Josephine Cox - Divorced and Deadly

The girls were laughing and screaming, and poor Danny came off worse when with a look of triumph he deliberately trod on the hose, which then forced itself up his trouser leg and gave him the biggest surprise of his life.

Humiliated and dripping, and wishing I was a million miles away, I watched Laura storm off with a sinister warning, ‘I know she was here, Ben Buskin. And I’ll be watching you!’

Like one of the half-dead creatures from Michael Jackson’s Thriller, I hobbled after her, ‘How did you know she was here…are you spying on me?’

‘Yes! Same as you’re spying on me. Do you think I haven’t seen you hiding in the shrubs to see what I’m up to…DAMN PERVERT!’ She screamed.

With the weight of my wet trousers pulling me down I sulked back to the office, where I slammed about like a sulky kid who’s lost the fight.

‘Here…let me help.’ Poppy had seen it all, and as always she was there to pick up the pieces. Before I could stop her, she’d stripped off my trousers (taking far too long if you ask me). Then she wrapped a fluffy dogblanket round my nether regions and was about to rub my chest with a flannel, when I thanked her kindly and sent her away…I mean, I’ve already got more trouble than I can handle.

But all in all, it was a day to remember.

What puzzles me is this…why would my ex-wife get herself in such a state when she’s already divorced me?

Maybe she still loves me.

Well, well. Whoever would have thought it?

Mind you, tomorrow could tell another tale.

‘Ben!’ Mum’s voice screamed up the stairs, ‘Ben, it’s time for work.’

‘Go away.’ Covering my head with the sheet I did my best to ignore her.

‘Ben!’ Ignore her.

‘Ben, are you awake?’ Double ignore her.

‘BEN…it’s half past eight, you’ll miss your bus!’ Dammit!

‘ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT! I’M ONTO IT!’ I yelled.

There was a long pause. I knew instinctively she was at the bottom of the stairs, coiled and hissing, ready for the kill.

With a groan I leaned out of bed, fished my shoe out from under the chair and banged it three times on the floor. That usually got me another ten minutes.

God, am I tired. Thank heavens it’s Friday. It’s my Saturday off this week, and I’m brimming with ideas. I plan to trawl the clubs and pubs and find a woman who will take care of me.

I am not going to go to the cinema with Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants. He must think I’m stupid. Why would anyone in their right mind want to go to the cinema with a saddo like that?

My weekend plans were interrupted by hideous yelling. ‘BEN! IF YOU ARE NOT OUT OF THAT BED AND DOWN HERE IN FIVE MINUTES FLAT, I SWEAR I’LL COME UP AND DRAG YOU OUT!’

She won’t. She’s said that before. What’s more, my clock said quarter to eight…she’d played that trick on me before. Let her shout and rave, I knew I was good for at least another five minutes yet.

I heard on the grapevine that Shelley has been putting it about to anyone who’ll listen, that me and her are an item. Brazen-faced liar! I can see I’ll have to pay her a call and put her in her place once and for all. If she thinks she can play me along and sort my life out without my permission, she’s got another thing coming!

‘I KNEW IT!’ The door was flung open and there she was…my mother in full war paint. ‘Your father’s gone to get a haircut, and I’m off shopping with Winnie Arriss…if you don’t mind I would like to get to the shops before they close.’ With a swoop she was on me…Grabbing the bedclothes, she flung them back with no thought whatsoever for my bared manhood, not to mention my red face.

‘OUT!’ God she was a frightening sight; standing there arms folded, face like a bulldog and frothing at the mouth.

Covering my modesty, I gave her one of my fiercest stares, ‘I don’t know what all the fuss is about.’

Casting her gaze down, she snorted, ‘Neither do I.’

‘Look! It’s not even eight o’clock!’ I pointed at my bedside clock, ‘See?’

Grabbing the clock she gave it a shake and threw it at me, just missing my head. ‘You forgot to wind it up again. How many times have I told you, being as it was your Grandma’s…Lord rest her soul…it needs winding up every day…’ As she went out the room, she added snidely, ‘That clock and you belong together. Grown lazy with age, the pair of you.’

It took me ten minutes to finish in the bathroom, though when I came out I looked like a refugee from a war zone. I had patches of blood and sticky paper all over my face and my hair stood up like it had been through a wind tunnel. ‘It’s your fault,’ I sulked as I came into the kitchen where my mother was waiting with another packed lunch.

‘You’ve got no time for breakfast now,’ she said lovingly. (One minute she’s going crazy, and the next she’s sweet as apple pie. I’m sure she’s an alien.)

‘Anyway, I’ve put you an extra apple in, and one of them choccy biscuits you seem to like so much.’ (She doesn’t know those revolting choccy biscuits are the first thing to go in the bin when I got to the bus stop.)

I grabbed my coat and made for the door. I didn’t want to give her the idea that she can shout at me, and then just forget it, like it never happened.

‘Look, Ben, I’m sorry for shouting at you, but you really have got to pull yourself together.’ (She can read my mind!) You’ve lost your wife; you don’t seem to be making much headway at work…I mean, look at the state you came home in the other day.’

‘What state was that?’ I was in no mood to give in.

‘Your suit appeared to have shrunk and your best leather shoes were all wrinkly; not an image you want to present to the customers. And what’s more, you have no home, no ambition, and very few prospects for the future.’ She made that sad face, ‘What’s going to become of you, Ben?’

By the time I got out the door, my self-confidence was shattered, my self-image had taken a real knocking, and my heart was in my boots.

Walking down the street muttering to myself, I realised she was right. I was kidding myself. I was a joke at work, nobody respected what I had to say, and if the boss sold up tomorrow, I’d be out of a job. I was already broke. I had one woman spreading lies and chasing me at every turn, and another who said she doesn’t want me, but has threatened to kill me if another woman even looked in my direction. Then there’s Poppy, who’ll nag me to death, even though she fancies me rotten. But she’s just a kid, and besides I’ve heard her shamelessly rattling them off in the yard…how off-putting is that?’ Some lady she is, I must say!

I wasn’t bothered if I missed the bus, or even got to work at all; I leaned against the wall, wondering if anyone would care if I ended things right here and now.

‘Hey!’ It was Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants.

‘What d’you think you’re doing lolling against the wall like you’ve all the time in the world? The bus is coming in…look!’ Grabbing my arm he ran me all the way down to the bus stop. I must have dropped my precious lunch box because when we scrambled on to the bus, there was no sign of it. Oh, God! No little-boy lunch box! The day was already brightening. Perhaps I won’t end it after all; well, not just yet anyway.

‘Hey!’ Giving me a dig in the ribs, Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants was going on about some girl he met at the cinema. ‘Sat next to me she did,’ any little thing pleased him. ‘I offered her some of my popcorn and she dug in like a little trooper.’

I pretended to listen, but to tell the truth, I was a bit jealous. How does he do it? He’s long and thin, wiry as a whippet with a pineapple-top hairdo, yet there he was, sitting quietly in his seat at the cinema, when the girl next to him dipped into his goodies. No strings or conditions, just casual like.