Fat Chance Ch. 06

The final episode. There is no sex in this story. And before you ask for a follow-up to the story, no, the end is intentionally how this story ends, make of it what you will. Enjoy or well you know the rest.

*****

Today was an interesting day.

Although I had moved to the south of France initially, I never really warmed to the place, or got on with the people there. So, after a couple of weeks, I went further south and now I'm more than happily settled in Spain. The folks around here, and I am twenty miles from the coast, are friendly and unaffected by tourists. I've found that there are enough Brits living permanently or overwintering in the general area that I am not too lonely for company and understandable conversation.

I bought outright a small studio flat in a street just off the market square. Within a short walk, this tiny town boasts a couple of cafes and a supermarket. I work in a small garage on the edge of town which services just about anything with an engine. It is relaxed, no-one works too hard and is well, compared to my previous existence, fun to work there, to be honest.

My needs are as simple as they ever were. It is just that there is no current squeeze to share my otherwise relaxed and contented existence.

I was just enjoying my lunchtime siesta, on the shaded lower balcony of my two story studio flat, when I was roused by a loud banging on my street door. Who could it be at this hour with the whole town asleep or making love in the shade?

There she was, Maisie, standing at my door, large as a house and loud as a regimental sergeant major, her raucous voice echoing down the narrow alley.

"Tracked you down at last, you bastard!"

"Hello, Maize," I said, surprisingly calmly, "To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?"

"Aren't you going to invite me in out of this hot sun?"

"No, I'm not," I replied, noticing the two wheeled suitcases on either side of her bloated frame, "There's no room at the inn, I'm afraid. I only have one room, one bed, so you are not staying."

She pushed past me. I am such a bloody wimp.

Why is it that some guys beat up women, who keep on coming back begging for more, while someone like me, who has never struck a woman in his life, and would never, gets treated like a bloody doormat?

God, I thought, she was the fattest I'd ever seen her, she positively wobbled up the stairs to my studio on the first floor.

"Get my bags, hon," Maisie puffed as she climbed the steep stairs.

She didn't ascend exactly, every step was laboured, her voluminous printed cotton frock swishing back and forth across her huge arse. Good, I thought with a hint of a smile, revenge is so sweet.

"My bags, hon!" the harridan panted again as she looked back from near the top.

I sighed, even divorced I seem to be at my ex's beck and call. Damn, those bags were heavy. I couldn't leave them outside, nor dump them at the bottom of the stairs, I wouldn't be able to open or close the front door.

"Oh, this is nice!" I heard from the summit.

"Yes ... It ... Is. ... You ... Are ... Not ... Stay ... Ing." I panted, loaded as I was with what must have been the complete Paris Collection including the prefabricated fucking walkway.

"Nonsense, you wouldn't put your wife out on the streets would you?" floated down the disembodied voice.

"Ex ... fuc ... king ... wife!" I panted.

I needed to make a point forcefully here, but found myself at a disadvantage. I was only halfway up the stairs and thinking of setting up a base camp there to gather my strength before driving for the summit. It was far too hot at this time of the day for this kind of physical exertion and I was beginning to lose the will to continue.

"And yes I would, I will!"

"Nice balcony," the female voice felt fainter now, or was I beginning to lose consciousness? Oxygen, I badly needed oxygen.

"No pool?!" the voice louder again, shaking me from my indolence.

"Right! ... No ... pool"

I started climbing again. "It's ... a ... one ... bed ... flat, noth ... ing ... more, ... noth ... ing ... less, ... I ... told ... you ... ear ... lier, ex- ... wife!"

I thought it important to labour the point. I mean, who was supposed to be in charge here in my flat? (Reader, please don't answer that, I can only take so many negative vibes at once.)

"Not ex-wife, not technically, anyway, hon," she said, in a way that sounded like she was gloating.

"What?! ... I ... filled ... in ... all ... the ... papers ... and ..." I was at the top of the stairs at last, released the bags and stood sucking relatively coolish air into my labouring lungs, "I ... paid ... the ... bloody ... court ... fees."

Standing in front of me with her back to the open doors to the balcony, Maisie appeared as a menacing silhouette, her hands on her hips. By golly, she was bloody huge.

"Oh, you filled in the petition all right, Jerry, and the court awarded the decree nisi a couple of months ago, but you haven't applied for the decree absolute yet, so we are still technically man and wife."

"No shit!"

"Yes, shit! You didn't give your online lawyer your change of address, so I got all your mail forwarded on from our old house. Oh, nice fucking job on that house by the way, you bastard! Also, I had to get home from the coast by train. Lucky I had a bit of cash on me, as all our credit cards were completely maxed out. Nice surprise that as well, you evil sod!"

"Oh! Impressed with the house, then, were you, hon?" I grinned, noticing my natural inclusion of the unmerited endearment far too late to stop it coming out. I was hoping she would regard its use as ironic rather than a slip. That house was a piece of work, though, I was quite proud of it, in my own little way.

"Yeah, some builder was doing some preliminary demolition and clearing work when I got there and allowed me to take anything I wanted, I think it amounted to two carrier bags-full." She laughed at that, moving away from the window and sat her wobbly bloated body on my sofa and looked around my comfortable little flat.

"You are not staying," I said, "There's no room for you, still married or not, I can apply for that decree absolute any time I want."

"Course you can, sweetie," she cooed, "No telly?"

"On the mezzanine," I indicated the set of steps in front of the kitchen area leading up to the open-plan bed and separate bathroom, before looking back at her, making herself comfortable on the sofa.

"There are more stairs onto the roof, too. I often take breakfast up there, but too hot at this time of day. Ohh! You're blond!" I only just noticed her change of hair colour, I'm very observant, me.

"That's not very convenient, Jer, all these stairs, we'll have to move, hon."

"Oh, no! You are not dictating anything to me, there is no 'we' in this relationship, darling, only me. You are not staying. Definitely not staying."

"So, you'd kick your virtually still-married wife out, without a second thought would you, my dear heart? After all this time that I've spent trying to track you down."

"Yes I would, in an instant. And, anyway, just how did you manage to track me down?"

"I still have friends at the bank, hon, and I found out that you get your monthly bank statements posted to you out here. You could get them sent to you on-line you know, sweetie."

"We have a poor internet reception down here, I have to travel halfway to the coast to get a decent connection. Anyway, I didn't think you'd be on speaking terms with Gordon down at the bank."

"It wasn't Gordon, as it happens. That little shit still won't talk to me. How he managed to be confirmed in my job as manager at the bank I don't know."

"When your shit hit the fan, Maize, he was the only staff member left that the customers were prepared to deal with. The branch managers right across your area were decimated in the fall out, and the replacements sent from head office were too arrogant or simply weren't up to the job. The customers refused to deal with them. Gordon was their choice and the bank had no option but to offer him the position. I think he deserved his chance and has done very well since, Josephine tells me he is highly regarded."

"I saw him in town last weekend with his pair of brats, and that mousey little wife of his in tow. He completely ignored me."

"One of those 'brats' you refer to, is my beautiful god-daughter, Hazel. I would have you know that his wife Jo and daughter Kylie are also very beautiful. Gordon's a great bloke and he is the only reason I still bank at your branch. His help and investment advice is invaluable."

"I might have known you'd be in league with him, he was the bloody whistle-blower wasn't he?"

"He helped, I couldn't done it as well without him."

"What!?" she exploded, "He helped YOU? I didn't think you even knew anything about it. I intercepted Gordon's disks that he sent you in the post. You petitioned for unreasonable behaviour in the divorce papers, not adultery."

"That was because it was the easy option, I would only have used the tapes in extremis. It was me that sent the tapes to our house, not Gordon. I knew you would intercept them and then come down to the caravan, acting as though nothing happened. That left me free to sell the house for a song."

"And you sold the bloody caravan while I was still sleeping it as well, didn't you? You utter bastard!"

"Yes, and sold it to such a nice young couple, too."

"Actually, they were very nice about it. All the paperwork was in order, on the basis of vacant possession. They gave me until the end of the week to get my arse out of there. I couldn't hire a car as there wasn't enough money left in the current account. I had to get a cab and the train home. Then I found I had no place to stay, as you had wrecked and sold our fuckin' house for next to nothing, you shit!"

I laughed at that, revenge is so sweet. Maisie laughed too, which surprised me and I started to look at her in a different light. She regarded me, too.

"I like your clean-shaven look, Jer, you always looked scruffy with that beard and the 'tache," she said, interrupting my thoughts.

"Yeah, far too hot here in Spain for facial hair."

"Suits you, looks very neat with the shaven head, too."

She was still smiling, evaluating me. She probably noticed I remained slim. I didn't want to bring up the fact she was not only fat, but obese. Her face was still pretty though, but there was something about her that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

She was different, Maisie was, very different. I had never thought of her as a blond before, it was very well done, a subtle blend of light and darker shades rather than an all-over flat bleached-out effect, it looked natural. It must have been expensive.

"Your hair's nice, Maize, looks very er ... very natural," I mumbled.

What a wanker! I wanted to kick this horrible fat woman out of my little adobe and now here I am giving her bloody compliments. I could kick myself but I know I would certainly fall arse over tit if I did.

"You really are a dumb bastard aren't you? This dirty blond is my natural colour, I have used a chestnut hair dye ever since I started college, I wanted to get on in banking and didn't want to be labelled as the dizzy dumb blond," she tutted. "I thought you'd know that from the dye bottles in the bathroom. And, the dead giveaway was the hair colour down ... here!" She indicated her lap area by pointing where it was.

"Thanks for pointing it out, dear," now I was being positively obstreperous, "It's been so long I'd need a bloody map to find it!"

"You've always been in need of a map to find what makes this girl tick!" she snarled back.

"What makes you tick is a different fuckin' cock every night! Anyone except me was getting the guided tour, while I was left back on the bus."

"And you didn't seem to want to get off the bus, did you? You certainly didn't do anything about getting me off. I assumed you weren't interested in me any more."

I was surprised about her hair colour, she must've been blond when I knew her at school. She had begun dyeing it before we started going out. She must've always had the stuff in the bathroom, but she had so many cans and jars, to make herself beautiful, that I never really looked closely at them. I used her deodorant a couple of times when she'd forgotten to buy me any, but it only provoked wolf whistles down the garage, so it was only used as a last resort.

"Now you know, I may have been interested in getting you off once upon a time but not any longer. Now I just want you off my property. Still, I will say, your hair looks nice."

"What do you think about the rest of me, then Jer?" She stood up and did a twirl.

My first thought was where's the carnival carousel music? She was a big lady.

"Your hair's shorter, an' you've put on a few pounds."

I was trying to be diplomatic, I could have said 'stone'.

I continued, "And you appear to be happy."

She was happy, in fact her face positively glowed. Last time I saw her she had a glowing face and torso, well, all down one side it was glowing bright pink and in one or two places she was just starting to peel. But that was then, now she looked, I really hated to say it ... fabulous. Fat as fuck, but fab with it.

"Of course I am happy and so will you be," she grinned, slapping her hands together for emphasis, "WE, you and I, my husband, are having a happy event!"

With that she lifted up her dress. My first thought was ugh, her fat belly, but her huge belly bulge was very low, a large pair of functional white elasticated underpants straining around her waist about belly button high. Her hugely enlarged rounded breasts were also being kept in check by elastic in the form of a large white bra. She was ... Fuck!

"You're ... " I couldn't even get my brain to even think the unthinkable, let alone voice it.

"I'm pregnant, Jer, you can say it. Seven months gone actually, thank you for noticing and offering to let me use your toilet, you moron!"

"Oh, sorry, the loo's upstairs, in the bathroom if you need it." I stuttered.

"I always need it at the moment. I was afraid it might be upstairs," she said, "We are going to have to move, honey. I have to go to the loo every five minutes now and I need one on the same level as the kitchen and sofa."

"You are not thinking of having your bastard sprog here. That ... is not going to happen."

She was a quarter of the way up the flight when she turned and smiled sweetly at me. She had become so used to twisting me around her little finger for twenty years, she was still trying to push my buttons. She was pushing some now all right, not the ones she intended, though.

"OUR sprog, dear and not a bastard, WE're still married just about, remember?" her sweet smile still on her chubby cherubic face.

"You are not having one of your lover's lovechild here and expecting to put MY name down as the father are you? Because that is an offence. I won't have it and you are definitely not having the bloody thing here!" I exploded. "I bet you don't even know who the father is, do you?" I accused.

"I give you that, Jerry, there is an element of doubt, granted," she smiled benignly at me from the top of the staircase, she was infuriatingly smug for a woman in her situation. "But a mother knows," she continued, "And of course you're right, the baby can't be born here, we need a separate nursery, and ..."

"No, absolutely no way that is happening. Get out of my fucking house!"

By now she had disappeared from view and probably already in my toilet. Haha! Living on my own, I always leave the seat up nowadays, that'll annoy her! Good!

"Uh huh! You owe me big time, buster!" came her disembodied voice. It sounded echoey.

Damn, she was peeing into my toilet and she didn't even bother to close the door!

"You left me without a home or any visible means of support, you bastard, and we're still married!" she snapped. "I didn't think there would be any point chasing you for any alimony but I considered it was worth checking anyway, just in case you had left any money in the bank. So I had an old pal look you up. And guess what? She told me, although she wasn't allowed to give me any specific details, she did tell me that you had an active account and it was among the top dozen incomes in the branch!"

"Oh shit!" I thought.

"I bet you're thinking 'Oh shit!' aren't you, honey?"

"Whah?!"

"So, as I was still your wife, technically speaking, I got a court order to have a print out of the account from day one plus a sequestration order, as of this morning, to freeze it until I got my share of your, our assets," she said triumphantly, flushing the toilet as she did so. "And the court allowed me to take out sufficient finds in the meantime to settle our debts and join you out here."

"Bugger!"

OK not as dynamic as "Oh shit!" but Maisie had already said that.

I hated being so predictable in front of my wife, as she apparently still appears to be. That's the last time I bloody well get a divorce on-line.

"You probably didn't notice the court order as it only started this morning and your Internet connection's shit. I've checked it out. There's money going in from a single unknown source, in American dollars, and a regular amount then going out into your bank deposit account. However, there are no drawings to you, which means you must be self-sufficient over here. So I got a court order putting a hold on your deposit account as well."

She reappeared at the top of the stairs just as I was mouthing the words "Oh shit!"

"Did I not lipread you mouthing, 'Oh shit!' again, honey?"

"Whah?!"

"You are so predictable, my sweet."

I am so predictable, she's right, of course.

"So now all your money is tied up, honey, and only I have the means to release it."

Her face looked like the smiling Cheshire cat without the fur but it didn't look like it was going to fucking-well disappear soon, unfortunately.

"So, clever clogs," I asked, "a mother knows the father, does she? Who is it, Gordon?"

"Not Gordon, that skinny pissant, his heart simply wasn't in it, the back-stabbing lucky little shit."

"Well, I know that he doesn't fire blanks, he's got two lovely girls and he told me you liked doing it bareback."

"Yes, well, that was clearly a mistake. How do you know him anyway? And didn't I hear you say you were a godparent to one of his precious little freaks?"

"I followed him home from one of your trysts and he owned up to the affair. He's got two lovely daughters that he dotes on and his wife Josephine is a knockout."

"So that's how you two got together, I have been wondering what was behind it all."

"So, this baby could it be Gavin's? He has three children, so he is more than likely in the frame as a possibility."

"Gavin was all flash and pop, that long streak of piss was all take, take, take, hopeless as a lover. Definitely not the daddy in this case. Nice bod but shit in the sack. How do you know Gavin's children, anyway? I didn't even know he had any."

"I don't know the children, to be honest, I never met them," I replied, "but Gavin's wife Adrienne talks about them all the time and I make sure I speak to her at least once a week, she's absolutely lovely. Gavin's still a dick but he is trying to be the model husband for her. So it must be Mr M-H's the father-to-be then. I never actually watched the video but those that did tell me that he rang the bell seven times on that last weekend."

"No, definitely not him, he had his nuts defused years ago. Apparently his wife insisted that two children were enough."

"Annette will be happy to hear that, they are still negotiating the settlement and any paternity case could have delayed or affected the outcome."

"Who the fuck's Annette?"

"Annette Marshall-Hobbs."