It Started with a Key

Alternative title: How to really fuck things up.

I suppose it really started about five months ago. I will never understand why such a little incident stuck in my mind so much.

It had been a normal Saturday morning, and in the afternoon, I was taking my Son Robert (14) to his football match and my wife Ronnie (Veronica) was going to take our Karen (12) daughter to her Dance class.

Well to tell the truth, I was running just a little bit late that day and as I went to leave the house; I found that my keys weren't on the rack. Dam, I had left them on the dressing table in the bedroom when I got changed. Time was getting on, so I grabbed Ronnie's Keys; both our key-rings had Identical sets of keys on them so we could use each others cars without having to swap keys about. I called upstairs and told Ronnie she would have to use my keys, then took off. I think I heard Ronnie shout something, but as I said, I was running late.

As usual Robert's team had run themselves silly during the first half. Yea, they were well ahead, but they had knackered themselves. In the second half their opponents came back and slaughtered them. Anyway the kids enjoyed themselves and that's what sport is really supposed to be about.

When we got home Ronnie really tore into me for me for using her keys. Her reaction seemed to me to be well out of proportion. Well after all, the keys on both our rings are identical. I put her anger down to the fact that she might not have heard me, when I told her my keys were in the bedroom and she had to go look for them.

Ronnie and I have been married for sixteen years now. I'm forty this year and she is thirty-eight, but she doesn't look as if she's even thirty. You know even if I say so myself, she's a real Milf. She turns all the guys' heads, when she comes into the pub, which she doesn't do very often, as she's not really a pub type person.

Ronnie is one of the guiding lights of the local Woman's institute, where she goes every Monday evening and is also into a ladies whist club, that keeps her occupied on Wednesday nights.

Me, I'm a beer and crisps man; every Friday night I'm down the Kings Arms for a skin-full. Saturday mornings, I do tend to sleep it off, but by lunchtime I'm ready to play the dutiful father again.

Saturday night Ronnie and I, that is if she doesn't drag me along to one of her woman's institute fund raising functions; normally go out and take in a show or enjoy a slap up meal in a fancy restaurant.

When we get home, its the highlight of our the week. Our Saturday night extravaganza. The kids spend every Saturday night at they're grand parents, so Ronnie and I can make as much noise as we want, and if there's one thing that Ronnie likes to do, its make a lot of noise when we make love. She really enjoys her Saturday nights. Of course often we make love on weeknights as well. But with the kids around Ronnie can't really let herself go.

Anyway, it was some weeks later and I had almost completely forgotten about the incident with the keys. One afternoon Ronnie's car broke down. The recovery service dropped her off at home and then for some reason I never will quite understand, having let herself into the house. Ronnie gave the driver her complete key ring, house keys and all.

When I got home from work, Ronnie told me what she had done, so I called the Garage. Johnny, one of the guys who runs the place, drinks at the same pub as me and we arranged that he would remove the car key from the ring and meet me for a drink later; when he could give the rest of the keys to me.

It was about ten when I got home again; I walked up to the front door and put the key the lock, but it wouldn't turn. I was using Ronnie's keys, as I hadn't taken mine with me.

You know what its like when your familiar with a bunch of keys, you don't look at them, you go by the feel of size and shape of the key to know which one to use. On closer inspection I noticed that there was an extra key on Ronnie's ring. I let myself in with the correct key and once again forgot about the incident.

It must have been another week or so later when Ronnie and I returned from shopping; as I was getting the groceries out of the back of my car, Ronnie went to open the door. I just happened to notice that the first key she tried in the lock didn't work, so she pulled it out and put another one in.

"I did that last week with your keys." I commented, "What is that bloody key for?"

Ronnie appeared to think for a moment, then said.

"Oh, it's the key to my office at work, I took it off of the big ring. It saves me getting them all out when I go out of my office during the day."

For a moment I was taken aback. I had to think, just what had Ronnie just said to me? You see, Ronnie had just told me an outright lie! No ifs or buts about it. It was definitely a lie! But why?

Veronica is a key holder for her company. Because we live quite close to her offices, she holds a big bunch of keys for the whole of the complex. If any of the fire or burglar alarms should go off, out of hours. The police can call her to go round and unlock the place to give them access.

Now, I have looked at that company key ring of hers, many times in the past and I know that it is welded closed. No one can remove a key from that ring, unless they physically cut the ring with a saw and then it would need to be welded closed again.

Just why would she want to lie about a stupid key? I lay in bed that night with my mind in turmoil. Why would my loving wife lie to me? Perhaps she just got mixed up and meant she had got another key for her office. No, Ronnie had definitely said she had taken the key off the big ring; that's the name she always uses for the works keys, and she had thought about what she was going to say before she said it.

All sorts of preposterous scenarios were by now going through my head. What could that dam key really be for?

The only thing I could come up with was the unthinkable. Ronnie and I were happily married, weren't we, or were we? This left me with just one option, I was going to have to watch Ronnie and see what she was up to. There weren't many opportunities I could think of, that Ronnie had to be doing anything she shouldn't; there were only Monday and Wednesday evenings.

Mondays was easy to check. WI Secretary normally dropped of copies of the minutes of their Monday meetings at our house every Tuesday afternoon. I just had to pull them out of Ronnie's files and check she was on the list of those in attendance; she was at every one. The minutes also gave the times the meetings started and finished and they appeared to coincide with her arrival home give or take a few minutes.

The whist club on Wednesday called for a little more work. The Whist club met at each other's houses, but luckily whoever's house they were meeting in the husband would usually retreat to the pub. As the only decent Pub around was the Kings Arms, I was able to leave the kids for half an hour and slip down there for a quick one. Sure enough all the husbands; when put under what I considered to be quite subtle questioning, reported that Ronnie was in attendance as usual.

By the following Saturday I was beginning to think I was being very stupid and had been on a wild goose chase; when Robert's football was cancelled. I was just settling down at home, to watch the afternoon sports on the telly, when I spotted Ronnie's book.

Ronnie when she isn't doing her charity bit or playing whist, is an avid reader. She normally takes the book she was currently engrossed in, with her to read it whilst she waits for Karen. But there it was, on the bloody coffee table. Of course she could well have forgotten it; she had done in the past. But whenever she did, she would always come home and get it.

Then I suddenly remembered the incident where I had used Ronnie's keys on that Saturday and Ronnie's inexplicable anger that I had taken them. Could it be, she needed to use that extra key on Saturday afternoons, whilst our daughter was at her dance class. I immediately decided that on next Saturday I was going to find out if she did use that key for something. I couldn't go steaming down there straight away as she sometimes Ronnie waits in the car and she might spot my car. There would be hell to pay if she thought I was spying on her.

By a lucky chance there was a football tournament that following weekend; it would keep young Robert occupied for most for the day. But if I was going to spy on Ronnie I would have to be careful, she would not take kindly to finding me sniffing around.

I called my drinking pal John from the garage, looking for a car I could use, that Ronnie wouldn't recognise. John came up with an old-banger; a Ford Sierra, it had seen better days but was still just about road legal and it had three months tax left on it. For £100 he arranged to have it delivered to the sports club on Friday and the keys were to be left with the Bar Steward.

One o'clock on the Saturday saw me parked near Karen's dance school and I watched as Ronnie dropped her off and then drove away. I followed Ronnie in the Sierra keeping at a reasonable distance behind her. No more than a mile or so up the road she turned into a lane that ran behind a row of shops and parked. I had to drive right past her, as there was nowhere for me to stop. But Ronnie wasn't expecting me to be following her, so I was lucky and she didn't notice me.

I stopped at the end of the lane and watched her cross over and go to a door at the back of the shops. She let herself in and disappeared.

I've got to be honest; I didn't have the foggiest notion as to what I should do next. I thought it would be a good idea to take the car numbers of all the vehicles parked near the place. I think I remember reading a story where a husband did that; but I didn't know what I was going to do with them.

I gave her about ten minutes then I went back up the lane and took the numbers of all the cars parked there. From the look of the layout of the door I figured the one she went into, led up to a flat on the first floor.

'So what do I do now?' I thought. 'Ronnie has been lying to me and then she goes to this bloody flat. Should I jump to conclusions or should I wait and see what else I can find out? If she's doing what I fear she may be doing, confronting her without any real evidence, could be a big mistake. It could well put her on her guard and unsubstantiated accusations aren't going to do me any good if it comes to a divorce.'

'Divorce! Now just hold on a minute.' I thought 'you don't know what she's up to in that flat. But then again, if she's not doing something she shouldn't? Why the hell hadn't she told me about coming here and why tell me the lie about the bloody key? No! Something is definitely rotten in the state of Denmark.'

There were the children to consider here. If my Ronnie is playing pat-a-cake with some Pratt up there. I didn't want to finish up with him playing daddy to my kids, just because I'd gone off half-cocked. No sit back and see what more I can find out, was what I finally decided.

I found a parking place in the main road that afforded me a good view of the lane and the door to the flat. I sat there struggling with my emotions, and wondering what the woman I loved was doing in that flat. An hour and a half later Ronnie came out; she looked up and down the lane then got back in her car and drove away.

I knew where Ronnie was going, so I figured I wait and see if anyone else came out of the flat. Twenty minutes later some guy comes out; he was dressed in a flash suit and I thought his face was familiar, but I couldn't place it. He got into a Merc and drove off down the lane. Assuming he must be the guy, I drove up the main road and intercepted him as he came back out onto it. Then I followed him as he drove to a house in the more affluent suburbs of town. Having taken careful note of the address I went straight around to the local library and looked the house up in the electoral roll.

I came out of the library feeling rather pleased with myself. I was now pretty sure that the guy was one Reginald Edwardo Passmore. Who was married to Margaret Olivier Passmore. Of course, this wasn't real evidence but I felt I had made a start. But by then it was getting near time to pick up my son.

I was very upset about my discovery and when we got home, I had to be very careful that I didn't let Ronnie know I was suspicious about her and that was to prove harder than I thought. A couple of times during the evening she asked if I was all right. So I pulled my socks up and concentrated on my behaviour towards her. Saturday night did not go with its usual swing for all my efforts.

Sunday morning, I really put my bloody foot in it. I wanted to get out of the house early, so I stupidly told Ronnie I was going fishing with a friend from work.

Now I have never been fishing in my bloody life, it's not something I could do; sit around all day watching a bloody river. Ronnie knows me too well and smelt a rat. She asked me some probing questions. But in the end I think I convinced her that it was really a pub by the river that we were really going to. Luckily I had the Sierra parked at the Sports club, because Ronnie insisted that I didn't take my own car if I was going to be drinking.

I went up to London, as there are a few shops that I had heard of, that sell the sort of equipment I thought I was going to need. I've got to honest with you. I was extremely upset at the thought of Ronnie playing around. But I was somehow enjoying the thought of playing the private eye. You know there's a kind of satisfaction in proving that what you think is happening, actually is. I was angry and gonna nail Ronnie's arse to the wall. Well that's how I was looking at it at the time. I didn't think it was going to be to difficult as I have read lots of stories about guys catching there wives cheating and it always sounds like child's play.

I found a shop that had just about everything a good detective or spy could want. Miniature cameras, bugging devices, the bloody works. The only trouble was, I'd have to take out another bloody mortgage to buy any of it. I left the shop feeling quite dejected, only to be accosted in the street by a guy who had been in the shop whilst I had been explaining what I needed to the salesman. He gave me a business card. On the back he had written a phone number.

"Call this bloke." he said, "He'll sort you out. He makes the gear at home and hires it out by the day."

I thanked him then called the number on my mobile. The guy's name was Kevin. He said he had what I wanted and told me to come right round. When I got there Kevin asked me lots of questions and warned me that I had to be careful. Recording my own home phone line was legal, but I was supposed to tell everyone that used it about the tap. Hidden cameras and microphones were legally a no no, if they weren't in my own home.

He suggested that I could use them to prove to myself what was going on. But for evidence to use in court, I would have to use a hand-held camera. He did offer to help me when it came down to the hand-held stuff (Bloody voyeur!). Anyway he gave me the gear we thought I would need and I gave him my credit card details and left for home. Via the Kings Arms of course, Ronnie will be expecting to my breath to smell of beer. I was getting good at this detective lark; it's the little things you've got to remember.

Now what I needed to do was get into that flat to plant the camera and microphones. Anytime would do, as the gear was radio controlled. But then I found out I was right and Ronnie had smelt a rat. When I looked at her key's that evening; the flat key was gone.

Ronnie was the same loving wife, she had always been. If I hadn't seen her go into that flat, I would have never thought anything was wrong.

The whole dam week went by, with me searching everywhere for that bloody key; but I had no luck. The following Saturday, after I had dropped my Robert off at his football match I drove down to the dance studio and Ronnie's car was parked outside. The next two Saturdays it was there also. Was it over, or were they just cooling it for a while? Come to that, had anything really been going on?

I had to find out so, on the following Friday I passed on the Kings Arms and I took Ronnie out to dinner. I probably drank more than I should have, to give me some Dutch Courage. As we finished our meal, I plucked up the nerve and asked her.

"Ronnie! Do you still love me?"

"What are you talking about Malcolm? Of course I do!"

"So there's nothing you need to tell me about then?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Now will you please stop it, before you get me upset."

But I could see by her eyes, she was upset. I had touched a nerve.

"OK, I was just offering a free pass. But if you say there's nothing then there's nothing."

"Are you feeling all-right? I think you've had too much to drink, you're talking nonsense, do you know that."

"Sorry babe, it's just that I've got something on my mind, that's all."

Well that was it; she'd had her chance. If it was innocent she could have told me about the flat and what she had been going there for.

Now, I do like a pint or two so as usual, Ronnie had driven us to the Restaurant. On the way home she stopped for petrol. As I went to get out to fill the tank for her; she told me she would do it, saying that I had been drinking too much. She was obviously angry with me. Probably because I had put her on the spot earlier.

She got out and filled the tank. I sat there feeling rather bored, and as you do, I fiddled with the electric window, looked in the door pocket and glove box. Then for some reason I pushed the little button that opened the ashtray and Bingo! Ronnie and I don't smoke so our ashtrays are filled with those smelly granules. But there, lying on the top of them, was the bloody key. I quickly closed the ashtray again and looked around to see if Ronnie had spotted me. But luckily she had gone inside to pay by then.

Saturday I took Robert to football again and then went down to the dance studio. Ronnie's car was in the Car Park and it was empty, so I parked the Sierra along side it. I slipped out; making sure no one was watching and let down Ronnie's front tyre. Then I went back to the football match.

Just after the dance class finished, Ronnie called on me on the mobile and told me she had a puncture. I went right over and told her to use my car to get home. I would change the wheel and get the puncture repaired; but she would have to pick up Robert on the way.

Once Ronnie and Karen had left, I pulled a can of Ready-Spare gas out of my pocket and blew her tyre back up. Then I drove down to the local hardware store and had a copy made of the key in the ashtray.

I nearly cocked things up again, by going home too soon. But then I remembered I was supposed to be getting the bleeding tyre fixed. Even a Quick-Fit Cowboy ain't that bloody quick. So I popped into the Kings Arms for a sly one.

Johnny my friend from the garage was in there and he started to pump me as to why I wanted a car, which the wife wasn't supposed to know about. He wasn't going to give up as he assumed that it was me who was on the lamb. In the end, I was forced to tell him that I thought Ronnie could well be screwing around on me.

His whole attitude changed as he told me his first wife had done the dirty on him and then fucked off leaving him with massive debts, as she had been purloining the money that he thought she was paying the bills with.

Johnny insisted that he was going to help me, whether I wanted his help or not. So I had to fill him in on what little I had discovered. Johnny was of the opinion that maybe Ronnie, thinking I had got suspicious of what she was up to on her Saturday afternoons, could well be meeting this guy at some other time.