Josephine Cox - Divorced and Deadly

I gave a rending groan and made a face like a stripped kipper. Shameful I know, but when confronted by the enemy, what can a man do?

‘Now, I’m not calling you a liar, son, but I can’t understand it.’ Mum had a look in her eye I didn’t like.

‘Why not?’

‘Because your poor father was ill most of the night with shocking wind. I had to get out of the room or faint from the smell. Anyway, I thought he might have woken you, what with all the noise and such. But you were so deep asleep, I didn’t have the heart to wake you.’

‘Shh, well…you see…’ (She was on to me.) ‘I must have just got back into bed…’ Give it up, Ben, I told myself. It’s too late; you’ve been well and truly rumbled.

Her tight little face stretched into a sly, knowing smile that would frighten elephants. ‘You must be feeling better now,’ she said, ‘I’ll see you downstairs in ten minutes.’

‘I’M NOT GOING!’ That told her.

‘TEN MINUTES, BEN!’ That told me!

‘I’VE ALREADY SAID…I AM NOT GOING, AND THAT’S FINAL.’ End of! Not up for negotiation! Last word on the subject.

With her good and told, and out of my hair, I sighed, and cuddled up with my Big Ted.

I’ve done it! At long last I’ve put my foot down; both at home and at work, and not before time neither.

What’s more, although I might live to regret it, I have definitely decided to broach the matter of sharing a flat with Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants. Though it will mean I’ll have to take on his hairy mongrel, whose wind problem is almost as frightening as my father’s.

The day seemed to have ended as well as expected.

The church was cold as usual. I warbled through two hymns I’d never even heard of, but when the organ struck up All Things Bright and Beautiful, I sang my heart out with the best of them.

The collection box got me on the way out. I only had two pence, which I threw in with a grand gesture. ‘Thank you, sir,’ the verger tucked the coin back into my hand, ‘I think you need it more than we do.’ I was miffed. What real man wears a skirt anyway!

As I slunk out, I felt a sharp pinch on the back of my leg. ‘You’re a mean bugger, you are!’

If he wasn’t just three feet high, and sucking a sticky dummy, I might have smacked him one. (Though I did manage to stamp craftily on his foot. It did my heart good to see the shock on his little pink face.)

Ah well, happy days. Tomorrow has to be an improvement. Doesn’t it?

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