by NS Thompson
I was terrified of going to sleep and I think to this day that might have something to do with my insomnia.
I’d like you to meet Monty and Leanne Hill. They are witty and intelligent. I first met them at the Buxton’s, not all that long ago and I knew that many local people were in awe of them. I hadn’t actually believed the brothel rumours and had initially thought they seemed quite boring but I was wrong.
Monty actually blatantly told me that he had directed a pornographic film only a few years ago. I was aghast and impressed at the same time. He might be a great help in with my movie-making. I picked his brains a little about film and camera techniques but I was very evasive about the project I was working on.
Jill told me she’d found the perfect woman for me but “Katriona” had to cancel at the last minute, unable to join the barbeque because her osteoarthritis was playing up.
Go Jill! You really know how to pick ‘em.
I drove down Old Wangaroo Road on the way home this afternoon, to see if the Pole Dancer was in action. It is important that I keep abreast of these things. The neighbours have complained about Erin Sloth on more than one occasion and I’m trying to find a new angle to evict her.
What do I see as I slow my car? Erin sitting on the steps to her balcony, playing with your crippled cat. Why have you aligned yourself with the most common thread in the town? That is not who you are! How amusing though, that you should get the four-toed tart to look after your three legged cat. Kindred spirits.
I’m feeling jumpy. Irritable. You could be wonderful. No-one truly knows another person do they? No matter how much I get to know you, I will never know all of your depths.
That is the mystery that is – woman!
Friday 31st July
I am not motivated to write. There’s something missing in my life – maybe it’s you! There is no chance of me seeing you in the street or meeting you in the post office or having you grace our office with your presence and thus I feel flaccid and unexcited by life in general. You aren’t back until Monday and my weekend looks empty.
Your drama kids will miss you tomorrow morning, I’m sure. The Buxton girls kept referring to their theatre class all the way through the b.b.q.
I will look through the local paper to see if anyone is selling a dog. That might cheer me up.
And then, I will take him for a run along the beach on the week-end. No prizes for guessing which beach!
Sunday 2nd August
I now officially have a best friend. Sassie. She’s a rough collie, a little like Lassie, and she is a quiet, loveable creature. She has a regal demeanour. The long pointed snout and small almond eyes. Your eyes are almond shaped, Grace. Yours are green. Sassie has brown eyes. I found her in the local newspaper where some breeders had advertised her. She is seven months old. I got a bargain. Two hundred dollars for a pure bred dog with papers and up-to-date immunisations is a very good deal.
I raced out and bought all the usual canine paraphernalia - two bowls, a collar, a lead, a brush and a large stock of dog food – wet and dry.
I feel like a schoolboy. Although Sass is not my first dog – it all feels virginal and new. I was kind of still getting to know Benny when my mother got rid of him and I’ve been afraid to get a dog ever since because I had irrationally feared I would somehow lose it tragically. A road accident. Snake-bite. That’s how much my mother traumatised me. A grown man afraid to get a dog in case it dies. Ridiculous.
Vicki bitch-face did the same thing. She ruined our marriage and I felt sure I could never love again. I believed everything bad about Vicki must have been some stain that all women carried. You know how it goes – mother is a bitch, Vicki is a bitch, so all women must be bitches. You can be a little bitch, Gracie. I’ve heard you spreading nasty gossip with your friend Jenny, who I suspect is also a bitch BUT I think you have the ability to have that streak wiped clean from you.
Anyway, I am ready to drive east and I should be seeing you soon.
Journal is definitely coming with me.
8:55p.m.
Talk about impulsive! I am sitting in a cabin on the hill behind your caravan. Just far back enough for you not to notice me. The binoculars have helped me to get a clear view of the fireplace and table and chairs outside your caravan. It’s dark and Harry and the two girls are playing in the pool area just beyond. You and Jenny are sitting under the stars, sharing your second bottle of champagne. It is a beautiful night and I can hear the surf breaking on the sand in the distance. Sassie is lying by my feet, asleep. My foot is resting beside her and I can feel her breathing. She’s had a marvellous day. She ran up and down the beach and I threw sticks for her. She’s a great animal. Good company. I bumped into you at about three as you walked along the beach. You were surprised to say the least. Harry loved Sass, didn’t he. I’m sorry you didn’t take me up on the offer of coffee at a local café but I won’t take it personally. I know you are here with your friend and I wouldn’t really want to intrude. I could detect a little disappointment in your voice. I believe you really would have liked to pop out for a while without Harry and all the others. You do need to make some time for yourself but Jenny seemed to stiffen when I invited you and being the intuitive woman that you are, you felt the need to be loyal to your friend. I don’t think Jenny likes me. Probably sees me as a threat to your friendship.
You have lit your fire and are doing a very female job of keeping it alight. Men are by nature, barbeque operators…women seem unable to manage fire. There are very few women fire-fighters and that’s probably a good thing…… although maybe not. Men are good at lighting and maintaining a fire….Women such as yourself right now – are very good at letting them go out. Perhaps the fire brigades should be manned (if you’ll pardon the pun) by women.
I’m struggling to get a good view of you. I keep having to refocus the binoculars. You are quite ridiculous people. Jenny has just stalked off to the neighbour’s outdoor area and b.b.q. A young couple were sitting there earlier but have retired for the evening as the lights in their caravan went out very early. I guess they were tired or amorous. Your friend is pinching some of their fire wood as yours is running low. She’s shoved a few chunks of timber up her jumper and is hunched over moving back to your spot. You are almost falling off your chair with laughter. You really do behave like a pair of teenagers when you are together. It’s immature. You are in desperate need of a real man to partner you and let you be a woman. Cox is not that man. He is an over-sexed, cheating hound.
The kids have come back from the pool after being evicted by the proprietors of the park. You’ve sent them inside to get ready for bed.
Goodness. There has just been a small firework display, lighting up the dark sky. Teenagers on the beach, I suspect. The smell of fireworks and that misty cloud that glows in the sky after they have exploded, takes me back to childhood memories. My mother used to take me to London on New Year’s Eve and I would marvel at the impressive pyrotechnical splendour, lighting up the Tower Bridge. Even now, they give me a thrill. It’s magical to be sitting outside, not far from you, knowing that we are sharing the same romantic view. There is definitely something sexy about fireworks. I guess it’s not hard to figure out the analogy. Hey?
Hmmmm.
Your children all rushed back outside, halfway into their pyjamas. They were ecstatic at the fireworks and jumped up and down like little meerkats.
Sass is sitting up, ears pricked and staring intensely at the sky. She’s a placid girl. Most dogs would be kicking up a stink. I’ll let her sleep inside the cabin tonight. I wouldn’t want her wandering off. I don’t want you to know I am staying here. My plan is to leave as soon as the sun rises. I would like to watch that. I love seeing the sun peer up over the ocean horizon. It’s only an hour back home. I’ll drop Sass home and head for work as soon as I’ve had a quick shower. I’ll grab some McDonalds drive-through for breakfast. I’m not a fan of Ronald McDonald food but I haven’t been there for years and it’s a decadent and
convenient meal so what the hell!
You seem to be moving inside, herding Harry and Jenny’s girls to bed, now that the sky is still again. Goodnight princess.
Monday 3rd August
Back home
Just showered and am off to work. You’ll be getting back after lunch sometime I suppose. I rang the surgery last Friday to find out when you’d be back. I gave a false name and pretended to be a friend. They said you’d be back on deck on Tuesday.
Sassie and I enjoyed our little adventure. I bet your lover-boy has missed you terribly. He was up at the bakery when I drove into town early this morning. I waved. He didn’t. They are supposed to vacate the property this coming week-end but I get the distinct impression they are not planning on budging until we’ve fronted the tribunal. If they are still there on Friday, I’ll lodge an application.
I’m looking at a new property not far from your place at three. The owners are going oversees and want me to let the home for one year. They sound like they are going to be very picky about tenants. The asking rent is four hundred a week and frankly there just aren’t that many people able to afford that in the rental market.
So, I’m going to stop down by the alpacas again and watch your reaction to the message I left on your mirror this time.
Those fireworks last night are nothing compared to the sparks that are going to fly between us. Oh Gracie, we’ll put all this crap behind us one day. Your silly mistakes will be forgotten and the future will be bright. Women are having children well into their forties now. You are only thirty-seven. Dare I hope to share the beautiful gift of a child with you? I would still love your boys as my own but I feel a child of our own would truly cement our love.
I wonder how I will propose. I’ve been thinking on that for some time. I want it to be incredibly romantic and completely unforgettable. Going out to dinner and having a ring arrive with dessert is sweet but overdone. I’m trying to figure out what your favourite things in life are. You are interested in theology but practice no religion so nothing churchy. Should I ask permission from your sons? That would be special. I will need to win them over first.
You love trivia nights but that is neither here nor there.
You love champagne. I can see a bottle of Bollinger or Dom involved in my proposal. The snow is romantic. How about a picnic in the snow with hot food? I’ll set up a table and chairs. Good crystal glasses. A crisp white linen tablecloth. I’m getting goose-bumps just thinking about it. There’s the time frame right there. One year away unless we get another good fall this winter. That is probably unrealistic.
Got to dash.
Midnight or thereabouts
Overjoyed. You have told that bastard to “fuck off”. They were your exact words to him this afternoon. Music to my ears.
I’ll go back over it all. I set up the computer and waited for an hour before you arrived home. I’d almost drifted off and was getting resentful of the battery wastage. But the waiting game can be frustrating. Ask any fisherman.
I jolted upright and felt a surge of adrenalin as you walked into shot in the kitchen. You looked exhausted as you grabbed a glass of water. Harry walked through and went straight outside to the back yard. You called something out to him that I didn’t quite catch and then you left the room. I switched to the bedroom and watched with baited breath as you put your bag on the bed. You went toward the bathroom and stopped stock still as you got to the doorway. I could actually see the blood drain from your face. I felt your panic. You backed away from the bathroom, put your hand over your mouth and shook your head. I couldn’t see the words but knew you were looking at a very angry “I’m watching you,” message in red.
You kind of stumbled and sat on the bed. You looked around the room in a confused state, your eyes darting to the locked sliding doors. And then you caught sight of your diary, lying open, on your pillow. You scrambled toward it and picked it up. The red ink glared back at you. Your hands shook as you read what I had written and then you dropped it back and took off out the door, almost tripping over your own feet.
Switch quickly to the kitchen. You are naturally on the phone.
I’ve had my earpiece in to listen to the conversation. I’ve transcribed it and it goes like this –
Grace – Come on, come on. (Under her breath)
Jenny – (out of breath) Hello?
Grace - Me. You’re not going to believe this. I’m spinning out. (Your voice is shaking and distress oozes from every syllable .)
Jenny – Calm down. What’s happened?
Grace – Another message on my bathroom mirror and my diary…oh God. She’s been in the house.
Jenny – Slow down. Calm down. You’ve got more lipstick on the mirror? What does it say?
Grace – I’ve got to call Michelle.
Jenny- What does it say?
Grace – I’m watching you.
Jenny – How clichéd. So how did someone get in?
Grace – I don’t know. (You’re sounding snappy) What do you mean ‘someone’? It’s that bitch-wife. That’s the last straw. I’m sick of being his ‘fuck’. I love him and I can’t keep doing this.
Jenny- Look you’ve spent all week soul-searching. Tell him how you feel. But we both know they never leave their wives. You’re being used. Did you know, I’ve got splinters in my belly from that frikkin’ wood last night?”
Grace – I’m calling Michelle.
Jenny – What about your diary? You said something about your diary.
Grace – There’s writing in red pen telling me to stop sleeping with him and telling me to that I’m a sperm bucket or something gross like that. And it can’t be my big boys because they’re away. It’s her. She’s a psycho. Dangerous. He doesn’t believe me.
Hang on, that’s the door. Harry? Shit. Hang on. Oh God. I’ve got to go. It’s Andy.
Jenny – Call me back.
You hung up and I watched you shrug off his embrace.
He snuggled into your neck and then looked at you.
“I missed you so much and I saw you and Jenny drive through town so I peddled here as fast as I could. I bought a new bike.”
You grabbed his hand and said very icily – “Come and look at what the woman you love has been doing while I’m away!”
“Oh, not again. It is not Amanda….”
“Shut-up” you snapped at him and disappeared.
Back to the bedroom.
You pointed into the bathroom.
Cox pursed his lips and shook his head.
“I don’t like this.”
You gave a snort and answered that you did not like it much either. And then you showed him the diary. He sat on the edge of the bed and read. He flicked back and through a few pages. You took it from him and threw it onto the bed.
“What do you think of that then?”
He looked sadly up into your eyes.
“You said you love me.”
There was a moment of silence between you. You looked down at the floor and the tears began to run down your cheeks, your lips quivered and you slowly nodded your head. He just sat there. What a prick.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “That wasn’t meant to happen. We said to each other that it was going to be just sex with no strings attached.
“It was!” you arched up. “But I didn’t mean it….I just….oh just forget about it.”
The bastard put his face into his hands.
Then he lifted his head and sighed.
“It’s not her, Gracie. You’ve got some ex-boyfriend or crazy lovesick patient with a crush on you. Don’t tell the police. If you tell them about us and that you suspect my wife, that’ll be the end of my marriage.
“You areshole!” You shouted. “There is someone on the verge of fucking killing me in my sleep and you are happy to let that happen rather than fuck-up the equilibrium of your relationship with a nutcase who can’t fuck her own husband.”
“Stop it…” he murmured.
“NO!” You were gett
ing very heated. “She is a nutcase.”
“Stop it, Gracie.”
She’s psychotic. I AM going to tell the police. She’s mad and is capable of this.”
“But our relationship has been so much better since you came along. I’m more relaxed and I don’t know….she seems nicer than she has been for years…”
With that you threw your hands in the air and began choking back your violent sobs.
“How fucking wonderful for you. I’m glad I’ve been such a relationship therapist. Leave your fucking money on the dresser and get OUT OF MY LIFE.” And then those magical final word. “FUCK OFF!”
“You changed the rules, Grace. I never promised you more than I gave you. I’m sorry but I can’t leave my family. I laid my cards on the table…….” He blubbered.
You shoved him out of your bedroom and slammed the door.
I watched you throw yourself face down on the bed and howl into your pillow.
It’s over and I know you’re grieving but don’t. Smoking is bad for you too and it’s tough to quit but you will be so much better for having him out of your life. Was that true about his wife? Either she really is a delusional nutcase or you are very inventive and quick. You sounded pretty sincere. That will give the bastard something to think about but how can he bring that up without telling her how he came by the information? I’ve got the code to get into the surgery. I haven’t even wanted to until now. It’s a big thing though and I would have to be ultimately careful because being caught out there would be the end of me. I will give it some thought. The surgery is never opened on a Sunday. If I came into the side door from the back entrance, no-one from the main street would see me. And anyway, the street is like one in a ghost town every Sunday except market day.
