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Know Nowt Nigel

By: Spencerfiction



Clueless, absolutely clueless, I was. Didn't even have an inkling and I would have continued to have lived in ignorance if it hadn't been for that blasted leaking factory roof. 

I loved that sodding woman, my wife Pat, and I would have given my life for her in a heartbeat if I had to. And to have our life together ended in such a cliché, well the heartbreak was almost unbearable.

Oh, I'm Nigel, by the way, Nigel Billings, just your average guy, medium height, medium build, pretty well unremarkable in every way. I don't do anything smart, I'm just a cog in the wheel. I worked in a printing factory all week on a graveyard shift 3pm to half-past midnight, Tuesday to Friday.

A normal life for a normal guy. I didn't think my whole life was all a lie and that it would collapse so quickly around my sticky-out ears. But there you go, what do we know what's going on around us until it hits us between the eyes?

So that was me, "homme ordinaire", what about my wife Pat? 

She's so much more than better than average, my wife of 25 years, in fact she's a walking wet dream, always has been and still is. Don't ask me how I landed her in the first place, because I'm totally clueless, right? Tall, at 5-8 she's already an inch taller than me and when she wears killer heels she towers over me, but I got over that little complex while we were still courting. It was never an issue all the while she was on my arm, I revelled in showing her off. Blue-eyed and blond, beautiful, goes without saying, although at 45 years of age her blond locks do now have the fortnightly assistance of the colourist at Marlene's hairdressing salon in the village. 

To some, her slim figure might be regarded as a little too flat-chested, but to a dyed-in-the-wool arse-and-leg man like myself, her tight buns and long slim shapely legs are absolutely to die for. As for her small breasts, well they managed to raise our three kids without any complaints from them and with her regular fitness ritual of three two-hour sessions a week at the gym, they are still pert above a flat stomach and are a perfect handful for me. Why would you need any more? 

As far as anyone was concerned, including me at the time, I was one lucky son of a gun and should count my blessings. Oh, I did, every day I thanked my lucky stars, until the night of that bloody leaking factory roof. Then the sky was so overcast you couldn't see any stars at all, whether they were lucky ones or not.

It was a year ago to the day that the incident that completely buggered up my life happened. I guess the consequences of that night ruined a number of people's lives but I'm selfish enough to ignore everyone else in this. I know that I lost out big time and don't really give a toss about what it meant to anyone else. Fine, I do concede that others suffered and are still suffering from the fallout and I guess if I am honest the majority of the consequential events are pretty well down to my actions at the time. But do I give a damn? Course I bloody don't, why should I? They don't give a damn about me! No. Not one of them.

Where do I begin? Well, I suppose I better start with the fire. 

Of course it was Old Jack Grafton's fault, the tight old git, and his incompetent son Jack Junior only compounded the original error. The roof of the sixty-years-old building in which we worked had always leaked and every time it rained heavily we had to place up to a dozen plastic dustbins to catch not just the drips but in some places a constant stream of dirty rust-contaminated rainwater. The Grafton Graphics' owners were a bunch of cheapskates and, rather than replace the entire roof, which it really needed, they just patched up the worst bits from time to time. All that did was move the leaks further along the roof, giving the disadvantage of not being able to predict each time where all the drips, or what often turned out as babbling brooks, would end up.

The night of the fire was a wet thundery autumn night, when it absolutely tipped down like a tropical monsoon for about 45 minutes. At the far end of the building, where I worked alone in the plate-room, I only had a single leak, the stain on the wall signified its regular route. I didn't need a dustbin for this one as it just streamed down the wall to puddle on the floor. As usual, I simply chucked a pile of cleaning rags down to soak it up and prevent it reaching the gangway where it would have been a slip hazard. I carried on running sets of printing plates as I was unaffected by that particular leak.

Then, about twenty-five minutes after the thunderstorm started, the lights in the plate-room flickered before the room was plunged into darkness and all the machinery stopped working. The green emergency exit lights came on within a matter of seconds but the generator back-up for the mains power simply failed to kick in. The street lights were still on outside so it was clearly an issue isolated to our old building. I grabbed my coat and bag from next to the doorway and left the room by the internal door and walked down a short corridor. 

When I entered the factory doors it was clear that we had serious problems. The place was filled with black smoke and the sprinklers were on. That was a total disaster in any printing works. 

I ducked back into the plate-room and out through the nearest emergency exit at the back of the factory. I made my way to the evacuation meeting point round the front of the building through a continuing heavy rainstorm. 

Toby Mullens, the assistant night manager was in charge this Friday night and ticked me off his increasingly damp muster list. Looked like I was last one out (but you guessed that anyway, didn't you?) because he then announced that all were present and correct. I liked Toby, he was young and ambitious but fair and always appreciative. Toby asked rather than ordered people to do things and people generally responded positively. One thing he knew how to do was make decisions.

"Right, we are all present and accounted for, the Fire Service are on their way. " he said. "Can we get these cars moved from the front car park, otherwise they'll be blocked in?"

A few people groaned, as they realised their keys were still inside, securely inaccessible in their lockers. I was parked around the back near the car park exit, so I had no problem. A few of us, me included, cheerfully rattled our keys, to the groans of those trapped with their keys and coats still in their changing lockers. 

"The leak found its way into the electrical box for the five-colour press," continued Toby, "And the explosion blew the door off; the sparks ignited the nearby dirty rag bin full of ink solvents, which then spread to the press. So, we are probably out of action for the rest of the night. Once the fire fighters have damped down the electrics, the night shift will have to clean up and assess the damage. All the printed work from today and all the paper set out for tomorrow's jobs are going to have to be replaced. It's clear that no printing will continue until late morning Saturday at the earliest, possibly not until Monday."

We could hear the sirens from at least a couple of fire engines which made their way up the bypass. As a few guys who did have car keys on them hurried to move their cars, Toby approached me. 

"As it is an electrical problem, once the fire is damped down the sparks engineer will have to check the box and put it right, possibly replace it. They have a two-hour response time before they even turn up and you finish in less than three hours, so you might as well push off home now." 

The plate-room was the only production department on a two-shift system, everyone else was on three-shifts. If a plate went blind on the press between half-past midnight and six in the morning, the machine minders would have to make it themselves.

I told Toby what he probably already knew, that there were plates running through the processor, which would have to be removed and dumped and probably all the chemicals cleaned out and replenished, before restarting plating again. That would kill off half the next platemaking shift. He did say a few rude words. We both knew we would have to re-make all the plates on the seized-up presses as well as run out fresh plates for all the spoiled print work from the last few days, all part of the accumulating costs of not spending a few timely quid on the dodgy roof.

So I rushed off to shift my car out of the way before the firefighters decided to approach the fire from both ends of the building and block my escape. As I drove out of the trading estate I glanced at the time, not quite 10.30pm, over three hours early. With any luck Pat would still be up and possibly horny. OK, I'm an optimist at heart, so what's wrong with that? 

As it worked out I was correct on both counts but failed to benefit from either. 

To get her in the mood for a bit of unscheduled loving, I stopped off at the all-night supermarket just off the bypass and picked up a bottle of wine, some chocolates and a bunch of flowers, roses I think they were. Hey, I can put in an effort on the romantic side when I need to.

As I pulled into my road, which is in the form of a crescent, a quiet road with an opening at each end, I noticed a bright red Porsche reverse throatily out of my drive ahead of me and scoot up the road driving swiftly away from me. I instantly recognised the car, it belonged to Reggie Nicholson, Pat's boss. He had bought the nearly-new sports car that March or April and had invited everyone he knew to an unseasonably cool Sunday barbecue to show his bloody knob extension off. 

I had the sinking feeling it wasn't just the extension he'd been showing off tonight.

^^^***^^^

Patricia Bellows was a secretary in the office at the factory where I worked at the time I first met her, about 28 years ago. It was not an auspicious start to our long relationship, as I originally went up to the office to have a whinge at the wages clerk about cocking up my overtime pay for the previous week. We got paid on a Thursday night in those days, proper fat envelopes of actual cash, folded notes, loose change and a payslip. Once we got our hands on the cash the younger element of the workforce, me included, decamped to the nearest pub for a few pints and games of darts, bar billiards, shove ha'penny or cribbage before comically stumbling home on foot or push-bike. That was my simple Thursday nights pleasure each week, those were the days.

I was 23 at the time and a journeyman printer, just two years out of my apprenticeship and with seven years' single-colour offset litho press experience behind me. Over my first pint of light and bitter, checking my pay slip, I discovered that I hadn't been paid for a Saturday morning's overtime, which at time and a half was six hours' pay, meaning my wages were about 12% light, a good chunk of change, that I had looked forward to spending on wine, women and song at the weekend. I told you earlier I was an optimist, didn't I? Well, I always was until recently. The working week ran from Monday to Sunday, so any work on the Saturday was paid on the immediately following Thursday.

So, come 9 o'clock Friday morning, when the tardy office staff decided to stroll in leisurely to reluctantly start working their last day of the week, I stormed up to the wages office and slammed my pay slip down on Polly Campbell's desk and told her how I was pissed off that I was missing six hours' pay. Polly calmly said she would look into it, check the appropriate clocking-in cards and come and see me in the press room later. 

I spun around intending to stomp off, as you do, and I collided with a new girl I had never seen before. She was carrying two plastic cups of coffee, one presumably for Polly, and colliding with me meant that coffee splashed all over her smart lemon-yellow print dress.

Of course I was sorry, profusely told her so and offered to pay for the dry-cleaning, but she was very nice about it and sweetly said she was sure it would wash out. She had a nice smile and I'm an absolute sucker for a sweet smile. It was only later when she headed back to the coffee machine for refills that I had a chance to check out her more than admirable legs and arse. 

So I followed my apology up by catching up with her at the drinks dispenser and asking her out for dinner. She was very young and shy and blushed crimson, before declining. Damn, she probably already had a young lad slathering after her. Lucky bugger! Couldn't blame him, really, she was gorgeous.

When Polly caught up with me later, I was working on my single-colour offset press printing magazine covers one colour at a time. She gave me a fresh wage packet with a new payslip and the balance of the cash I was owed. I asked Polly about the new girl, well I would wouldn't I? 

Pollyanna was quite a chatty married lady with young children who had just stared school, so Polly was back working full-time. She was very platinum blonde, tended to wear short tight skirts and she more than made up for whatever was lacking in the young lady I was interested in, as regards the chest department. It was always a treat for the whole press room to lure Polly into where we could enjoy a good ogle. I could see my grubby workmates gathering around to enjoy the view. Fortunately, the noise in the press room took some overcoming to have a conversation, so I put my head close enough to Polly's to be almost overcome by her perfume - and I thought the volatile solvents we used on the presses were heady enough!

Polly grinned at my interest in the new girl and was prepared to give up what little info she had on her. I found out that her name was Pat, she was only 18, fresh from secretarial college, shy and single, and didn't appear to have a steady boyfriend, either. This was only her fifth day in the company and she hadn't ventured out of the general office yet. Polly thought I might have a good chance with her as Pat had asked Polly who I was immediately after I had left. I thanked her and asked if she had a mind to send Pat down to see me by my machine over some pretext or other. She laughed, saying the state of my handwriting on my time sheets meant that she could probably send Pat down half-a-dozen times a day! 

Good old Polly. I still see her round town nowadays. Likes a drink does Polly, but has let herself go a bit. Had an affair with a bloke in the bindery a couple of years after I met Pat, which cost her the marriage, the house, and alienated her kids. Sad, really, feel sorry for her even though we're now both in the same boat.

Sure enough, Pat was sent down to find me later that day. Fortunately, the press was idle when she arrived as I was washing down, either between colours or from an earlier job. I asked her if she'd had a chance to walk around the factory yet. She had, when she came for the second job interview, but had been shown around by Joan, the office manager at the end of the afternoon and everyone who had a clue what went on the factory had long since gone home. 

The factory worked from 8 to 4.30 and the office hours in those days were an hour later, from 9 to 5.30. So I showed Pat around, aware I was going to come in for some considerable stick from my leery mates later on. When we got to the paper store at the end of the factory, where it was relatively quiet, well as quiet as any printing factory gets, I popped the vital question again to ask if I could take her out to dinner. She coloured up prettily, I thought, saying she would think about it. I was about to beg, just before we got to the big rubber doors leading to the binding department, when she suddenly said yes. 

We stopped there while I dug out a stub of pencil from my inky overalls and tore off a piece of paper wrapping to write down her telephone number and address. We arranged to meet up that very night at 7 and she toddled off on her precarious heels with me watching the nicest view of a girl departing that I had seen in a month of Sundays. I had to sneak into the foreman's office to make a call to the restaurant to make a reservation, crossing my fingers that they had a free table for two. They did. Woo-hoo!

I checked my finances. I used to put a few bob away each week in my building society account on a Saturday. This meal tonight was likely to cost me more than I had in spending money for the whole week. I had to get a sub off my old mother from my rent that I had left on the side board after coming home from the pub on Thursday night. I needed that cash until I could get into town to the building society after overtime Saturday morning and draw out enough to pay her back.

Mum could tell I was impressed by this girl, I had my Saturday night bath on Friday night and put on my best suit, make that my only suit. I didn't really think through what I was going to do for the second date, or if there was even going to be one, I went all out on that first night.

I had checked out where she lived on my way home from the factory, in the beat-up old Vauxhall car I used to drive back in those days, so I could find it again easily in the dark. No satellite navigation in those days, how ever did we manage? 

We came from different backgrounds, Pat and I. I was factory floor blue-collar, she worked in the office. Her parents were middle-class and owned a sweet shop in the High Street, while my dad operated a lathe in a factory, making washing machine parts. I lived with my parents in a rented house in the middle of a terrace block in a tightly crowded council estate, Pat's parents' house was rather more up-market, an owner-occupied semi-detached with a garage and space at the side to expand into if they wanted. 

Their back garden I later found out had a gazebo and was laid to lawns and shrub beds; our back yard was concreted over and we had my Dad's pigeon loft in a shed at the back. They had a village green out the front with its own rustic duck pond. The only grass around our way came up through the cracks in the pavement. 

I was due to pick Pat up at 7. Of course she wasn't ready, so I was shown through the square expansive hallway into a front sitting room where I had to wait on a chintz-covered settee for ten minutes, entertained by her little sister, Eveline. 

Now, Evie could make any man squirm, she still can actually. At that time she was only 12 and kept on asking me embarrassing questions, like had I kissed Patricia yet and where were we going and what were we having to eat and when would we be back and when would I'd be taking her out again? Oh, and did I know I had sticky-out ears? Yes, I knew. All these questions delivered with her all-encompassing earnestness which persists to this day. I felt I'd heard enough "when-where-why" words to last until the world ended. 

Evie and I have been dancing around each other teasing and flirting, without any serious intentions either way, for getting on for thirty years. I found her exhausting most of the time, but we always seemed to get on. Pat once reckoned Evie had a crush on me when she was a kid but I could never see it.

When Pat waltzed into that cosy sitting room, it was like the walls melted and we were alone in the middle of a ballroom and for just an instant I felt I could dance from here to the moon. And I couldn't dance for toffee, I was the original wallflower that had ivy growing up me. But I floated out of that grand semi-detached with the glamorous Pat on my arm like I had wings. 

Until I got to my rusty heap of a car that is. I kept forgetting that the passenger door in old car used to stick like a bitch. I never used that door myself. My passengers only ever used that door on a Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning when I picked up a few chunky mates to watch the match in the afternoon, and play Sunday football in the morning. Damn, I pulled and pulled at that stubborn bitch of a door and swore, then I went round the drivers' side and gave it the full force of my size tens to open the son of a bitch from the inside. 


Know Nowt Nigel



My football mates are all beefy types so I don't normally have to bother with opening the door for them. There was probably a technique to opening it which my mates had learned through necessity which I hadn't bothered to acquire. My Mum wouldn't be seen dead in my heap of a vehicle, so it hadn't been an issue until that point. I profusely apologised to Pat for my heap of a car and for my unrestrained outburst of profanity. Pat, god bless her cotton jimjams, just smiled sweetly.

"Le Clipper" was a swanky restaurant on the London Road that used to be just off the bypass. It has long since gone, replaced by a hideous modern square steel and glass motel, which is usually busy thanks to the power of national advertising. While it was still a restaurant it had changed hands quite a few times over the years since it started out as a coaching inn one-and-a-half centuries ago. At the time I was describing it, the restaurant had been recently renamed and served up a mostly Anglicised-French menu. 

We were escorted to our table by a snooty-nosed penguin who recognised that my ill-fitting suit was off-the-peg in Burton's last-but-one January sales, while Pat's heavenly chiffon creation was this season's from a High Street boutique in a smart city many miles from this deader-than-alive industrial town. 

He seated Pat with a flourish, at our slightly less than intimate table for two out in the middle of the restaurant, flashing an ingratiatingly smooth smile at her. Then he pulled the chair out for me to step inside and I swear he shoved that chair into the back of my legs so I flopped down into my seat like a rag doll. If I had false teeth they would have rattled. What could I say? I was on an important date with a very classy bird and had to be on my best behaviour. If this was the Pig & Whistle I'd've decked the greasy bastard. 

To be honest though, I was more than a bit intimidated by the surroundings. This may have been only the first time I felt out of my depth in the company of Patricia Bellows, it wasn't going to be the last but I wasn't aware of that at the time.

The waiter for our table was summoned by the penguin and he brought over the menus, handing one to the lady first, naturally. Then a separate bloody waiter brought over the wine list and handed it to me. The first waiter lit the candle in the middle of the table and retreated to allow us to make our choices. The wine waiter, however, hovered about at my shoulder. I resisted the temptation to order a pint of lager, especially after I saw the price of a half pint was one-a-half times more expensive than a full pint down my local.

Pat was still perusing the menu when I asked her politely if a carafe of the house wine was acceptable, she looked up and smiled, saying yes. Then, after further prompting she selected white, so I was able to get rid of the wine waiter. No wonder they charge so much for everything in these places, they were way overstaffed. I can't remember what we ordered all those years ago, but I expect Pat had the roast chicken with loads of creamy herby French sauce dribbled all over it and I guess I would have had the crisply well-done steak as naked as nature intended, except for a dollop of Colman's on the side, thank you very much!

What I do remember though is that while I was holding up that menu, all written in fancy French words that I struggled to interpret, I inadvertently held the top of it over the central candle flame. I didn't notice this, as I was studying the fine bloody print at the bottom, trying to find a side order of chips and beans, probably, until the menu was well alight. 

Pat shouted first, I think she said "Fire!" but she might have sworn something fairly obscene, her finishing school aimed to send their girls out armed with a comprehensive vocabulary.

I definitely swore, those laminated plastics go up like flaming Roman candles. Then I dropped the blessed thing like a hot potato, which knocked the candle over and set the lace doily resting on the tablecloth alight. The wine waiter turned up at that point with our carafe of wine. I grabbed it and poured half of it over the flames. 

What a bloody palaver that caused. The first penguin, who already had a low opinion of my taste in dark blue worsted whilst at the same time openly admiring my date's cleavage, looked down his aquiline nose as if I had come in on the bottom of some tramp's boots, while he cleared the detritus from the table. He returned with fresh linen, cutlery, glasses, and new menus. No candle, though. 

I was too embarrassed to add any smart remark, which was a first for me, I told you I felt intimidated. Most of the diners round and about all thought the episode was amusing and a couple of guys were sympathetic enough to tell me just how close they had come to doing exactly the same thing, which helped. 

Meanwhile, Pat thought the whole thing was absolutely hilarious and it certainly broke the ice between us. She was trying not to laugh too much and not making a very good job of it. She looked gorgeous when she laughed, though. I just hoped I'd get a few opportunities to make her laugh around me again, only intentionally next time.

The meal went ok, actually, we both enjoyed it and I took her on to a pub with a nice lounge bar afterwards for another drink. It was too packed with the Friday night crowd for comfort in there although we did squeeze into a bench seat in a corner, where I put my arm around her, more for protection than anything else. By that time I think she had lost that shyness that she had with me earlier in the day and she kept collapsing into giggles every time someone lit a cigarette with a lighter or matches. I didn't mind, the crowded bar meant we were squeezed together and lots of giggling meant she jiggled up against me even more, so I wasn't complaining any.

When we left the pub, we walked arm in arm back to the car which I had left in a free car park near the end of New Street. It was a little out of the way so it was unusually quiet and rather dark. I opened her door with a really sharp yank and let her in. Then I got in my side and as soon as I sat down Pat virtually attacked me. She had her arms around my neck and behind my head, her lips clamped over mine and her tongue trying to lick the enamel off my back teeth.

When she stopped momentarily to catch her breath, I panted, "Hold something back for the honeymoon, Pat!"

That stopped her in her tracks. It took a couple of moments before she said very quietly, uncertainly, "Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you, Nigel?"

"Anything but sure of where we'll end up Pat but I want to be around for the long haul rather than just a quick hello-goodbye."

"What makes you think you're going to get that lucky?"

"Well, we seem to be hitting it off alright, only I sort of expected that over the next few weeks it would be you that would be fending me off. I was gonna take it really slowly. So I find myself in unfamiliar territory."

"So you want us to go slow?" 

"Well at least get to know each other better, you know ... before."

"Oh ... I'm not a virgin, if that's what you're worried about."

"Neither am I." I regarded her pretty moon-lit face in that gloomy spot, "I'd still like to see a lot more of you and get to know you really well though. Are you OK with that?"

"OK, Nige, I'm fine with that."

She still had her arms around my neck and now she moved her lips back slowly to meet mine and we kissed comparatively sedately for quite a while with her stroking the back of my head while I stroked the small of her back and the outside of her thigh. When she'd had enough kissing she relaxed against me and buried her head into my chest and sighed. We sat there comfortably for a few minutes not saying anything. I continued to stroke her back and her thigh, she had dropped her hands down to my shoulders.

Then Pat sighed again and stirred. "Tomorrow?" she said.

"What about tomorrow?"

"What we doing tomorrow?"

"I've had a pretty full day planned for most Saturdays up to now."

"Well, what had you got planned before you met me today?"

"Working in the morning 8 to 12, home to get lunch and changed for football in the afternoon, get home again about 6 and then up the football social club for the evening, they usually have evening entertainment like a comedian and a band on a Saturday night. Want to come?"

"I don't get up on a Saturday 'til about 12 anyway. Then I need to wash my hair. What time you picking me up for the evening?"

"Say 7.30?"

"Works for me, Nige. Guess you better get me home now, I expect my mum is waiting up for me."

"OK." We had another relaxed kiss, with me happily squeezing her thigh, before we broke it off and I got the old banger started. I had to wipe all the condensation off the inside of the windows before I could see where we were going, and I drove her home.

I popped out of the car and yanked that door open and handed her out of the car. The porch light was on when we got to the house, so we stopped and had a very quick kiss and another delightful squeeze. I ventured placing a hand on her nice arse and she didn't object. Pat was not the shy girl I had thought she was that morning.

"See you tomorrow, Nige."

"See you then, Pat."

Tea break at work on Saturday morning saw me in the car park with Old Gerry, the maintenance guy. Between us we removed the door catches and greased them up, made a few adjustments and the door worked a treat. I made sure I went round afterwards with some degreaser to make sure Pat didn't ruin her dress. That Gerry's definitely old school, loves grease. He slaps in on like a clown putting on face-paint.

Well, I couldn't afford to take Pat out many nights like that first date without dipping deeply into my savings. So Saturday night was a relatively cheap night down the rather rough football social club. I suppose Pat was slumming it by going there, she was used to the Conservative Club and fancy city night clubs. 

We pretended to ignore each other at work on Monday. On Monday nights she went out with the girls from the office. Tuesday we went to the pictures together at the new multiplex and went Dutch, holding hands and sharing a bag of toffee popcorn. Pat was paid monthly in arrears and wasn't due to get any money for another three weeks, so she was also dipping into her savings for now. Wednesday I went to football training and Thursday night was pay night and my night out with the boys. Then it was Friday and Saturday nights, which were our main nights out, eating out, dancing or going to a show.

We continued going out together regularly, our relationship developing day by day. It was almost three weeks that I managed to hold out before she jumped me again and this time we made love for the first time on the back seat of my car. She was a tiger and pursued me relentlessly, I was the one trying to keep our feet on the ground not wanting to use her, in the end she used me! 

I honestly felt that now she had got me that she would disappear on me but to my surprise she didn't and we went on from strength to strength. We were from different worlds, middle class and blue collar, they were much clearer defined classes nearly 30 years ago. 

I stayed on the shop floor all my working life. I was comfortable there. I moved off the printing presses eventually, when an opportunity came to move over to platemaking, which paid me a significant premium. Therefore I was actually earning pretty good money for a shop floor worker and had a lot of respect from my fellows for doing a prestigious and important job very well, though I say so myself.

Pat on the other hand had got an excellent basic education at school and secretarial college and was ambitious in the business world. So she carried on taking management courses and went for better and better jobs before we had the children, which we had spread over six years during her early to mid-twenties. With me on shift work most of the time and, with help from both our mums, Pat was able to work all the time with just a minimum few months off for each child. So her career continued to flourish. She joined the Spinner Group about six years ago and she and her boss Reggie Nicholson formed a good team and had been promoted together several times until Nicholson was the sales director and Pat was the senior one of three sales managers.

Pat was also quite a party animal. She was into dancing and dinner parties and wine drinking, occasionally to excess, loved meeting lots of different people and she had a wide variety of who I thought were quite superficial friends. Her best friends were a very wild crowd and were often getting into trouble. Most of her friends and sister Evie had marital problems, divorces and affairs. Her job in sales meant lots of dinners out, wining and dining clients or taking them to concerts, ballet, and sporting events. It meant I had to trust her to behave when she was without my company and I had never had any reason to be suspicious of her. She made it a rule never to drink when she was not out with me, so she was always in control. I had always trusted her, just as she trusted me.

I was a much quieter person than Pat, I couldn't dance well and didn't enjoy clubbing at all, and particularly hated dinner parties mainly because the people that attended them tended to look down their noses at me because I worked on a factory floor. I preferred beer to wine anyway and rarely drank to excess. My friends were few in number but they had been friends for life, I hadn't really added many new ones over the years. 

How Pat and I managed to get together and marry two years into our relationship was always considered surprising to me; the fact that we were still a couple after 28 years of marriage was a constant source of amazement to me. I constantly reminded myself that I was in a place where I didn't deserve to be, and I was grateful for it all the while it lasted.

^^^***^^^

That brought us to the night of the leaking factory roof and I arrived home to see a possible, probable rival for my wife's affections, pull away from my house and disappear around the corner. 

I pulled into our short drive, where there was only room for two cars, and parked behind Pat's car, a smart new black BMW executive saloon owned by the company. It was only a week old and a top-of-range model, full of the latest motoring gadgets, a reflection of her undoubted value to the company. I parked my eight-year-old entry-level Ford hatchback, in which the only gadget was a heated rear screen. I turned the engine and lights off and sat there for a moment or two trying to marshal my thoughts before going in. I had half a mind to follow Nicholson, but he may have had some innocent reason for being there, perhaps just dropping Pat off after a meeting with clients. The bonnet of Pat's car was cool, the rain had eased off now, but the car hadn't been anywhere for a couple of hours at least.

I took the chocolate, wine and flowers into the house, opening the front door quietly. The downstairs lights were out, the rooms empty. I left my shoes at the front entrance, Pat would never allow outdoor shoes to walk through the house, she had a preference for cream-coloured carpets and I was always getting it in the neck for dropping coffee drips or bringing in any debris from the back garden. I tiptoed into the kitchen and left the three items I'd bought in there for safe keeping before I crept up the stairs. The main bedroom light was on and I could hear the shower going in the en-suite.

The bed was a mess, duvet on the floor at the bottom of the bed, pillows thrown all over the place. Her dress, blouse, tights and underwear were scattered around the bedroom floor. I examined the bottom sheet and a couple of pillows, which had several damp patches of what smelt exactly like fresh semen, so it looked like my loving wife had enjoyed at least a couple of hours of extra-marital unprotected loving in our bed. They certainly weren't my emissions, we last made love on Sunday morning and the sheets were changed immediately after. 

Pat was oblivious to my presence, her joyous post-coital singing was just audible above the sound of spraying water in the en suite shower room.

The layout of the en suite was such that there wasn't enough room for a bath, just the shower, wash basin and toilet. Also it was impossible to have the door opening inwards into the en suite, so it opened outwards into the bedroom. As quietly as I could, I moved the bed over until it blocked the shower door from opening. It meant that I wouldn't be able to close the bedroom door, so I left it open, jamming the bed in at an angle so the en suite door was held fast.

Then I removed all the bed-linen, including the duvet cover and put them into a couple of black refuse sacks fetched up from the cupboard under the sink in the kitchen. I took them down to the car and locked them in the boot as evidence, I thought, for the divorce.

It was fortunate, I thought, that we didn't have any of the kids at home. Charley and June were at University: Charley in her second bachelor year at Newcastle and June starting her post-grad masters at Manchester. Robert had moved out three years earlier and was living with his girlfriend across town. With me out of the way until virtual one o'clock in the morning, Pat had the freedom to do just what she wanted in the evening. How long she had been doing, what she had clearly just been doing, I had no clue.

I foraged around in the garage and gathered a few things I thought I would need and put those into the boot of my car. Just for a fleeting moment I was tempted to set fire to the house, especially knowing that two of the fire engines were probably still occupied on the other side of the town at the factory. The other idea that crossed my mind was to drag Pat wringing wet out of the shower by her hair and throw her out on the front lawn, naked. I didn't like what either option would do to the kids.

I knew where Nicholson lived, we had been over there in April that year. I didn't know if he parked his lovely car outside his house, on his drive or in a garage. I drove past his house and there it was on the drive. I parked around the next corner some 50 metres away and opened my boot, extracting the half-full five litres of white spirit and about half a litre of methylated spirits plus a box of matches that I kept in the garage for barbecues. It was about a quarter past eleven by this time and most of the houses in the street had lights on in bedrooms as well as downstairs. I comforted myself thinking that at least I wasn't going to wake too many adults up and it wasn't a school night for the children.

The sports car was parked on a bit of a slope, with another car, presumably his wife's, parked ahead of it. I poured meths over each of the Porsche's tyres, then the white spirit over the roof and sides of the car. I struck two matches and dropped one by the front wheel on the driver's side and the other on the rear wheel. The flames started up straight away, licking at the tyres and paintwork and going up the car to the roof, by the time I got round the other side and dropped the next two matches the car was well alight.

I walked calmly away back to my car and started it up and drove back home. On the drive back I called Toby on the mobile, and said I needed a favour. OK, he said doubtfully, what? I asked him if the fire service were there. No, just gone in the last minute, another emergency. I told him about my wife and Nicholson's car. I didn't have to ask, he just said I'd been there all night and told me to get my arse back as soon as, to prove it.

I dropped the bottles, still containing some liquid in each, back in the garage, and looked out an old one gallon container of spent engine oil from the last couple of engine oil changes that I had meant to take down to the recycling dump at some stage. Then I let myself back into the house. I could hear the loud banging and hysterical muffled shouting of "Let me out!" from the shower room as I climbed the stairs, leaving on my outdoor shoes and walking about on her pristine cream carpet. 




Know Nowt Nigel



The roll of refuse sacks was still there so I started clearing out all her drawers and wardrobes and stuffing the clothes in as screwed up as possible in the refuse sacks, starting with all her smart designer label clothes that she wears for her loving pal Nicholson at work. I dragged the first three or four sacks down to the garage, poured a good measure of thick black oil into each of the sacks and tied them up. I spilled some of the oil on the garage floor, thinking, silly, clumsy me. I had some muddy old wellies stored out there for gardening. I put them on and trod in the oil and walked oily muddy footprints throughout the hall, the stairway, landing and the master bedroom. 

I lost count of the number of sacks of clothes but it was a lot, at least 20. I had been thinking about what I was going to do about the bed. There was no way I was ever going to sleep in it again, or use any of that bedroom furniture. 

I had already decided that I would be unable to use Toby's alibi as only I could have come home and moved Pat's stuff out to the garage. Bugger! The size 10 welly footprints were a bloody big giveaway, too. 

I figured I wouldn't get locked up for any more than six months for the arson on Nicholson's car and decided it was worth every single day. I might even get a suspended sentence if any of the three magistrates had been divorced from a cheating spouse before.

So, after tying up the last bag, I grabbed my 14-pound sledge hammer from its hooked resting place on the wall and took it up to the bedroom. I smashed each bedside cabinet with a couple of gratifying blows of the hammer. 

The shower room had been quiet for a while. I hadn't noticed until then. Once I started using the hammer, though, the blue murder screaming started up in earnest. For a moment I wished that I had an axe instead of a sledge hammer so I could hack through one of the panels in the shower room door and do a "Heeere's Johnny!" from "The Shining" film and really put the willies up Pat for one last time. Without advance notice you can never really plan these things out properly can you?

I smashed up her dressing table and all the wardrobe doors and did the works on the full-length mirror that she loved so much. I thought that, as I had just discovered I'd had 28 years of bad luck, another seven was just a stroll in the bloody park. Then I started wrecking the bed. It all went quiet in the shower room as I moved the violence nearer that doorway. I assumed she had fainted in terror, or slit her wrists. I was past giving a toss either way by then, quite frankly. 

I dragged the mattress down the oil-soaked stairs out to the front of the house and dumped it on the lawn. I opened the garage and brought out the last of the oil and poured it all over that mattress. I was just putting the can away on the shelf with my back to the open garage door when I got the fright of my life.

Pat's voice immediately behind me, angrily shouted, "What the hell's going on here, Nige?"

^^^***^^^

That pretty well brings us up to date. I walked away from Pat without saying a word. I didn't trust myself to be civil. I drove away that night, still in my wellies, with just the oil-stained work clothes that I stood up in. 

I never heard anything from Nicholson. So there was no court case for arson. I did eventually get court papers for the legal separation from Pat, with all our assets frozen until the two girls finished their full-time education. I was ordered to continue paying an agreed amount into the joint account for maintaining the house and payment of the mortgage. I wasn't happy about it as it didn't leave me much to live on.

I cut my costs by giving up my mobile phone and my car. I was fed up with all the messages from Pat, probably saying her affair didn't mean anything or something like it. I never listened to any of them, but I guessed what BS they would consist of. 

I bought a second-hand bicycle to get to work and rented a one-bed studio flat above a noisy row of shops, basically because it was cheap. I had to change jobs, Grafton Graphics went bust as the firm weren't properly insured apparently and I was laid off, along with everyone else.

Finally, after about three months of trying, I got a job in a little high street copy shop, taking orders, designing little print jobs, making paper plates and printing off using small offset or even doing a bit of photocopying documents. It wasn't much but it was a job.

The kids took their Mum's side, naturally, when I called them individually the next day and they all said they didn't want anything to do with me. They all agreed that I needed locking up after what I had done. Nothing about what she had done to me. I may have frightened her, she destroyed me.

Funnily enough the only family I have been in contact within the past year is Pat's sister Evie. She came into the copy shop one lunchtime about two weeks ago and suddenly we were looking at each other, not quite knowing what to say. She's popped in a couple of times since and each time she's told me that Pat wanted to speak to me. I kept telling her until I was blue in the face that I didn't want to speak to the lying cheating bitch or any of her selfish bloody children. Anyway, I pointed out, it was Pat that enforced the legal separation, not me. Evie said that that was all a mistake, they thought they could flush me out of wherever I was hiding to face them in court, but I never turned up to question the court ruling.

Anyway, then Evie came in to remind me that it was the first anniversary since what we have both laughingly referred to as the "Shower Room Incident". Evie wanted to take me out to a restaurant to celebrate or commiserate. I tried to tell her no, I really didn't want anything more to do with that family, but she refused to listen. She pressed and I admitted to her that I simply couldn't afford to go out, the separation payments were milking me dry. OK, I still had my redundancy money, about eight grand, but that was tied up in ISAs, strictly for emergency use only.

Evie insisted that she would be paying for the meal, so I agreed to go out with her so long as we went somewhere cheap. When she asked why, I admitted it was because I had walked away with just the work clothes I stood up in that night and I didn't have a suit or even anything even smart casual. What I could wear I'd picked up from charity shops. She gave me such a look of pity and squeezed my arm, that I was even more determined to stand her up. 

Still, at the last minute I remembered Pat saying once that Evie had a crush on me when she was younger, so what did I have to lose? I'd lost my pride long ago and I had nothing else left.

^^^***^^^

I'd arranged to meet Evie at the restaurant for two reasons, one I didn't want her to know where I lived, in case she told my family, and secondly I could always walk out and get on my bike without being stranded. I suspected that this was a trap for an ambush by Pat. 

I don't know why I thought that would happen. Pat and I were legally separated and she could escalate it to divorce at her leisure and I expected her to do so once the girls left university. I was just suspicious of Evie's motives, being let down by one woman made me suspicious of them all. 

Look, as I explained earlier, I am no spring chicken, I am nobody that anyone would give a second glance to. I have not got a girlfriend, hadn't had one for years and, quite frankly, I don't want anything to do with any of the lot of them. So why was Evie so interested in taking me out? Even if she once had a teenage crush on me nearly thirty years ago, she's eleven years younger than me and a fabulous-looking forty. I am a disillusioned fifty-plus single man with ridiculous sticky-out ears, who was settling comfortably into becoming a depressed and lonely old man who couldn't give a fig for the rest of the world.

I parked up the push bike and padlocked it to a post on the edge of the car park next to a gloomy wall of the restaurant and pulled the bottoms of my trousers out of my socks. I tucked my helmet under my arm and marched into the restaurant. I was unfashionably earlier, by about ten minutes. Looking around the tables with a cursory glance I didn't expect to see her yet, but there she was, at an intimate table for two. Maybe that meant I wouldn't be ambushed by Pat at all. Evie looked very attractive but that didn't change the fact that this was a relationship that just wasn't going anywhere, I looked like something the cat dragged in and I wasn't really in the mood to have someone sitting in front of me who was a constant reminder of her sister, my ex.

As I walked up to the table, Evie saw me approach and got up to kiss me on the cheek. I popped my helmet under the table. She looked at this act and asked,

"Not brought the car with you tonight?"

"No car, period, had to give it up. Every penny I have goes to your bitch sister to keep her, her lover and her girls in the manner to which they are accustomed," I said bitterly.

"Oh, I didn't realise how bad things were."

"Well, I lost my job when the factory never reopened after the fire. That meant I was out of work for three months, then as soon as I get another job which pays about half of what I used to earn, your sister slaps court orders on me freezing my assets from the time we were married and further demanding blood from a stone."

I retrieved my helmet from under the table and stood up. "Look, I'm too angry to eat, this was a mistake coming here, I've got to go."

Evie stood up and grabbed my hand.

"Please don't go, Nigel, I really wanted to speak to you and well, look at you, I've never seen you so thin and drawn, you need feeding up. Please stay?" she pleaded. Evie was like that little girl of 12 again. If I stayed I would expect to get a pile of questions all starting with double-u's.

"OK," I said. I'm easily persuaded. Perhaps I was just fed up with a diet of beans on toast at my flat. No wonder I didn't have many friends.

Evie ordered a pint of lager for me and some sort of cocktail for herself, she'd already had one. She ordered a mixed grill and I went for a big juicy singed steak, chips and mushrooms. I still wasn't sure if I was hungry but thought I might as well go for broke, Evie could afford it and I couldn't let the opportunity go begging.

While we were waiting for the food to arrive a strange thing happened. 

A woman walked up to the table. Quite attractive, smartly-dressed, if anything she was rather over-dressed for this establishment, perhaps even a bit on the brassy side. Aged, I would have said, in her mid-to-late-30s, dark-haired, worn shoulder length. She stopped by the table and stood next to me.

"Excuse me," she said with a hesitant, nervous voice. She glanced briefly at Evie, too, then back to me, "Do I know you?"

I noticed she wasn't wearing any rings on her left hand as I stood up. She was an inch or so shorter than me, slightly built but with an amplified rack and appeared to be even more nervous once I stood up than she had been a moment before. I can,t help it, I have to stand when addressed by anyone.

"I don't think so," I tried to smile to put her at her ease, "I'm sure I would have remembered anyone as attractive as you if we had met before."

"And you don't bear any grudge against me?"

"No, of course not, I've just said that I don't know you at all, I am certain we have never even met before." My smile had vanished by now. This evening was turning out to be a disaster.

She smiled at my statement and she held out her right hand, "I'm Janet, pleasure to meet you" she said.

"I'm Nigel, pleasure to meet you." We shook hands and then she said "Thank you," and walked off. I watched as she continued through to the exit and out the door. I sat down again, bewildered.

"That was very odd." I remarked. "Do you know her?"

"Yes," Evie said after a slight hesitation. "She went through quite a trauma last year and been undergoing therapy ever since and I hoped you could help her. Also, I thought that she may help you in her turn, or at the very least give you a bit of a boost."

I regarded Evie. Why do the women in your life always want to manipulate you, use you for their own purposes, in this case to bolster some poor soul who had confidence issues? I used to be happy once upon a time, without a woman in my life, why can't they just leave well alone. Probably because they are curious, a realist might suggest; or because they are women, a cynic would say. I knew what camp I was in, had been for a year.

"What other surprises have you got arranged for me during this dinner, Evie?"

"Nothing during this dinner, honest, Nigel, I just want you to enjoy the meal and for us to have a nice chat."

"I am happy to chit chat about anything except my failed marriage or your sister and any of her, and therefore your, family. OK?"

"OK," Evie agreed, "So where are you living now, Nigel?"

"I'm renting a one-bed studio flat, I won't say where it is."

"Is it comfortable, Nige?"

"No, it is cold and damp and extremely noisy, it is not in a very nice part of the town and there's always lots of youths hanging about outside. I have to bring my bike into my room for safe-keeping."

"I could speak to Pat about lifting the financial restriction conditions of the separation, if you want?"

"No, the end is almost in sight anyway, it is only for another year or so, I guess until Junie finishes her masters. I assumed that Charley got her degree, as the payments to Pat went down by a couple of hundred a couple of months ago?"

"Oh, yes, she did pass, with honours. I went up to Newcastle with Pat to the graduation ceremony. It was lovely," Evie said, "Charley was quite tearful that you weren't there to see her, too."

"Yeah, I bet. Charley gave me a right mouthful when I rang her last year and the ungrateful bitch said she never wanted to speak to me ever again," I said bitterly.

"That was because she didn't know the full story. She does now, she thinks. Charley had sent you the invitations by email but never got a reply."

"She appears to have forgiven Pat easily enough for what she did, if Pat was invited." I said, "Anyway, I don't get emails any more, I had to give up my mobile phone and I had left my laptop at Pat's."

"Charley's stayed on in Newcastle, she's got a local job and says all her friends are up there now."

"Great, I wish her well."

"I'll pass that on when I see her."

Then the waiter appeared with our main meals, spending a minute or two setting out our plates and fetching me some mustard and ketchup plus a steak knife. So we settled down to eat. Once I started eating, my appetite discovered me in that state of malnutrition that I'd found myself in for months and I actually made rather short work of it, even eating the side salad for once. Evie ordered a top up of drinks so I decided to have a second lager. 

By the end of the main course I felt quite mellow and decided to ask Evie how she was. Even when you try your hardest, a negative Bolshie attitude is difficult to maintain after a couple of pints and a steak dinner at someone else's expense. Maybe that's why some girls put out on a first date?

"I'm OK, thank you," she smiled, "Still working at the same place, and there's been no significant other in my life since the last divorce. Same old, same old, really. What about you, romance-wise?"

"Nothing, I have a problem with trust issues — natural I guess after a long relationship goes sour."

There was a pause in the conversation.

"You've not asked me about Pat's love life."

"That's because I'm not interested," I replied, truthfully, "and I believe we agreed not to speak of her."

"You are still hurting, though?"

"No, not really. Not about my marriage as such, I think that I have accepted that it was probably over a long time before muffins here realised it. If we get divorced any time soon I don't think I will shed any more tears over it. OK, I am a little depressed about my living and working circumstances, but on the other hand I quite like being on my own and not having to worry about getting dirt on Pat's carpets." 

I actually smiled thinking about those bloody carpets.

"She hated what you did to those carpets-" 

I interrupted her by laughing out loud and clapping my hands together.

"-She had them steam cleaned and still didn't get all the stains out. She ended up having to replace the hall, stairs and landing carpets." Evie was chuckling as well at the thought.

"What colour are they now?" I asked.

"A dark grey, sort of mottled." 

I couldn't help it, I had to get out my hankie again, my eyes were streaming. 

My third pint of lager arrived then and we ordered ice cream for afters. Then followed coffee and brandy, I should say several brandies. We did chat but not about anything in particular, or nothing that registered with me really. I was starting to get a nice buzz. It was then that she dropped the sixty-four thousand dollar question.

"Do you want the evening to continue? I'd like you to come back to my place for a nightcap. Would you come?"

I hesitated. Actually, the evening had gone very well and I was starting to enjoy it. I hadn't been out socially anywhere for a year. I did miss company, I also really missed female company. However, Evie was much too close to home. I wanted to get away from all that. I hate complications.

"Sorry, Evie, I need to get home, I've got to go to work tomorrow, besides, I don't want any complications in my life right now."

"Please, Nigel, I cannot drive anyway because I have drunk too much, so I need to get a cab. Please come back with me just for an hour or so, we can have a coffee or two and then I will arrange for you to have a lift home. No funny business on my part, I promise you."

"There's no point in this, Evie. I care for you, of course you are a beautiful woman, but I regard you just like a sister. We will never be any more than that."

"Wait here," she said, "I'll just go ring for a lift and we'll discuss it further when I get back."

I twiddled my thumbs for a while after she left. The waitress came to clear the coffee cups and glasses, I ordered another couple of brandies and asked her for the bill. Still no sign of Evie. I got the feeling she had done a runner and and left me to settle the bill. Bugger, I thought, it may be a cheap restaurant but I bet the bill was up to about £70 and I didn't have anywhere near that much cash on me. 

The brandies and the bill turned up together, it was over £80. Damn, I might have to do the washing up for them for the next fortnight if Evie's done a runner. I've definitely had it up to here with the Bellows family!

I slowly drank my brandy, spending an appropriate amount of time warming it in my hand, swirling round the liquor, breathing in those heavenly fumes. Still no sign of Evie, so after I finished mine I grabbed her brandy and warmed that up in my hand. The waitress looking after our table hovered about and walked past several times, probably wondering why I was left on my own and had not settled the bill yet. I was thinking the exact same thing and wondering how long it was to go before closing time.

I must have been there all on my lonesome for what seemed like at least twenty minutes and then Evie finally came back, somewhat to my relief, which must have been betrayed in my face.

"Miss me, honey?" she asked.

"Thought I was going to have to do the washing up and I left my favourite set of marigolds on my drainer at home," I replied.

"Sorry, I was just sorting out my ride. Still room for you to come along too, if you've changed your mind, of course?"

"No," I replied, "Maybe another time when I feel a little more sociable, in say, a couple of years' time."

The waitress brought over the credit card machine and Evie settled the bill, to my relief. After the waitress had run out the sale receipt for her and moved away, Evie smiled at me, "Ready?"




Know Nowt Nigel



"Ready." I reached down and collected my helmet.

We walked out of the restaurant arm in arm, with me thanking Evie for treating me to the meal and promised to return the compliment when Junie finally finished her extended education and I was released from my financial commitment, provided she didn't decide to go for a professorship. 

When we reached the exit I asked Evie when her ride would arrive and she said they were already here and she would just wait where she was for them to drive round the car park. So I kissed her goodbye on the cheek and she asked me not to lose contact with her. I reminded her where she would find me at work if she wanted to contact me.

I walked around the corner to the side of the restaurant where they had the bike rack. It was gloomy round there and a couple of people were standing immediately in front of my bike, a man and a woman, well wrapped up against the chill night. I didn't look at them closely as I was putting on my helmet and tying up the strap but as I passed them the woman spoke to me.

"Nige, can I have a word?" she said.

I froze, I hadn't heard that voice for exactly twelve months.

"I might have known. Little Sis called you and stalled me, to give you enough time to get here?"

"Yes, we were waiting at her house for you both to go round for a nightcap but you declined her offer. I really needed to speak to you, honey."

I took my helmet off and looked her in the face.

"Don't call me honey," I said firmly through clenched teeth, "You lost any right to do that a long time ago." 

I looked past her to see who it was that was with her. Was it Nicholson, or some other man who was entitled to call her honey? It was gloomy around there and he was wearing a baseball cap. It wasn't Nicholson, who was about my height and build. This chap was taller, thinner, around six foot. "Who are you, pal? Take your hat off will you?"

He removed his baseball cap, saying, "It's me, Dad, Robert, I'm here to help Mum speak to you."

"Is that the Robert Daniel Billings that told me he didn't want anything to do with his old man, just a year ago?" I said sarcastically, then turning to Pat, "Is he my son, Pat?"

"Of course he is, you idiot!" Pat spat, "How could you doubt it?"

"I don't know how long you've been spreading your favours around for your other lovers, I only caught you the once!" I spat back just as venomously.

"Dad!" shouted Rob. 

"Nigel!" sobbed Pat simultaneously.

I went on, adding, "This is the reason why I never wanted to speak to you ever again, Pat, either of you. It's just too damn upsetting. None of you want anything to do with me and I don't want anything to do with you, either. Why the hell don't you all just leave me alone!" 

I was shouting by now and crying as I tried to put my helmet back on. I just wanted to get out of there.

"Dad!" cried Robert again and he put his arms around me and squeezed me to him. I tried to fight him but he had pinned my arms and he was too strong and I could feel Pat putting her arms around me too. I stopped wasting my time and strength struggling and cried my sodding eyes out. I could feel another set of hands pull the helmet from my limp hands and set it on the ground and then Evie held me from behind, too. Damn it, I was bloody-well surrounded. and all four of us were crying by now. Families, even broken ones still hurt, don't they?

"Nige, you never caught me, honey," Pat said through her own tears, "It was Janet that you caught in the shower!"

"Huh? Janet" I sobbed, "Who the fuck's Janet?"

Evie said, "You met her earlier this evening, she asked you if you had a grudge against her."

"Sorry, you've lost me completely," I said, "Who is she for crying out loud and what does all that nonsense about a grudge have to do with me?"

Pat chipped in then, "Janet was a sales manager where I work and she'd been having an affair with our old boss Reggie Nicholson for a couple of months and, while you were at work on Friday evenings, I used to disappear into town with a couple of friends and my sister here, while they used our bedroom."

"What? No, that can't be right, I know your BMW was parked in our driveway, don't try and trick me into thinking I had made a mistake."

"That was Janet's BMW, all three sales managers, Geoff, Janet and me, had identical cars. I used to wait for Janet's call to say she was leaving so I could get back to the house after they had gone and at least an hour before you got home, giving me time to change the bed linen and put the dirty ones in the wash."

Evie added her tu'pennyworth, "Pat was with Pauline, Gemma and me all evening until gone 11. She never got the call from Janet and set out for home anyway. She never drinks when she's with us and she said she was gonna rock your socks off all weekend starting from when you got home. Me, Gem and Paulie are so jealous of Pat as yours is the most solid marriage that we know."

"Was ... maybe. No ... it's impossible! You were definitely in the shower room Pat until I smashed up the bed, which released the door and allowed you to get out while I was downstairs dealing with the mattress. Then you crept up behind me in the garage and surprised me. I left immediately because ..." I said, trying to remember a night I had spent the whole of the past year trying to forget. 

When Pat had came up behind me I knew I had to get away, I had just destroyed her lover's car and smashed up her bedroom, I knew I was just a wafer thickness away from throttling the life out of her. I didn't think I could ever hurt Pat but I was so upset and angry then that I was in the middle of a red mist.

"Janet didn't get herself out of the shower room. She had fainted and was completely naked. You had bagged up all her clothes along with mine. Her coat, purse and car keys were still on the sofa in the living room where she left them. As soon as I got home and saw your car right up behind Janet's and blocking her in I knew we were all in trouble. I drove further down the road and parked as there was no space left on our drive and, anyway, I wanted to leave room for you to reverse out so that Janet could get home. Then I saw the mattress lying on the lawn, the garage light on, and I knew it was a lot more serious than I'd imagined."

"But if it was all such a misunderstanding, why did everyone in my family tell me to bugger off?"

"Well, Nige, that's my fault." Pat said, "I couldn't tell the kids that you thought you'd caught me having an affair. I ... I thought if you could think that badly of me so easily, that you were probably thinking of having affairs-"

"I never-"

"I know now, honey, but you had just destroyed my bedroom, my carpets, ruined every stitch of clothing I possessed, including my wedding dress, I really thought we were finished that night-"

"So did I! We were ... we are! I knew from the first night we went out that I was just on borrowed time and it would all end in flames or tears one day. I was so out of your class-"

"Honey, I-"

"No, I'm right on this point, it was never going to work out after the kids left. All the while you were going ever upwards in your career and you were leaving me behind-"

"Never-"

"-then you were so much more sexually experienced than me, I knew that when you attacked me that first date and then you took charge for our first time, so I knew you'd dump me just as soon as someone better-"

"I was a virgin!"

"What!?" I think that was a three-part chorus.

"I attacked you that first night because I fell in love with you that very night and wanted you to be the one to take my cherry then and there. And when you were reluctant to make love to me I thought it was probably because you thought I was the innocent little girl I really was ... so I lied."

"You lied?"

"I lied. There's only ever been you, I've never wanted to cheat with anyone. I'm not like Janet, I only ever wanted you. I'd been thinking of making sweet love to you all that evening while Janet and Reggie were sneaking around and having nasty cheating sex in our bed, knowing that I didn't have to go looking for romance, I already had the real thing at home."

"So if it hadn't been for that bloody factory fire I might have got lucky that night?"

"And all weekend, no kids at home for once, remember?"

"Bugger, I really cocked up big time going off half-cocked like that, didn't I?" 

"You did, but then I wasn't much better. I was really furious at what you did. You ruined the house, wrecked our bedroom, destroyed every stitch of clothing I possessed. And Janet was terrified, traumatised, and she's not been the same woman since. We had to let her go from her job, she couldn't work and she couldn't cope with her divorce, either. Anyway, I had to call an ambulance after you drove off and stayed there with her until she got to hospital. The poor girl was in traumatic shock and needed sedatives, in fact she's still on them. I couldn't stay at the house on my own that night, so I called Evie."

Evie chipped in then. "Pat was a mess. Her nerves were frayed. She couldn't drive to the hospital following Janet's ambulance. I had to collect her and take her, then from the hospital I took her back to mine. She stayed with me for more than a week."

"That week was a nightmare," Pat said, "Reggie came in very late to work on Monday morning with a black eye. He was late because his wife needed to use the company car to ferry the kids around. He had spent the whole weekend in a hotel apparently. His wife had been suspicious of him for a long time, and you setting fire to his car was the last straw. So she hit him over the head with a lamp and kicked him out. 

"Then later on Monday morning Janet's husband came into the office and beat him to a pulp. Janet's husband had gone to the hospital with his mum early on Saturday morning having found a message from the hospital on his phone when he finished his night shift. His mum offered to come with him and take her clothes home for the wash." 

"That's when he found out she had been brought in with only her coat on and nothing else," Evie took up the story, "He put two and two together, and confronted her. She confessed that she'd had an affair with 'someone at work' but refused to say who with. When her husband entered the office on Monday morning and saw Reggie's black eye plus the panic at seeing him reflected in the other eye, he made it four. I think that's how many of his ribs he broke!"

Evie and Pat started laughing then. 

"Couldn't happen to a nicer bloke," I said. "I thought I was going to be arrested for arson."

"No," Pat laughed, "Reggie was certain it was Janet's husband that burnt his car but nobody owned up to seeing who did it. Funny thing is that Janet's husband was a fireman who attended both your factory fire and Reggie's car fire!"

"But there were lots of witnesses who saw me walk away."

"Nobody liked that arrogant bugger enough to describe you to him or the police, though." Pat laughed, "His neighbours were warming their hands by the fire and were a bit annoyed when the firemen arrived and put the blaze out."

"So why have you not told me that this was a mix-up until now?"

"I didn't know anything about the fire at Grafton's, for a week or so, or Reggie's car for that matter," said Pat. "I was really angry with you and didn't want to speak to you, especially seeing how angry you were that night. The look in your eyes in the garage sent shivers up my spine. I actually feared for my life. I thought you'd go home and sulk while I spent a week at Evie's-"

"Aunt Evie called us early next day and told us you and Mum had had a big argument, that you'd smashed up a few things and that she was staying at Aunt Evie's until you cooled off," chipped in Robert, "She was clearly frightened by the violence and we all thought the worst, that you were going through a mid-life crisis and needed space apart to cool off."

"I'm sorry about your wedding dress, Pat," I said, "I didn't notice anything in particular, just grabbed the lot, hangars and all. I didn't even know you'd kept it. I got rid of my old wedding suit years ago."

"I've salvaged the dress from the bags, but didn't discover it until about ten days later. It was all wrapped up in polythene, but the oil had seeped in and stained it. I can't even clean it properly because it'll probably fall apart."

"Sorry. So, you've fixed the place up again, since?" I asked, "Evie told me about the carpets."

"Yes, partly at least. The police dealt with it as a domestic and gave me a crime number. I spoke to Jeanie, my friend down at the insurance brokers, and she put it through as a burglary. The nice insurance assessor man came round and he put the cause of the claim down as aggravated burglary, so I got compensated for the bedroom furniture, the carpets and my clothes. The cheque came through about two or three months later."

"Glad you're got everything sorted out alright then," I said.

By this time we had all relaxed our grip on one another and I was able to retrieve my helmet from the ground and fumble in my pocket for my padlock key.

"Yes, as I said, the adjuster came around about ten days later and the first time we went back to the house was on that Tuesday." Pat said, "We went round after we thought you would've left for work, I was never going back to live with you in that house, but I needed to be there for the claim adjuster to assess the damage. It was the first time I saw the extent of the bedroom wreckage in daylight and the state you left the carpets. I saw you hadn't collected any of your own clothes and neither of the spare bedrooms had been slept in. I shouted down to Evie saying I didn't think you'd been there all week."

"And I shouted up to her to get her butt downstairs and look at the kitchen," Evie chimed in. 

"I saw the bunch of dead flowers, the bottle of wine and box of chocolates on the side in the kitchen," Pat added, "And knew you must have brought them with you on Friday night, and that was why you were home so early, hoping for a romantic evening."

"You know I'm an optimist," I shrugged as I unlocked my bicycle chain and wrapped it round my handlebars.

"I know, so was I but that was before I got home and saw what you'd done to the place." she said quietly. 

Evie said, "We then realised that you must've seen Reggie coming out the front door or getting into his car and we thought you'd given him his black eye. We didn't know about his car being burned until months later during his divorce. That was when he heard that it was his wife that gave him the black eye after some unnamed disgruntled husband was blamed for setting fire to his car." 

"We visited Janet, who was at home heavily sedated by that Tuesday," said Pat, "And she said she never saw who it was who locked her in. She assumed her husband had found out about her affair. She finished her shower and was getting cold because the towel was now wet and my bathrobe was hanging on the bedroom door. Then she found she was trapped in there and it was 20 minutes after she had started banging on the door and shouting for help that she then heard someone smashing up the place. The sound got louder and louder, then you smashed the mirror and she became hysterical. Last thing she heard before she fainted was you smashing up the bed just the other side of that en suite door. She thought it was her husband going mad with a fireman's axe. She expected-"

"Nicholson's 'Heeere's Johnny!' from 'The Shining' film, huh? " I said as I tucked my trouser bottoms into my socks, "Not the same Nicholson she'd been screwing all night and the previous couple of months, though, obviously."

"No, obviously," Pat agreed, "So we tried to catch you while you were at work and we found the place all boarded up with a 'For Sale' sign outside. We went round to your opposite number in the plate-room, Tom Jolliffe's; he was at home, out of work like you at the time. He told us about that fire on the Friday night, but he thought you had stayed on until the end of the shift, apparently the shift manager posted the list of everyone who stayed to all the interested parties. Pal of yours is he?" 

I nodded. 

Pat continued, "Tom couldn't help us, he didn't know where you were. Nor would your football club mates Jonathan and Mark give up any info."

"Well, they're mates." I pulled the bike out of the bay and swung my right leg over the crossbar.

"Where're you going, Nige?" Pat asked.

"Home," I said.

"Good," she said, "The girls are waiting there, they're dying to see you."

"That's not good, it's pretty rough round there, the car'll be up on bricks if they're parked longer than ten minutes."

"No, they are at our home, I want you to come back with me, Nige, honey, I've missed you."

"I don't think so, Pat. I've become quite comfortable on my own," I lied, "You've just said you had no intention of going back to the house until you saw I had left for good-"

"That was before I saw the flowers and realised-"

"And you started to make the break official with the legal separation-"

"But that was only to get you to talk to me, honey."

"Well, we're talking now," I put my foot on the pedal and wheeled down the path, calling over my shoulder, "So, you can go ahead with the divorce, honey, I'm happy to sign the papers any time." 

I cycled off before they could say anything else.

EPILOGUE

Pat unfroze our assets the next day.

Even before I saw Evie at the copy shop that first time, Pat had known where I lived and worked. She had used a private eye to track me down and merely used Evie to open up a dialogue with me. 

So, I wasn't that surprised when I saw that Pat was waiting at the front door when I opened the copy shop at 08.30 that Friday morning. Actually, I think I opened up ten minutes early because it was raining outside and we don't have an awning like old-fashioned shops used to have. Apparently, she said, her office copier had packed up and she needed a couple of copies of an old report run off for some reason.

"Now that we are back talking with each other, maybe we could get together to talk one evening, if you are free?" Pat suggested.

I was removing the wire stitches from her report and smoothing out the pages. 

"So what subjects would we talk about one evening, for example?"

"How the kids are getting on, what they want for Christmas, Robert's marriage plans, when we first fell in love with each other, you know, stuff like that."

"There might be some things worth discussing, I suppose. When is Robert getting married, and when did you fall in love with me?" I asked, knocking up the pages and fanning them into the document feeder. "Two copies, Pat, right?"

"Huh? Yeah, two'd do," she answered, raising her voice a little to overcome the noise of the document scanner, "Caroline prefers the last weekend in June, but she's leaving it very late to get the right venue sorted.... When you set light to that menu. When for you?"

"I suppose we ought to sort out the actual dates first, and put together a list of friends and relatives, my side of the family are pretty straightforward. Then I can run off some 'Save The Date' postcards."

I pulled the two copies out of the delivery tray, plus the original and carried them over to the bench and continued, "When you laughed about the burning menu, I knew I would never find anyone else quite as beautiful as you."

"We should have made love that first night," Pat smiled, "I wanted too. I'm doing nothing tonight, perhaps you'd meet me somewhere neutral for a drink and a chat?"

I wire-stitched the two copies as well as put the original back together and carried them to the counter.

"Sure," I said, popping the papers into a carrier bag, "Where and what time?" I asked. I looked up and added, "I wanted to but was I afraid to have a relationship that was just based on sex, I wanted us to get to know each other better first."




Know Nowt Nigel



"Say, the Kharisma Lounge at seven o'clock?" she took the bag from me, "Maybe you were right, we made a good team for a while. What do I owe you?"

"Seven's fine. Yes, I think we were, for a while. No charge, I'm angling for repeat business," I smiled.

A new customer came in the shop, ringing the bell. "Be with you in just a moment, sir."

^^^***^^^

I'm not a pushover. Pat tried to jump me in her flash sales director company car Lexus, with its smoothly-operating passenger door, but I resisted her advances. 

I knew I could hold out for three weeks, but then she ambushed me on that dark grey stair carpet, after just three dates in those first three days, unfairly using home-made lasagne followed by sherry trifle made with sprinkles. 

That bloody woman can be irresistible when she wants to be.

The End.