Paul Gitsham - The Last Straw

For that reason, Warren decided to chance it. He agreed to meet the lawyer outside the prison the following morning, before going in to see Severino together. Hanging up, Warren drummed his fingers on the table as he thought about the unexpected request. Eventually, he decided that he was wasting his time speculating and so headed back to the briefing. Nevertheless, a nagging feeling in his gut told him that something significant was about to happen.

Warren finally made it home at eight that evening. The atmosphere in the house was strained, with Susan clearly still smarting from their argument on the phone that morning. Susan and her parents had already eaten, so Warren ended up eating reheated lasagne alone at the kitchen table, whilst the rest of the house watched TV.

Normally Warren and Susan made an effort to follow the advice given by Warren’s grandparents — married sixty-two years and counting — not to let the sun go down on an argument, but the presence of Susan’s parents inhibited Warren from speaking out to clear the air. Remarkably, it was Dennis that initiated the conversation as Susan and her mother watched old Inspector Morse repeats on the TV; his father-in-law was fascinated by the day’s events, completely ignoring the exploits of the famous TV detective as he quizzed Warren on how they had identified Severino as their suspect and his subsequent arrest and charging. He even expressed an interest in watching Severino’s eventual trial. Warren promised to let him know when the trial started and agreed to try and get him a seat in the public gallery.

Bernice, for her part, merely sniffed and carried on knitting, finding Colin Dexter’s intricate twists and plots in genteel Oxford to be far more interesting than the real-life grubbiness of Warren’s day-to-day existence. Susan said nothing.

Finally, Bernice announced that she and Dennis were tired and wanted to go to bed. Dennis didn’t seem particularly tired to Warren, but nevertheless he wished Warren and Susan goodnight, before dutifully following his wife up the stairs.

Susan remained on the couch, her eyes glued to the late-night news bulletin. Inwardly, Warren sighed. She clearly wasn’t going to make it any easier for him. He knew that he was in the wrong and that it was up to him to apologise; nevertheless he felt a little hurt that Susan didn’t seem interested in meeting him halfway.

Getting up from his armchair, he crossed the room and sat down on the couch next to his wife. The leather was still warm from where Bernice had vacated it a few moments before. Reaching over, he kissed her lightly on the side of her head. She didn’t flinch, which was something, but at the same time she didn’t take her eyes off the TV.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ve been neglecting you. I’ve been too wrapped up in my work to even ask how your day has been.”

Finally, Susan turned to look at him.

“Warren, what colour were the walls in the hall when you left for work this morning?”

Warren blinked in surprise at the apparent non sequitur, before groaning silently. He knew where this was going and there was nothing he could do about it. How could he not have even noticed the smell of fresh paint when he walked in the house? Resigned to his fate, he played along with the game.

“A pale cream colour.”

“And now?”

Warren wracked his brain, but it was useless. He sighed. “I’m so sorry, I never even noticed.”

“Pale blue. Mum chose it.” Susan looked close to tears. “We were supposed to choose that paint, not Mum. This is our first proper house, Warren. We were going to decorate it together. When we finished, we were supposed to be able to say, ‘This is Warren and Susan’s house.’ From the shade of the walls, to the colour of the carpets, it was supposed to be our house. The way we wanted it. This afternoon, Mum and I painted the hallway, whilst Dad fixed all of those shelves in the utility room.

“I wanted to wait until you weren’t busy any more, but I couldn’t hold out any longer. The holidays are nearly over; I’ll be back at school in three weeks. I have to start my planning by next week. Mum and Dad insisted that they help out and I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t tell them to leave it alone because I wanted to do it with you. They’ve been married forty years. To them it was just a job that needed doing and if you weren’t able to do it, they would.”

Warren felt helpless. She was right. It seemed such a small thing, but she was absolutely right. They had been planning their first proper home together ever since they had become engaged. Long nights lying in bed in their rented flat in Birmingham they’d fantasised about what they’d do and how it would look when they finished. At the time it had always seemed to be a few years away, but then suddenly Warren had been invited to apply for the job at Middlesbury and days later Susan had found herself handing in her notice to leave her current school.

Even then, they had expected to rent a flat whilst they looked around for somewhere more permanent; yet even as they’d visited the letting agency for the first time on a day trip to Middlesbury the picture in the estate agent’s window across the road had caught their eye. A chat with their bank manager had revealed that, much to their surprise, their savings were enough for a deposit and, with their combined salaries, the mortgage payments were not much different from what they had budgeted to spend on rent. Even better, the current owner was looking for a quick sale and Warren and Susan were first-time buyers.

The moment that they had walked into the house for a viewing, they had felt as if they had come home. Work needed to be done and the décor wasn’t to their taste, yet looking beyond the surface they had found exactly what they were looking for. It was fate, they had both decided as they lay in bed that night, their flat in Birmingham already feeling alien and cold to them; no longer a home but a way station as they headed for better things.

Warren was at a loss. All he could do was put his arms around his wife and whisper his apologies into her ear as her tears finally came. Eventually it was over, Susan dabbing at her eyes with her long-sleeved T-shirt.

An hour later, Warren lay awake in bed, staring at his wife’s sleeping form. He could see her outline clearly in the glow from the street light outside as it passed through the thin, inadequate bedroom curtains. Curtains that they were supposed to have been replacing together, he realised with a stab of shame.

As he looked at the back of Susan’s head he felt sadness at the way things had changed. When had he started taking Susan for granted? Only a few weeks ago he had lain in this same bed in their old flat marvelling at how lucky he was. As long as he had Susan to come home to, it didn’t matter what else was happening in the world.

Some said that there was no such thing as love at first sight, just a chemical, lustful attraction that with time grew into love. All Warren knew was that the first time he had clapped eyes on Susan he was smitten. To this day, Warren realised just how lucky he had been. Ordinarily there would have been no reason for their paths to cross. Susan had been undergoing teacher training at Birmingham University; Warren had been a detective sergeant working largely in Edgbaston near to the university campus, but he had hardly been a frequent visitor to that area.

The night that they met, Warren had been enjoying a few beers after a long shift, in one of the local bars. He and his three friends were winding down after a tiring day, looking forward to a relaxing weekend. By about ten p.m., it was all that Warren could do to keep his eyes open. Draining his pint, he decided to pay one last visit to the Gents, make his excuses, then leave.