Tara Simpson looked over her shoulder at her husband. He was staring intently at the television screen squinting at the football results.
“Car will be here in five sweetie, I’m just nipping upstairs for my coat.”
Tara heard a slight grunt, and she took this as adequate response.
The coat lay on the bed, next to her handbag. It was new; an expensive cream with silk cuffs, long and soft and luxurious. Wrapping it round her shoulders Tara hugged herself with excitement, nervous flickers quivered in her stomach, she took a deep breath to try to calm them, but it didn’t work. Her fingers shakily checked inside the bag, it was all in there, neatly stored in a nice lilac file, next to keys, make-up and the new calf skin purse. Car keys? Quickly she slid a finger into a side pocket, silly, she breathed to herself; of course they were still there.
As she left the room she paused to check her reflection, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shiny, her insides were ready to burst with excitement and anticipation.
“Car’s here.” Doug’s voice grunted up the stairs. Tara knew he was annoyed, fed-up at missing the game, tired from working, cranky because of the restless nights he had been enduring lately.
“Yup, I’m here.”
They didn’t talk much in the car, Tara wanted to concentrate on her thoughts and Doug wanted to think about the bet he’d put on Rooney scoring the first goal. Eventually he did ask “so where’s this place we’re going to?”
“Almerson’s Country Hotel, Michelin star restaurant, Paula read me the reviews a few days ago and I thought we deserved a treat.”
The driver squinted in the rear view mirror “pricey mate, hope you’ve got your gold card ready.”
“Actually it’s my treat,” Tara chirped back.
Doug squirmed a bit in his seat. Something was going on. The last time Tara had taken him out for a meal it was to tell him her Dad would be staying with them for a week. He didn’t want to ask about it now; the miserable bloody news could wait until he’d had a couple of drinks.
Eventually they drew up at a large pink painted building lit with lanterns and semi covered in wisteria. The windows glowed with candlelight and white-jacketed waiters could be seen gliding between tables. Doug groaned inwardly, how much was this wretched place going to cost? The evening stretched before him, long, boring and pretentious.
He glanced at Tara, enveloped in cream, her dark hair falling in large curls around her oval face. She did look gorgeous he admitted to himself but not to her.
Tara had already leapt out of the car and paid the driver. Something had to be going on, she seemed hyped up and excited. Doug prayed she wasn’t pregnant, five years of marriage and no kids, he counted his blessings then thought about Rooney, decent return if he got his act together and scored within the first fifteen minutes.
A waiter clutching huge white napkins settled them down at a table near the centre of the restaurant. Tara glanced around, hoping there wasn’t anyone she knew; fortunately none of the faces were recognisable, she sighed with relief.
Doug squinted at her “what’s up with you then? What’s all this about?”
“Let’s get a drink.” Tara signalled to the waiter, ordered two glasses of champagne, and grinned at Doug. “Isn’t it nice to be out for a change, and it isn’t the pub?”
Doug couldn’t agree, he’d much rather be in the pub. “Well?” He leaned back in his chair; decided it was uncomfortable so leaned forward on the table knocking a small flower arrangement to one side. “Out with it.”
Tara didn’t feel ready to talk about what they were there for, the waiter arrived with the champagne and she felt immensely grateful to him. “I ordered Cristalle, imagine! Costs a fortune but it’s worth it. We had it at Cheryl Merryweather’s when she got engaged to Nigel. He owns half of Suffolk, so we decided he could afford it.” Tara took a long sip while she watched Doug’s face darken with disgust.
“So you having it off with him or something, thinking you can afford it too?”
Tara laughed a little too loudly, “oh Doug, you are funny! He’s got a honking great nose and a pigeon chest; I wouldn’t go near him for all the money in China. And he laughs like this ‘waah, waah, waah!’ It’s awful. Cheryl isn’t bothered though or doesn’t appear to be, she’s hired a personal trainer and to be honest, I think he’s in charge of the marital duties.”
Just as Doug was about to ask again what was going on, the waiter arrived to take their order. It wasn’t until dessert that he got the opportunity to pursue the reason for this extravagant night out.
“Just got to visit the ladies.” Tara felt a bit sick now, she would have to get the file out when she’d calmed down in the toilets. She had thought the alcohol would calm her nerves but it actually made them worse. It was like living in a dream, her head swam, her thoughts ran into each other and her breathing was all over the place. Sitting on a toilet with the seat down she held her hot forehead in her hands. It’s going to be all right, she told herself and started to rehearse the words over again.
“Well Doug, now I can tell you why we are here.” She watched herself as if from above, her words were crisp and calm; her eyes met his with cool determination. Tara reached into her bag and withdrew the lilac folder.
Doug clasped his hands together as he always did when expecting the worst. He hadn’t shaved very well and the odd tuft glistened on his chin. Seeing the folder, his first thought was ‘property’. She wants to move again he thought, oh God. How many times had they been through this one? Not another bloody barn conversion in the middle of flaming nowhere. Even Rooney scoring that goal wouldn’t help with this. Worse still, perhaps she’d found some stupid nail salon to snap up, or tanning shop. Would she never let it rest? He earned the money, he called the shots and that’s how it was and would always be. This women’s lib got worse and worse and he wasn’t having it in his marriage. He’d have to be gentle of course otherwise it would be tears all the way home in the taxi.
“C’mon then darling, show me.” He tried to keep his voice soft and encouraging but it came out whiny and bored.
Taking a deep breath Tara pulled open the file and pushed an A5 piece of paper towards him. Doug picked it up at one corner, it was a photograph, he braced himself for the barn conversion but the image wasn’t of a building it was of two figures entwined in a car, faces stuck to each other, at the mouth. He narrowed his eyes; the car was dark blue with a VW badge, his car. “And this is?” He started to say but the words left him in a whisper.
“Here’s another one.” Tara pushed another piece of paper into his hand, glossy photo paper.
This picture showed the same couple, arms tightly wrapped around one another’s bodies, the girl’s white blonde hair trailing down her back.
“And here’s the report.” Tara pushed the third and final piece of paper at him.
“Her name is Tanya, 28 years old. I’m being stupid, you already know that!” Tara laughed and enjoyed watching the realisation spread across his face that he’d been caught, bang to rights. “The private investigator did a good job, I’ve got times, dates, places, the whole lot, I can prove it all.” His expression right now was her reward, her reward for patient hours spent waiting by the phone for progress reports.
“I don’t understand…”
“Really darling, you don’t?”
“No I mean…” His expression had become glazed, his eyes barely focussed as they cruised around the restaurant. It didn’t make sense, she could have served all this up at home, thrown things at him, cursed, kicked and screamed. Isn’t that what women were supposed to do in this situation? “I mean; I don’t know what to say.” And very truthfully, at this precise moment, he didn’t.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter Doug. Really it doesn’t.” She shuffled the pictures and report back into her bag. She tried to stop herself smiling but really she couldn’t. “Look, I’m off now.”
Stupidly Doug watched as she called for her coat, let the waiter help her into it and disappear out of the restaurant.
In the car park Tara quickly sought out the Porsche cabriolet, pearl white with a black hood, and confirmed the number plate, T1P5Y, swiftly she lifted the keys out of her bag and pressed the button. The headlights shone and the doors clicked open and within moments Tara had switched on the ignition and roared off into the darkness, laughing loudly to herself.
Back at home the locksmith waited, his van beneath the yellow porch light, made Tara sigh with relief. He set about his work the second she stepped inside.
She lifted the phone “it’s done. I can’t believe my own patience and I was so cool!” She squealed into the receiver. “A whole week, my lucky numbers, all that money, made for life, and him caught bang to rights. He doesn’t know about the win. Yeah £7 million and he won’t get a penny, locksmith is here now. Yes, I’m all right darling. He won’t be!”
Tara’s howls of laughter rang around the house as Doug realised he’d left his wallet at home.
All characters fictional. This is a work of fiction by Petra Kidd!
Copright Petra Kidd
