Flings and Arrows Page 10

  ‘When can I see you again Si?’ the woman gasped.

  ‘I’ll call you,’ Tom promised.

  ‘No, best not,’ the woman looked anguished, ‘I’ll call you darling. I love you Si.’

  Tom cupped Amanda’s face in both hands. The two of them began to kiss again. June stopped fiddling with the zipper and instead hastened down the garden path, wheelie trolley bouncing along in her wake. She wanted to get away. Before Tom saw her. No wonder Steph looked peaky. She must be worried sick about young Tom’s tangled love life. And why on earth had that Amanda woman kept calling Tom ‘Si’? Something didn’t stack up.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Si swam to the surface of wakefulness. He’d had some very strange dreams. At one point he’d been sitting on a bed massaging Dawn’s foot. But then Dawn had changed into Steph. Si had decided to broach the subject of Barry Hastings.

  ‘Why?’ he’d beseeched his wife. ‘Why are you planning an affair with Barry Hastings?’

  And Steph had apologised. And cried. And then suddenly her arms had been around him. She’d pulled him into bed with a strength he hadn’t known she possessed. And Si had felt an overwhelming sense of relief. All was well again. He wasn’t entirely sure but nonetheless suspected Steph had stripped him down to his boxers. They’d spent the night together like two curved spoons, her arms wrapped around him. It was very comforting.

  As Si hovered at the floaty stage between consciousness and oblivion, he was aware of Steph still curled into his back. She wasn’t wearing her nightdress. He could feel her warm breasts against his skin. Nice. Steph’s hand crept around his waist. He caught it and gave it a little squeeze. She squeezed back. He caressed her fingers with his thumb. She shook her hand loose and began stroking his tummy. Light, butterfly strokes. A little lower. And lower still. Si instantly felt himself responding. His boxer shorts began to tent. Thank God everything was okay between them both. He’d been more anxious than he liked to admit over the Barry Hastings business. In another minute, when he was properly awake, he would make love to his wife. Reclaim her. And nothing and no-one would ever come between them again.

  Somewhere a bell rang shrilly. The sound drilled into Si’s temples. The noise had barely ceased when it began again. Angry staccato bursts. Steph’s hand continued to tease. Si opened bleary eyes. Daylight peeked around the cracks of undrawn curtains. The room was unfamiliar. Puzzled, Si’s eyes darted from left to right taking in the surroundings. A scrap of lace was on the floor. Si squinted. A nightdress. Suddenly memory whooshed into his brain. Si’s eyes widened with horror. Dawn’s nightdress! He wasn’t at 42 Jessamine Terrace. And the hand edging past his naval didn’t belong to Steph. Si thought he was going to vomit. He rocketed out of bed.

  ‘Ignore the bell pet. It’ll be the postman. He’ll go away in a minute,’ said Dawn.

  Si stared at Dawn in horror. She was totally starkers. His boxers went from mild tenting to church steeple. Only one thing was certain. Si had literally been saved by the bell. This was all bloody Terry’s fault. Si should never have taken Dawn to A&E. Terry was the boss man. He should have done it himself. Stuff any compensation claim. If Steph found out about this, his marriage would be over before you could say Barry Bloody Hastings. Whoever was at the door, they’d now resorted to leaning on the bell. The noise was almost blood curdling.

  Si jammed his feet into his trainers. In one movement he’d swept his clothes off the floor. Grabbing his van keys, he shot into the hallway. Never mind getting dressed. He didn’t care who was at the door. Dawn could see to them. So what if she was butt naked and couldn’t walk without her crutches. Not his problem. He just wanted out of here. Si flung the door open. In his haste to put distance between himself and Dawn, he shoved the bell ringer aside.

  ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ screeched a horribly familiar voice.

  Si was so frightened he dropped everything. Turning round, he put his hands up in the air. A gesture of surrender.

  ‘I can explain everything,’ he informed Steph.

  His wife’s eyes blazed at him. And then fixed on his underpants. Si followed her gaze. He stared with dismay at the steeple in his boxers.

  ‘I can explain everything,’ he repeated.

  ‘I’ll bet you can’t,’ she spat.

  ‘Please love. I just want to get out of here, let’s go h–’

  Si watched in horror as Steph disappeared into Dawn’s house.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he wailed.

  Si stood helplessly on the garden path. In the distance there was an ominous rumbling. He didn’t know if it was World War Three breaking out at 35 Hurst Road, or whether it was simply a large vehicle approaching. A part of Si wanted to make a mad dash to his van and leave rubber tyre marks on the road. Another part wanted to race inside the house to make sure his wife didn’t murder Dawn. A sudden hiss of air-brakes nearly gave Si a coronary.

  ‘For God’s sake man, put some clothes on,’ said a gruff voice. Si spun round to see a dustman coming through the gate.

  ‘You BITCH!’ he heard Steph scream.

  ‘What’s going on in there?’ asked the dustman.

  ‘Get out of my house!’ Dawn was yelling.

  Si’s throat was horribly dry. ‘I’m not too sure.’

  The dustman began emptying Dawn’s wheelie bin. One of the bags had split.

  ‘Don’t worry – I’m going!’ Steph’s voice again. ‘But before I leave I’m warning you now to keep your claws out of my husband. Do you understand? Or you’ll find yourself back in Accident & Emergency with two dodgy feet.’

  ‘Sounds like some sort of domestic,’ said the dustman. He bent down to push detritus back into the split sack. ‘They sound like a right pair of harpies. Do you mind me asking why you’re standing in the front garden with no clothes on?’

  ‘It’s complicated,’ said Si.

  Steph erupted out of the house. Two pink spots stained her cheeks.

  ‘Look out,’ said the dustman.

  Dawn was hot on Steph’s heels. She was still naked. All sign of a limp was gone.

  ‘How dare you threaten me,’ Dawn was shrieking. Her hair was a tangled mess, eyes wild. Her unsupported chest wobbled alarmingly. Its sheer size threatened to inflict grievous bodily harm on anybody who stood in the way. The dustman’s mouth dropped open and the rubbish sack slipped from his grasp.

  Steph immediately grabbed it. Not missing a beat, she spun on her heel and lobbed it at Dawn.

  ‘What a shot!’ murmured the dustman as remnants of curry and rice smacked Dawn in the face.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re staring at!’ Steph snarled at the dustman. ‘And as for you Simon Garvey. Take this!’

  And with that Steph punched Si in the face.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Steph was thoroughly upset. In fact she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in such a state. She shoved her way past the gormless dustman. She couldn’t quite believe what she’d just done – she’d punched her beloved Si. She hoped it hadn’t hurt. She loved her husband. And now she hated him too. The two-timing rotten bastard.

  Steph yanked Dawn’s gate open. Two more dustmen were standing on the pavement. They were rooted to the spot. Like living statues holding their wheelie bins. Both wore gobsmacked expressions. Steph glanced at the dustcart driver. He had his window down, an elbow leaning casually out. His was looking at the scene before him, his mouth a perfect O.

  ‘What are you all staring at?’ she snarled. ‘I pay a fortune in Council Tax so get on with your jobs!’

  The men immediately began busying themselves, studiously pretending it was just another day on the bins. Steph slammed the gate so hard it nearly came off its hinges. Boy, hadn’t she made their morning! She could just imagine the conversation when they were back at the depot.

  ‘There was this half-naked geezer in a front garden. And then his missus turned up. All guns blazing. Right old harridan she was.’

  ‘No
!’

  ‘Yes! And then this life sized Barbie doll came to the front door and had absolutely nothing on. Isn’t that right Fred?’ And Fred would touch his cap and say aye a lot.

  ‘And then the old harridan flung all the garbage about before punching her old man’s lights out. Wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her.’

  And they’d all thank their lucky stars that their wives were calm and didn’t beat them up. But then again their wives probably didn’t have philandering husbands to contend with. Or have to deal with mistresses who had strap on inflatable chests.

  A bus was coming. Steph darted past the dustmen and sprinted to the bus stop. Her heart was banging like a bongo drum. She charged through the automatic doors, clinging on tightly to the metal poles as the bus lurched off. She tried to steady her breathing. Her heart seemed to have shifted position. It was now pumping away in her throat. Her hands were shaking like an addict going through withdrawal. Her legs were like jelly. She collapsed on to a seat, emotionally spent.

  Steph’s eyes filled with tears. She stared out the window, watching the rush hour traffic. All around her people were going about their business. Off to work. Off to the shops. Off to school with the kids. Young mums pushed buggies along the pavement. Their older offspring skipped ahead with carefree abandon. It was just another ordinary day for all these people. All they’d had to deal with was burning the toast. Or making sure they had a clean shirt for the office. Had any of them spent the last hour tracking down their unfaithful spouse? Or flung curry cartons at their spouse’s love interest? She doubted it.

  The tears brimmed over. Two fat drops ran down her cheeks. Steph was aghast. The last thing she wanted to do was break down in public. She wiped the tears away angrily. She needed to focus. Think about practical things for the moment. Like work. She found her mobile. Flicking through the contact list, she called Shirley.

  Shirley answered almost immediately. ‘Hey Steph. I’ve been looking out for you. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m on the bus Shirl. I’m going back home.’

  ‘Oh dear. You sound upset. Is everything okay?’

  Steph inhaled shakily. ‘I’m not sure. I feel very strange at the moment.’

  ‘I’ll let Personnel know. You get yourself to bed. I’m sure you’ll be fine tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks Shirl.’ Steph put the phone away. She doubted she’d be fine tomorrow. She doubted she’d be fine ever again. Steph leant her head against the window. She couldn’t think straight. She needed to be rational but all her thoughts kept jumbling over themselves. Should she try and iron things out with Si? Forgive him? Or wave good-bye to her marriage? Twenty-four years of matrimony undone in twenty-four seconds. But maybe Si wouldn’t want to sort things out? One of Steph’s hands fluttered to her mouth in horror. What if – she stifled a sob – what if Si was actually pleased everything was out in the open? Maybe he’d been planning on leaving her all along. Steph’s eyes filled again. She couldn’t stand it. Her Si. Her lovely, safe, sensible Si. He’d discarded her like those unwanted curry cartons. Steph sniffed and blinked rapidly. Foraging in her bag for a tissue, she blew her nose. Jessamine Terrace loomed into view. She stood up and swayed to the exit doors.

  Steph could see Tom getting out of a sports car. Goodness. Who did her son know who drove a car like that? Further ahead, Steph could see June going the other way up Jessamine Terrace. Her neighbour was almost sprinting, a shopping trolley bouncing along in her wake. The sports car roared off. Tom turned to wave, his face animated. As Steph approached, Tom looked her way.

  ‘Hi Mum,’ he smiled. ‘You look like shit.’

  ‘Don’t speak like that Tom.’

  ‘Okay, you look like pooh. Is that better?’

  Steph shrugged. ‘I feel like pooh.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Tom opening the front door. ‘In fact, I’m going to bed. Been up all night. Catch you later Mum.’

  ‘Make the most of being young, free and single Tom.’

  Tom laughed. ‘I am. Before I end up like you and Dad. Wedded bliss, mortgage and a terrible teenager.’ He hugged Steph briefly before bounding up the stairs two at a time.

  Steph felt like going to bed too. She wanted to draw her curtains on the world. Slide under the duvet. Pull it over her head. And never get up again. Instead she went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Her laptop was still on the kitchen table. While the kettle was boiling, Steph fired up the computer. She pulled out a kitchen chair. Sitting down, she logged on to Facebook. Ah yes. The message from Barry Hastings. It seemed like a life time ago. Well one thing was certain. Now she could arrange to meet Barry with a clear conscience.

  Clicking on the Messages icon, Steph began to type.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  June wheeled her trolley along the pavement. It was quite heavy now. A bottle of cheap wine and several tins of fruit cocktail weighted the base of the trolley. She had all the ingredients for the chilli chicken casserole. Sainsbury’s had been doing a special offer on baking potatoes so she’d bought a bag. She could pad the meal out with a few tasty jackets. June was sure Si, whilst not being a growing lad, would nonetheless be hungry. He worked so hard, the dear boy. And Steph looked like she needed feeding up too. She must be expending huge amounts of calories simply worrying about Tom’s shenanigans.

  As June walked along the High Street, she was surprised to see Harry on the opposite side of the road. He was stepping out of the Happy Coach Holidays shop. He looked mighty pleased with himself. June was about to wave, but a bus drew alongside her obscuring him from view. By the time the bus had moved on, Harry had disappeared. June scanned the pavement to no avail. Not to worry. She would ask him about it tonight.

  As June rounded the corner to Jessamine Terrace, she saw Si’s van driving in at the other end. By the time Si had inched the van backwards and forwards into a parking space, June was parallel with the driver’s door. She knocked on the window. Si jumped out of his skin and his foot slipped off the clutch. The van promptly stalled and bunny-hopped into the bumper of the car in front. There was a horrible bang. June put her hand to her mouth. Oh dear! She knocked on the window again.

  ‘I’m so sorry Si. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ Si appeared to be clutching his chest. He wasn’t moving. Oh no. Had he had a heart attack? Had June inadvertently killed him?

  The door to Number 50 flew open. June watched with trepidation as Mr Papadopoulos came down his garden path. He was rolling up his sleeves. Was he preparing for a fight?

  ‘You bleedin’ idiot,’ he bellowed.

  June wasn’t keen on Mr Papadopoulos. He never smiled. And his eyes were too close together.

  ‘Please don’t shout Mr Papadopoulos,’ June quavered. ‘It’s my fault. I made Si jump. I’m worried he’s had a heart attack.’

  ‘Well if you haven’t killed him, I will. I’ve only just got that car back from the garage after the wife reversed into a lamp post.’ He walked round the back of the car and hunkered down to scrutinise the bumper.

  Suddenly the van door creaked opened. Si levered himself out. He was rubbing his neck and had a black eye.

  ‘Si you’re injured!

  ‘I’m okay,’ Si assured. June thought he looked anything but. ‘Is the bumper all right Mr Papadopoulos?’

  ‘It looks okay, but I can’t tell for sure. It might have a scratch on it.’ Mr Papadopoulos looked pained.

  Si reached into his back pocket for his wallet. ‘Here,’ he said handing Mr Papadopoulos two twenties. ‘I’m sure the garage can touch it in if there’s a problem.’

  ‘Cheers. You are a good man.’ Mr Papadopoulos palmed the money. ‘Your eyeball, however, doesn’t look so good. I’d get a steak on that if I were you.’ He stuffed the money into his trouser pocket and sauntered back to his house.

  ‘Beastly man,’ said June staring after Mr Papadopoulos with dislike. She turned back to Si. ‘All I seem to do lately is cause you trouble.’

  ‘June, don’t worry about it
. I manage to get into enough trouble all by myself. Cross words from Mr Papadopoulos are nothing – water off a duck’s back.’

  June stared at Si. ‘Why are your trousers on back to front? And your t-shirt is all dirty.’ She flicked a hand across his shoulder. ‘You have rice on it.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a story love. I’d better get indoors and clean myself up.’

  ‘Of course dear. I’ll look forward to seeing you and Steph at seven.’ Si looked blank. ‘My little dinner party. Remember? You’re meeting Harry.’

  June wasn’t sure, but for a moment she thought Si had looked dismayed. But now he was nodding his head, smiling assuredly. ‘Ah yes, of course, and we’re really looking forward to it love.’

  June beamed. ‘Well I’d better be off too. Lots to do. Toodle-oo.’

  Once inside her kitchen, June put everything away and then started cooking. She wanted the chicken to be really tender. She studied the recipe for chilli chicken casserole. These recipes had a tendency to be bland. Fortunately she’d bought plenty of fresh chillies to liven it up. Setting the oven temperature to low, June busied herself with the preparation. A little while later she transferred the mammoth casserole pot to the centre of the oven. Minutes later she placed foil-wrapped potatoes around the pot’s edge. She was looking forward to this!

  Now that the cooking bit was out of the way, June could take Ralph for his walk. She called the terrier’s name. There was a plopping sound followed by trotting paws.

  ‘Have you been on my bed again?’ asked June as Ralph appeared in the kitchen. Ralph wagged his tail. ‘I thought so. You won’t be able to do that if we go to Brighton. I don’t think Harry will like it.’ Ralph stopped wagging his tail. June couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t entirely sure where Ralph was going to sleep if she agreed to go, or whether there was enough room for Ralph’s basket in the boot of the BMW. She’d better ask Harry if the hotel was dog friendly. Clipping on the lead, June and Ralph set off for the park.