocking my view of Jeremy and Miss Thingy, I quickly deduced that I had in fact better order something. “Coke please,” I snapped off, throwing down a fiver.
“Diet or regular?”
Oh for chrissakes, will you just move! Aargh! “Regular!”
“Ice?”
“No!” rolling my eyes. He actually seemed to be enjoying this little exchange. Maybe he knew Jeremy and knew what both he and I were up to?! No. Not possible.
“Lemon?”
“Look, can you get me a coke or not?” I hissed.
“OK, OK, keep yer knickers on,” he said smiling cheekily and finally turned to go get me a drink. I quickly realigned myself to get a better view over the bar and through the window to the courtyard where Jeremy, the bastard, and Thingy were sitting extremely close to each other and laughing easily at this point. Still not incriminating evidence, but the night was young. I saw Jeremy lean into her and started talking into her ear. I would’ve said ‘whispering’ but he didn’t know how to whisper sweet nothings at the best of times let alone after he’d had a few, which by the way his face was flushed and his tie, usually perfectly positioned, was loosened and off centre, he obviously had.
“There you go now. Coke and change,” said the barman. I ignored him and continued fidgeting with my camcorder, hidden behind by handbag, whilst still keeping a sharp eye on the fornicators. “Pity you don’t get to catch the conversation with those things from a distance.”
“Excuse me?!”
“You need to get up real close to them to record conversation.”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about,” I said turning beetroot, and started to scuffle about with the camcorder, desperately trying to stuff it back into my bag.
“Oh,” he leaned back comfortably against the bar, folded up his arms and nodded toward Jeremy and Thingy. “I thought for a sec you were spying on that pair.”
“I beg your pardon?!” trying my best to sound alarmed but at the same time careful not to draw any attention to myself…
“Oh, it’s no skin off my nose either way,” he said, “but let’s assume you were spying on that pair.”
“Which I am most definitely not!” I said furiously, whilst still trying to shove my camcorder back into my bag, but what, with my current state of panic and the fact that every time my head bent down my wig was starting to slip forward, I couldn’t quite manage it.
“Ah, but, if you were, you’d be doing it all wrong.” I looked up at him from under the fringe of my wig. “You’re too far away to even know what’s going on.”
“As I’ve already told you, I am not spying on anyone. But IF I were, I am able to see quite clearly exactly what’s going on.”
“Ah jaysus, you can’t tell a thing from what you see. They could just be having a great crack, with nothin’ in it at all.”
“Oh he’s having a crack all right.” I slumped on the bar, completely fed up, with the camcorder sticking out recklessly from my bag. I’d given up trying to tuck it away, just as I’d given up trying to film them. He was right of course. The barman. The footage I’d so painstakingly gathered proved nothing at all. Jeremy would be able to talk his way out of this one in a nano-second, and I knew that I’d believe whatever he would tell me, as per usual, because although I had doubts, many, many doubts, I never ever had any real concrete evidence of any disloyalty. We watched them silently for a few seconds, but when Jeremy slipped his hand up Miss Thingy’s skirt and started talking into her ear again, I just squeezed my eyes shut so I wouldn’t have to see, and so the barman couldn’t see the tears of humiliation that were starting to well up.
“Look, just pass it here,” he said reaching out his hand to me.
“What?”
“The camcorder. I’ll get up close and record what they’re saying for yer.” I gave an incredulous stare and opened my mouth to say something, then as if on autopilot, I handed him the camcorder. “Ah, you can thank me later,” he said with a wink. And was off. Headed in their direction with the camcorder hidden underneath a bar towel on a tray. My heart started hammering against my ribcage and I wanted to dive under the bar and hide as he got to their table and started hovering, collecting glasses, wiping, and re-placing ashtrays. I half expected Jeremy to look up and wave at me but he didn’t even notice the barman floating around. Too engrossed in impressing Miss Thingy, which by the way she was giggling and batting her false eye lashes at each word he uttered, seemed easy enough to do. I looked at her. She was the complete opposite t
o me in every sense. Blonde, curvaceous, overly made up. She looked around twenty-eight but was probably twenty-four, whereas I may look twenty-four but am actually twenty-eight. She wasn’t so special. Fake hair, fake tits, fake tan. She was exactly the kind of girl that Jeremy would frequently refer to as “just a bit of fluff”. He would never betray me with just a bit of fluff… Would he? All of a sudden I knew that I did not want to know the answer to that question. I realised that I have never ever really wanted to know. I could live with my doubts. We had a good life together. He did love me, (albeit in his own bizarre way), and never made me feel anything other than number one…at least whilst he was in my presence. But that was OK. I could deal with that. What, I suddenly realised, I could not deal with, and more importantly did not want to deal with, was the actual factual knowledge that Jeremy, the man with whom I have built a wonderful life with and am expecting to grow graciously old with, would cheat on me. Because unlike a doubt which I can quite simply cast away to the back of my mind and allow it to gather cobwebs, a ‘fact’ would be a different matter altogether. A ‘fact’, a real life evidential fact, would most definitely need to be addressed. I felt a sudden stab of horror at that realisation; and started flapping my hands about like a maniac trying to catch the barman’s attention.
“Come Back! Come Back!” I mouthed in animation, but he just ignored me and moved to the other side of the table so he was standing right beside Jeremy as he moved in for another close-up with Miss Thingy. I watched the barman, wondering if he could hear what they were saying, and I swear I practically expired when I saw him shake a heavy head in disbelief.
The barman looked at me with an unfortunately sombre face as he came back to the bar. “Er, look lass, it’s none of my business…but is he your fella?”
“Yes. He is my boyfriend,” I said indignantly, and as he looked down with tight lips, I added with upturned chin, “Of several years in fact.”
“Right. Well…maybe you don’t really want to be listening to what’s on here then.” He tapped the camcorder and gave me a sympathetic look that knocked the wind out of me. He felt sorry for me. And he felt sorry for me because of what he’d heard Jeremy say to Miss Thingy? I inhaled deeply and stared at him defiantly, though I’m not sure why, as it really wasn’t his fault my boyfriend was a lying cheating toe-rag.
“It’s my camcorder and I shall bloody well listen to it if I so choose.” I feigned calmness as I placed the evidential camcorder into my bag and hopped down off the bar stool.
“You might want to have a…friend…come sit with you as you watch it though.” I swallowed hard and tried blinking really fast, but it was already too late. One must always be grateful for the small mercies in life, I said to myself, thinking at least I wouldn’t end up with panda eyes as there was no mascara to smudge. I nodded my thanks to the barman and turned to leave, but not before taking one last look at the joyful Jeremy, now nestling into Thingy’s neck. Jeremy. Humph. The love of my life.
As the cab pulled up in Warwick Garden Mews, I could see Abigail and Julia waiting for me, pacing outside my apartment. Poor Juju looked really worried, hopping about. Abby just looked hopping mad (hopefully out of concern for me and not because she’d been forced to cancel tonight’s hot date). I had been tempted to watch the footage in the back of the cab on the way home from the City, but I decided to take the barman’s timely advice and called a friend. So I called Abby and asked her to meet me at my place pronto, though I didn’t tell her why. She tried to get me to tell her what was wrong, as I was snivelling and blowing my nose in despair, but I didn’t want to talk about it. Not on the phone. Plus the fact that the back of a black cab is not the best place to have a mini-breakdown.
“Becky what’s wrong?” Julia asked with her lamb’s voice, rushing up to me looking all concerned. Then looking confused, “Becky, is that a wig?”
“Forget the wig,” Abby waved a hand, “what in god’s name are you wearing?” referring to my Miss Marple outfit.
“I followed Jeremy,” I managed to whine spasmodically, trying to wipe the snot, honestly uncharacteristically, running from my nose. “He was with this girl. Some tramp!” I wailed uncontrollably, gasping for breaths, completely abandoning my usually calming mantra; that I was a woman of peace and tranquillity. Evidently, not today!
“Oh poor Becky.” Julia wrapped her arms around me and I discarded any remaining semblance of graciousness and howled into her shoulder allowing my snot to run free.
“OK darling,” Abby said coolly, steering us toward the house, “let’s take this inside,” nodding her head toward Mrs Pemberton’s twitching curtains. My meddlesome neighbour had probably heard every word and would no doubt make it her duty to bring the rest of our quiet mews community up to speed. The very thought was just too humiliating and made me howl even louder as Abby shoved me through the front door. Between the two of them they’d managed to locate my keys, get me up to the first floor, into my apartment, out of the wig and onto the sofa.
“Now then,” Julia sat down beside me and patted my lap, “shall I put the kettle on?”
“Oh for chrissakes Julia!” Abby rolled her eyes, already heading over to the drinks cabinet. “She doesn’t need a cup of tea.” Placing Jeremy’s Courvoisier brandy on the table, “Glasses Juju,” she ordered.
“But Becky doesn’t…” Abby gave her a look, “OK, OK,” and collected three tumblers from the kitchen. Abby gave her another look. “What? I couldn’t find anything else,” she shrugged innocently.
“Now get this down you.” Abby half filled a tumbler and held it in front of my face. The potency of the Courvoisier wafted up my nose and straight to my head making me feel a little dizzy. I never ever drink brandy…but this was my second quite large measure in one day! Bloody Jeremy had succeeded in turning me into me into an alcoholic to boot! I gulped down the firewater and immediately understood why it was called that, as I felt it scorching my throat on its way down, filling my inside with a curious warming sensation.
“Aarggggh,” I groaned, screwing up my eyes, which were now watering for an entirely different reason.
“Feel better?” Abby asked. I nodded. “Now, what the bloody hell is going on Rebecca?”
I inhaled. And exhaled. “Jeremy called me this afternoon to say he was going to stop by his brother Mark’s place after work, and would probably crash there tonight.”
“But Becky darling,” Julia started to state the obvious to me, “he often stays over at Mark’s place on a Wednesday. They play pool over at Sports Moves. Even my Seb goes over there sometimes. It’s just a boy’s night out darling.” Abby rolled her eyes at her.
“Juju, I know this, and that’s why I didn’t have a problem with it.”
“So darling why are you in such a state?”
“Oh for chrissakes Juju!” Abby, now clearly losing her patience. “Do you think you could just let Becky talk for more than ten seconds without interrupting? That way we stand a good chance of actually finding out what this bastard Jeremy has done!”
“Abigail why are you calling Jeremy a bastard?” poor Juju said in protest. She always felt defensive whenever Jeremy’s honour was bought into question (which it often was by Abby). I guess Juju felt a sense of responsibility seeing as it was her who had introduced me to him in the first place. He was a good friend of Sebastian’s, Julia’s boyfriend, and she had always said that they were cut from the same cloth. And that ‘cloth’ in Julia’s faultless imagination was pure as driven snow.
Abigail turned obstinately toward Julia. “I am calling him a bastard Julia, because my best friend is sitting here crying her poor little heart out as a direct result of something he, the bastard, has done.”
“But how can you say that? We don’t know what he’s done.”
“And we never bloody well will if you don’t shut up!” My head started to spin.
“Honestly Abigail, there is no need…”
Neither my whirling head nor I could take it any more. “Sto
p it!” I yelled.
“Sorry darling,” they both said. Finally remembering why they were here.
“Like I said, I didn’t mind the fact he was staying over at Mark’s tonight. But I’d forgotten to leave some food out for Kitty Kat this morning, so had to come back at lunchtime, and that’s when I heard the message on the answer machine.” They looked at me, both dying to ask the question but neither daring to do so. In a very strange and admittedly perverse way, I was quite enjoying this rare undivided attention of both my usually opinionated best friends. I exhaled, for dramatic effect. “The message was from Mark. He said he was having a great time in Aspen and due to the fact that he’d met some ‘top totty’ he wouldn’t be back for another week!”
Julia looked confused. “But how could Jeremy have been staying over at Mark’s if…Mark is in…” And the penny finally dropped. “Oh. My. God!”
“So, I dressed up in that pathetic disguise and waited for him outside his building.” Abby looked impressed. Julia looked horrified. “He eventually came out…with some strumpet in tow! I followed them to that pub on the corner of Church Street.”
“Wheelers?” Abby asked.
“Yes. Do you know it?” She nodded. “Well Jeremy and the strumpet sat outside in the courtyard and they were very very intimate.”
“But darling it could have been innocent.” Julia ignored Abby’s incredulous stare. “I can’t believe that Jerrers would do anything to jeopardise your relationship. He’ll have a very good explanation. You’ll see.” She gave a reassuring smile.
“I thought the same. Jeremy’s very good at explaining things away. But this time I’ve got the evidence,” and nodded at the camcorder poking itself out of my bag.
“What’s this?” Abby grabbed the camcorder out of my bag and was already turning it on.
“No!” I yelled. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“But haven’t you already…”
A Moral Dilemma: A Romantic Comedy Chick Lit Story Page 1
