Her lips pursed. She’d thought as much. All of the getting home late from work, and sneaky phone calls. Suddenly it all began to make sense. She shoved the note into his pocket just before he came back in.
For the remainder of that afternoon she could hardly think about anything else. Everything seemed to be going so well this time, so why would he? although she still wasn’t sure her
suspicions were correct, it was the only thing she could think to explain his odd behaviour lately. She could hear his footsteps coming down from the stairs as she sat back into the sofa.
He re-entered the room scratching his stubbly chin then headed straight for his jacket. She supposed there was only one way she could find out the truth, or at least get a little closer to it. So she made the instant decision of calling his bluff. "What’s that note hanging out of your pocket?" she questioned him with a naive look as she took hold of it. He attempted to retrieve it with a quickness of hand but she dodged and held it.
"I only wanted to look" she said bashfully, handing it back to him. He just snatched it away from her and walked out of the door, slamming it shut behind him. "You’re doing it again, arn’t you?" she growled, standing in the hallway as though he were still there in front of her. She picked up the vase and threw it against the front door, before resting her back against the wall and then
sliding to her knees.
It was the day after and she had just got back from the vets with the cat. He’d hurt his paw. She wasn’t quite sure how he had done it, but she suspected he’d been in a fight. Her friend Stacie had popped round there for a chat as she normally would on a Thursday afternoon. They just sat about gossiping over a bottle of sparkling wine, when suddenly the telephone rang. She got up to answer it.
A tear glistened in her eye as she stood there silently. She put down the reciever and glared at the wall.
"There’s never anything decent on the telly these days" cried Stacie.
But Jane was silent.
"Each time I’ve flicked it over the footballs been on" Stacie cried again.
Jane still didn’t answer.
Stacie folded her arms across her lap and let out a huge sigh. She looked up towards Jane to find her glaring back with wet, opaque eyes. "What’s the matter? asked Stacie hurriedly. That was the police, cried Jane. "It’s Pete, apparently he’s been in some sort of a fight. She sat down on the chair opposite Stacie and stared at her, he’s dead! she mimed as the tears streamed
from her face. Stacie, not quite sure what to do at this point, put a hand over Janes shoulder. Jane grabbed out for her burying her head into Stacies grasp. She just held her close, patting her back and gazing beyond her shoulder to the wall.
"They want me to go and identify the body" she said sobbing. "Apparently he’s in a real mess."
She had met Pete one sunny afternoon at the races. It was the Grand National and one of her uncles' horses were running. Whisky Nil at 25-2, he didn’t come anywhere mind you, but they
managed a great laugh and a good flutter. When they met he was so charming, a real gent. He was quite a tall man, around 5’ 10 to be more exact, with big saucer blue eyes and a cheeky
smile. His shirt hung over his trousers in quite a rebelious manner but there was someting in the way that he stood, something strong and confident. The sort of man her mother had always
warned her to stay away from ever since she was a little girl. He gave her a long, sideways glance. She could feel him studying her with his eyes and despite her reluctance to succumb to it, she couldn’t help but glance back at him with the same amount of affection. Within a few minutes he had walked over and offered to buy her a drink, which she accepted under her fathers watchful eyes. She remembered how she’d fell in love right from the moment she’d set her eyes on him.
Suddenly, she felt a sickly pang in her stomach. That was when it first dawned on her, never again would she see the man whom she'd spent her life with for the past fourteen years. Around about this time, they would be sat down together, drinking a pot of tea whilst the dinner sat cooking on the stove. Now the only thing that was left for her to do was to watch the clock or... push the vaccum cleaner across the floor for the tenth time. Just then she saw the police car pulling up outside and two officers stepping out of it. She didn’t wait for the knock on the door, she just grabbed her handbag and followed them out. The lady officer put a reassuring arm on her shoulder before she gently closed the door and got into the vehicle.
She felt a numbness as they drove past, as though everthing else was moving instead of them. She clung to her handbag with the faint glint of hope that the police were somehow mistaken,
she would get there and it would be somebody else lying in that draw and not Pete.
The morgue attendant pulled down the zip on the bag, it was probably the longest three seconds of her life as she stood there watching. Suddenly he prized the gap apart and turned to her, "is that him?" he said blandly. She put her face into the sodden tissue as the tears continued to stream from her face. "Yes" she cried, "that's him."
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