The Property Manager: You'll never rent again...

by NS Thompson

  I think you’ve scared him off for good. Telling a married man that you love him is the death knell to an affair.

  You let Harry sleep with you tonight and I am pretty safe in the knowledge that no one’s going to tap him on the shoulder and ask him to step aside so he can have the next dance. I also noticed that you left a lot of lights on and shut all the doors. You didn’t try to ring the police. Perhaps you are sleeping on that idea. You had one other call from Four-Toed Sloth but you mentioned nothing of your troubles to her and arranged for her to deliver the three-legged cat back to you at eight a.m. before you went to work. I guess you’re not that friendly that you would reveal such private information. Mind you, I think half the town know about your sordid affair. There are enough sticky beaks, nosy parkers and gossips in this tiny town to put pieces together. Even the Buxton’s mentioned, or at least, inferred, something about you being very friendly with one of the married, drama, dads. I made no comment whatsoever. It was not good news because reputations stick like superglue in small communities. For that same reason I don’t want my association with the Moorebanks made public.

  I do hope you find time soon to go and re-register your car. I wouldn’t like you to waste my generous gift.

  You have done a wonderful thing. A strong and courageous thing. I will reward that sort of behaviour. A bottle of Veuve Cliquot and a bunch of flowers. I’ve got a bottle in my wine rack and I’ll choose some flowers from the garden. The roses have bloomed and their scent is divine.

  You’ll probably sleep badly. I, on the other hand, will sleep like a baby, knowing that my darling Grace is back.

  I have just picked and bunched a lovely bouquet of roses and retrieved the champagne. I’m not bothering with a card. I’ll run it over now before hitting the sack myself.

  Tuesday 4th August

  Midday

  I woke up feeling uneasy. Didn’t eat breakfast and decided to go for a run to stretch out my nerves. That bastard, Cock-head, was sitting outside the bakery with a coffee, looking deep in thought. He didn’t acknowledge me. He’s obviously worried that you will go to the police who will then come sniffing around his wife and he will be royally busted and kicked out of home.

  I went to work and waited to see you arrive at eight. You didn’t show. At nine, the doctor arrived with his girlfriend. It seemed you had decided to be a no-show and she was filling your boots. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. Was feeling jumpy and jittery. I snapped at Belinda and told Ron to piss off. At eleven I could stand it no longer and told the office I was sick and going home. Ron looked annoyed but I assured him that it would not be good form to spend a working day in the toilet with the runs. That was more than enough information for him and he gave me his blessing to go home. Which I did but only to gather all my surveillance equipment.

  I’m now in my usual spot and watching you and Jenny drinking tea at your dining room table. You have swollen eyelids, bags under your eyes and look quite haggard.

  The two of you are arguing over whether to ring Michelle or not.

  “It could be a lunatic stalker, not the wife. You should ring her” says Jenny.

  “It could be anyone. A patient. It could be Doctor Death. What about that creepy real estate guy…Jack…whatsit. You said he left flowers when you moved in.”

  She pointed directly at my flowers that lay on the dining room table, as far away from you as possible. They weren’t even in a vase.

  “Yeah, Jenny. Maybe it’s you. Or my dead husband. Just let’s stay rational.”

  That made my blood go cold. Jenny put me out there as a possible suspect. She called me creepy. Me! She’s a sly little bitch who is just intimidated by me.

  I watched Jenny go to the freezer and take out the bottle of Veuve.

  “If you are going to ring Michelle, this might be considered evidence….so what will it be…drink it…or let the cops take it away?”

  “If it IS her and if I call the cops, she might get violent. It’s over between Andy and I so the crazy stuff will stop now. I’m over it all! I’ll just forget it.”

  You began blubbering again.

  “I can’t imagine him not in my life,” you sob.

  “It’s for the best,” your friend says.

  I completely agree and now is the perfect time for me to approach you. I will help you forget and soothe the hurt. My plan is to ask you out. Finally. Tomorrow. You are a bit behind in your rent and I’ll ask you for coffee so that we can discuss a payment plan to help you catch up.

  “If he bought a new bike, they must have come into some money.” Jenny observed. “It might have been him that gave you that $600 bucks.”

  You thought about that and shrugged.

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Well, stuff it!” laughed Jenny. “Let’s open the good bubbly anyway….unless you think it’s poisoned!”

  “Perhaps we should save it to be finger-printed.” You were back-peddling.

  “Let me open the bloody bottle,” Jenny snapped back at you.

  FOUR A.M

  Exhausted. What an afternoon. What a close call. I thought I had lost you again.

  At two o’clock, not long after Jenny had left, you were washing up and listening to the soundtrack of “Brigitte Jones Diary”. What melancholic and fitting background music. I saw that film. The torn between two lovers thing. Appropriate because I really am your Mr Darcy, Grace and I will sweep you off your feet. Slow and steady wins the race.

  I digress. At two, I heard your front door slam and you bristled and turned to find Andy Cox , wild-eyed and BALD, storm into the kitchen.

  “What have you done?” you whispered and your shock was palpable.

  “I love you,” the fool declared and began to cry. He actually began to cry. More fool you – you went to him and enveloped him in your arms.

  “I realised that it is you. I don’t love my wife. I couldn’t be with you if I loved her. I can’t lose you.”

  Your tears began and I watched with a lump in my throat, the bile churning in my gut, as the two of you embraced and poured out your stupid feelings. I fought the urge to go straight over to your place and slaughter the both of you!

  He went on to tell you that he had made a full confession to his wife. You reeled back in horror as he assured you that until that point she had been completely unaware of the affair and was suitably distraught at the news. He had decided to leave his marriage for you. I was cold and clammy and had this out of body feeling that I was dreaming. It was a nightmare.

  He looked ridiculous. Like a plucked chicken. Your eyes took it all in and ….

  FELL FOR IT.

  I felt sorry for you. He was spinning a great yarn and selling it well.

  Van Morrison crooned in the background. The two of you held each other, slightly swaying, for what seemed an eternity and then I heard the front door explode open and the two of you exited your trance instantly.

  Lo and behold, the scorned woman, took centre stage. This was better than any Hollywood movie I’d ever seen. It had all the ingredients for a good meaty ‘drama’. The deranged wife stormed into your living room, looking prickly with hands on hips and a firm set to her jaw.

  “I want the two of you to tell me to my face what is going on.”

  You looked like a stunned mullet. Mouth and eyes gaping.

  HE moved between you and I had visions of a snarling cat-fight, with scratching fingernails and hair-pulling. Wrestling on the floor until one of you went down and then HE could give the floor count…one..two….three….four…..

  Who would win? I think you might come out second best, Gracie. She’s bigger, with more to lose and even I think she is a bit unstable. A little madness, I believe, can create superhuman strength, sometimes.

  Back to the days of your life.

  You remained silent while scumbag blubbered to his wife. He looks quite ridiculous sans hair.

  “I’ve fallen in love with Grace.”

  “That’s not love…i
t’s lust. She’s the town whore and you are like a stupid spider caught in her trap.”

  “That’s not true.” Your voice was a whisper. Your face still bloodless and expressionless.

  The bowling ball just shrugged and said lamely, “I’m sorry.”

  “What about your daughter? How can you do this to her?”

  “I’m leaving you. Not my daughter.” He glared at her as forcefully as he was able which was about as forceful as a light breeze. One could not help but see that he was terrified of her. It was as if he had, for the first time, defied his mother, who was now staring at him over the bridge of her glasses, contemplating what sort of punishment would be taken.

  “What do you have to say for yourself, Grace? Is this how you treat your best friend? By stealing her husband?”

  You looked as if she’d slapped you.

  “I’m not your best friend….and I don’t know what to say, other than, I love Andrew and I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  You didn’t sound too apologetic. There was no remorse or warmth or sympathy in your eyes. You were not bowing down and submitting to her and the cool set of your jaw, told her that she couldn’t break you with guilt.

  “You will not see your daughter again, if you stay with this woman.” Amanda stated in an almost sing-song voice. Na-nana- na- na!

  “She’s not a thing to be withheld and used here, Amanda. Don’t do that. I love her and she loves me. That relationship is fine…it’s ours that’s broken.”

  “There is nothing wrong with us. You are just being selfish and going through some early mid-life crisis. I really think you need to see a psychiatrist.”

  “Oh, please!” You groaned.

  The wife ignored you and kept on at her husband, trying everything to make him snap and come back to her.

  “I am willing to forgive you Andrew. I’m willing to take you back. That’s a big deal. If you walk away from this place, you’ll have your family back…. The choice is yours. You stay – I will screw you over so badly – I will make sure that your daughter, your parents and all your friends want nothing to do with you. You will lose everything! What? All for a piece of arse?”

  I could see the adulterer’s thoughts swirling through his mind. His eyes looked like those of a rabbit, with a fox on one side and an embankment on the other side. He couldn’t tell how great the fall was or whether there was a chance of survival. The fox was promising forgiveness and he had to decide whether to believe that and go on living in a state of fear or to turn and jump to freedom, not knowing if the fall was a safe one metre or a fatal two hundred metre drop.

  You could hear the ticking of the imaginary clock that always seems to be in the background for a momentous decision.

  You and the other woman stood on either side of him, the suspense was building like steam in a pressure cooker. The wife snapped first, unable to contain her anticipation. She had decided not to give him the power to decide any longer. He had taken too much time already.

  “Your daughter will be arriving home from school any minute. Do you want me to walk home and tell her that you’ve decided that you love the “town bike” more than her? Or you can drive me home. We can be grown up and civil and we can sit down and explain the situation to her like responsible adults.”

  “It seems you have decided that is what’s happening.” Your man sounded like a wet Chihuahua.

  Poor Gracie. Your little face melted sadly off your face. He came and put his arms around you as the wife stormed out of the house.

  “Don’t go with her,” you begged. “I don’t trust her.”

  That was funny coming from “the other woman” to her cheating lover.

  “I’ll be back. I promise. I am so sure now.”

  You buried your head in his chest and he mussed your red hair.

  “I won’t back-peddle, Gracie.”

  A bicycle metaphor – how apt.

  “I owe this to my daughter. I want her to understand. I want her to know that I love her and that nothing has changed between us. She can come and play here. She likes you and Harry. It’ll all be good.”

  You stood and watched him go out the front door, listened to the roar of the truck up the driveway and went straight to the telephone. Jenny wasn’t there of course because she was picking your child up from school.

  GET YOUR CAR RE-REGISTERED.

  You are unravelling Grace. You’re looking a bit haggard. The stress of being a deceitful mistress is taking its toll. You have bags under your eyes, your hair is limp and a bit dull and you’re putting on some flab around the haunches.

  You paced up and down the dining room, peered out at the alpacas. Opened a kitchen drawer and took out a packet of cigarettes. I’m very disappointed. It’s one thing to have the odd social cigarette, another altogether to buy your own packet.

  You smoked it fast. Puffing like a steam train.

  You have been very bad. Standing up to that woman with no trace of sympathy for all the pain YOU have inflicted upon her. She thinks you are her best friend which I know you think is insanity but it is still very sad.

  You will need to be punished for your management of the situation this afternoon. If you let him move into your life, like a common-law husband, that will be the end of our friendship and it will not go well for you. I promise you that.

  Jenny arrived a few minutes later with another bottle of champagne. You silly women don’t realise that the crap you drink is no more real champagne, than cat piss. It’s cheap sparkling wine. Real champagne comes from France and there is nothing French about the cheap stuff you guzzle.

  You filled in Jenny on the latest developments. She was shocked beyond belief.

  “Bald?”

  You nodded and shook your head.

  “He looks ridiculous.”

  The two of you laughed. You began to smile as you told her how wonderful you felt when he told you that he loved you and that Van Morrison’s “Someone exactly like You,” was playing in the background.

  “When will he be back?”

  “Don’t know. It’ll take a while to explain to his little girl. That’s going to be tough for him and for her. She’s bright though and I’m sure she’s sensed that something was not right.”

  The two of you drank on through the afternoon and chain smoked like housing commission slags. Jenny left, drink-driving her girls all the way home and you went and lay down in the bedroom, leaving Harry to watch television. When do your big boys come home? They are missing a lot of school and I do think you are being very irresponsible. I have decided to send a representative from the Department of Children’s Services to visit you. They might like to look at some of your parenting skills, or lack thereof, and come up with some strategies. I do hope you get to keep your boys. That, my dear, is my punishment for this last transgression.

  You lit a candle in your room and put it by the bed, dressed in a pale blue baby-doll nightie and went to bed early. Harry fixed himself some toast and went to bed on the couch. I heard your phone ring but didn’t have my bug ear-piece in and couldn’t quite make out the message that was left on the machine. You are deeply asleep not to have heard it.

  At eleven I noticed in horror that the candle had burnt down and set your lavender potpourri alight. There was a mini-bonfire on your bedside table. You stirred but I needed to act fast. I grabbed my mobile and rang your number. It rang and rang…. Three, four, five rings and then you opened your eyes, looking disoriented for a moment. You saw the fire and leapt up, running to the bathroom. You grabbed a glass by the sink, filled it with water and ran back. It wasn’t quite enough to douse the flames, so you picked up your cardigan off the floor and smothered the flames. Thick smoke hung in the air and you sat down, exhausted by the ordeal. Looking across at the clock, you scratched your head and looked perplexed. Where was your lover? I could see the question forming in your head.

  You stood up and went to leave the room, before giving the smoke alarm and frown, murmuring “thanks a lot
” to it as you walked by. What a perfect shot. I can use that brilliantly, in my film.

  I switched to the camera in your computer room. You went there to check if there were any messages. The little light flashed 1.1.1.1 and I could see your eyes shut and your heart sink. You pressed play and this is what your heard.

  “Grace. It’s Andrew. I guess by now you know that I am not coming back. I made a big mistake this afternoon. My family mean too much to me and I realise that it was just a silly infatuation that we had. I’m sorry to have put you through this. I’ve been having some kind of breakdown and I haven’t been thinking right for the last few weeks. Bye.”

  You played it twice and then erased it and went back to bed. You lay there for a long time before closing your eyes. You are in pain, Grace. I can see that. But it is for the best and I for one am EXTREMELY RELIEVED. That is the end of that. You will forget all about this in time. I will help you.

  Good night.

  Wednesday 5th August

  It was my mother’s birthday today. I have a letter here from her solicitor. I didn’t even know she had one. She left her entire estate to Vicki Thorne nee Vulture. I just snarled and thought “rot in hell you old hag.” She had nothing of value and I’d already taken what I wanted so WHO CARES? NOT ME!!!

  Will you be at work? We’ll see.

  6:00 on the dot.

  You little trooper. You went to work sporting a very brave face. I see you’ve taken your car to Nick the mechanic. That can mean only one thing. You are on route to the registry office after getting the clearance and pink slip from him. Bat your eyes and I’m sure he’ll oblige.