Mission Impossible

We spend the next couple of hours chatting, mostly mum telling me how romantic and thoughtful Colin is being and how I should follow his instructions and not to second guess him or do anything before he wants me to.

I walk into the Nags Head just after it opens, Gerry is at the end of the bar chatting with Malcolm, christ does Malc ever go home? Gerry looks at me, says something to Malc and picking a glass from under the bar he holds it under the vodka optic, looks at me and asks, "usual?"

I shake my head and ask, "did my Mac leave anything here for me?"

He sucks in air past his teeth with a hiss, shaking his head like a dodgy mechanic looking under your cars bonnet for the first time and then asks, "What sort of thing?"

"Gerry don't be a twat, give it here."

He grins and pushes the glass up and a measure goes into the glass, he puts some orange juice in it and hands it to me saying, "it's only a single you'll be able to drive."

I'm not so sure, but I accept it, he then reaches behind one of the bottles under the row of optics and retrieves an envelope. Opening it I find.

This next ones a winner

but come what may

wait til after your dinner

tomorrow, wed nes day.

"Bastard!" I exclaim loudly and hear Gerry and Malcolm snigger. I knock back the vodka and storm out. Being Tuesday, there is no market, so the market place is a car park. Leaving the pub I start walking to my car and see that copper that comes in the Nags, Brown his name is, walking toward me, it is obvious he has just left the cop shop. Remembering my earlier interaction with a copper I feel like I am blushing, and wonder whether getting in my car is a wise decision as I have just topped up my alcohol levels. Instead I go to the cafe. Just before I get to the door I wonder whether Col meant dinner as in lunch time, or dinner as an evening meal. Fuck it why do we have to use the same word for both?

I have a cup of tea and a ham and cheese salad sandwich. As I eat, I think about Mac's little game and how my mum thinks it is really romantic and I must admit, now I agree with her although having to wait until tomorrow for my next clue is infuriating. Especially if it is evening meal dinner because if it is, there's loads of places, bollocks lunch times too. The Nags is out, the only grub he sells are crisps, nuts and other shit out of bags or sweaty cheese rolls.

So my choices are, this cafe, Jamal's, the Bee Hive and the House Martin, oh and that posh place with the French name what is it, les Cats must cats or something like that, I hope not, because that was where I suppose you could say I first got together with Dick.

The Bee Hive, I doubt that will be it, I can't ever remember eating there with Mac. We've had a few lunches occasionally on a Saturday. I look at the clue again and realise he's not saying where we have dinner, only I will get a clue after dinner. Jesus Christ, talk about keeping me in suspense. With nothing else to do, I go round to see Dick, why not? a couple of hours with him should take my mind off it.

Odd! His cars not here, he has been working from home since the first lockdown, hee hee, I've given him a blowjob a few times while he has been on a video meeting, that's it. He must have had to go into his work for some reason. I would call him except we have agreed no calls and no texts either way, that seemed to be a good idea at the time, but now I find it frustrating, in more ways than one. Ah well, I'll go home and do some washing and maybe watch something on the idiot box.

I stay home and do just that, I cook up that chop I got out last night and a baked spud.

Eight comes and goes, still no phone call, at half past I think bollocks to him, and set off to see Dick again.

Would you believe it, he's still not here, disheartened I head home.

At home I check to see whether Mac has called me, of course he hasn't.

I think about having a vodka and decide against it and see what's on the idiot box, I see there's a new series of Archer that we had missed, so I stick that on. When the little prompt comes up after three episodes, I decide to try Dick again and head over only to find he is still not there. I wonder where he has gotten to, he never said he was going away. Back home I half expect to find a message from Mac, but no, nothing. This time I do have a vodka, but unlike last night, just the one.

Wednesday drags, I go over to Dick's again and he's still not there, I get home just past quarter past twelve and do the ironing that I had put off yesterday. Hearing nothing by half one I am beginning to get annoyed, well more annoyed, two comes and goes, so I decide to try Dick again.

Guess what, he is still not fucking there.

I do myself a cheese sandwich for tea, I can't be arsed to do anything else.

At seven o'clock there is a knock on the door, I half expect Colin to be standing there, but no, some young girl, I notice that she's chewing, chewing gum, before I notice what she has in her hand. A white box, it's about 10 inches wide, a bit over a foot long and about three inches deep. The girl asks, "Mrs MacColl?"

"Yes."

"Delivery for you."

I take it from her and close the door. Opening the box I see some bright red flowers, I think they're chrysanthemums, but couldn't swear to it. They are lovely, underneath the flowers is an envelope. I sniff the flowers, taking in their scent,before I open the envelope. I immediately find myself thinking of Dick, not Mac. I find it difficult to get Dick out of my mind for some reason and then I realise the flowers smell like Dicks aftershave. Confused I rip open the envelope.

these flowers you can see

represent your love for me

being away from you is a strain

I feel like I'll never hold you again

your very next task ahead

you will find under your bed.

Still holding the flowers I literally run up the stairs and into our bedroom. Sure enough under the bed is another envelope. I am sure I had looked here yesterday while waiting for the washing, I don't know how I missed it. Ripping it open I find.

To find where you go next

You must send me a text

but first, think you must

tell the last time we shared our lust

the day you may find too tricky

so name the month we last got sticky.

What's he on about, it was last wee... No it wasn't. I drop onto the bed as the sudden realisation that we hadn't made love for some time, but it must be this month as it is the 30th now. I start to type March on my phone but now thinking about it, it might not have been. I clear that and start typing February, after all we must have done it on Valentines day.

Oh god, no, we had an argument because he... he... he said something about how we weren't doing it. Guilt flows through me as I realise it has been six weeks since then, I think I am beginning to understand. I think back, nothing stands out, but why would it, we have been married for twenty years, it's like food isn't it, we don't remember every meal, just the occasional special ones.

I am sure, no, I know we did it between Christmas and the new year because he wasn't working, the reality smacks me in the face and it smacks me hard, oh no, I can't believe it, I don't think we have made love since December. The guilt is suddenly accompanied by shame and sorrow. How... how could I not. I know he has tried to get me in the mood, several, no many times but I always gave him an excuse, not in the mood, too tired, having an argument, whatever. No, no, he can't give me all the blame, I don't think he has tried since Valentines day, no after being turned down for six weeks and getting rejected on the lover's day, why would he try. I know why I've let my relationship, if you can call it that, with Dick has, well, satisfied me I suppose. Shit, the reality of what I have been doing hits me and I burst into tears.

It takes a few minutes, but through the sobs and tears, my quivering hands type. [December, I am so sorry I didn't realise. I promise I will never say no again, please forgive me.]

I read it through several times, each time thinking, no, that's not enough, but I can't think of anything else to say. I am scared that it's not enough. After sending it, I remember the voicemail I sent him Monday night telling him he wasn't going to get any nookie when he got home, god, how that must have seemed an empty threat to him.

I go downstairs and guess what, I reach for the vodka, pour myself a glass and sit there next to the house phone, with my mobile in my hand desperately waiting for him to reply. Of course, drinking a lot of alcohol when you are feeling down is never a good idea and two hours later I have managed to turn it all around in my head. I am thinking he has made me remember all those happy moments for no other reason than to slap me down and make me feel bad. I am getting more and more angry and adding fuel to the fire, I finish the orange juice and have to use orange squash.

I start to write a text, telling him I am on to his game, but the phone screen is blurry and keeps putting in the wrong letters. I give up and call him.

The fact that it goes straight to voicemail does nothing to dampen my ire and I let rip with a vengeance.

"You fucking bastard. I suppose you think you're clever setting me up to remember all those loving times just so you could make me feel guilty because I haven't fucked you as much as you want. Well you can go fuck yourself because you ain't going to be fucking me any time soon. In fact I'm gonna move your shit into the spare bedroom, perhaps I'll get a man in to see to me properly, perhaps I already h..."

It is spontaneous, I didn't feel it coming until it came, I think I taste it, maybe even see it before I feel my stomach spasm. With spontaneous projectile vomit shooting out of me, I drop my phone and clamp my hands over my mouth and dash to the toilet managing to smash my face into the doorpost but that does not slow me down. Too soon I heave again and the seal though my clamped fingers fails, the pressure shooting it further in a thin line across the hall wall.

I keep retching long after I had empty my stomach. Sobbing piteously, I suddenly want Mac here to look after me, hold me, help me clean myself up, oh why wasn't he here?

Sometime later, I rinse my mouth out in the washbasin straight from the tap and wash my face. I take off my top and put it into soak, half staggering I stumble up and go to bed.

I feel like shit when I drag myself out of bed, I hurt all over, especially my face and when I see myself in the mirror I can't believe what I see. I have a bruise from just above my right eyebrow down my cheek to my chin. I throw some clothes on and head downstairs, of course the first think I see is a diagonal line of dried puke on the hallway wall. Oh great, that's all I need. That brings back the memory of puking in the living room and, scared of what I will see I hesitantly look into the room.

My stomach heaves again as soon as I see and smell what I did, thankfully although it is painful retching there is nothing there to expel. I start crying again and return and get on my knees and set about trying to clean up the still drying mess.

I start in the living room and I find my phone on the floor beside the chair and suddenly a flash of memory hits me. I gasp and my every word of the call cascades into my head. Distraught, I sit back on the floor and cry.

There is a knock on my door, No! I think to myself, not now, I can't face anyone now. Another knock, louder this time and it is accompanied by a voice, "Elaine, Elaine, I know you're in there," More knocking, "Elaine don't you dare try and hide from me, I know what you did and what you said last night. You open this bloody door and I mean right bloody now."

I suppose it's a parent and child thing, but as much as I don't want to see or talk to my Mother, I go and let her in.

As soon as I open the door her head seems to recoil and she says, "Christ Elaine, you stink of booze."

I don't answer, I just turn and go into the kitchen and fill the kettle, I hear a snort of what I assume is disgust as she follows me.

"I'm here because somebody phoned me first thing. He said Colin had gotten a drunken voice mail from you in the early hours and was very worried about you."

I just stood there crying pitifully.

"Don't waste your time with those crocodile tears, he told me the gist of what you said, so even if I was stupid enough to think they are real tears you'll get no sympathy from me. I see you've been sick in the hallway and I can also see you've not even started to clean it up..."

My sobbing increases with renewed vigour and her words become meaningless to me as I collapse onto the kitchen floor crying. "I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it I was angry. I got drunk..."

"Don't give me that. Tuesday you were bloody near gaga telling me how nice it was remembering all those lovely things and how much you loved him."

"I know, I know I did but the next clue, it... it was horrible it made it seem like he built up all those good feelings just so he could hurt me more."

"What are you on about you stupid girl? He would never hurt you. Bugger me girl, your father is besotted by me, but in comparison to your Colin, even I am envious of you."

"I know, but you don't know what he said to me in that note."

"Why, what did he say?"

"He said,,, he said, Mum, it's horrible, I can't tell you what he said."

"Where is this bloody note, I'll read it myself."

"No mum, you can't."

She scans the work surfaces in the kitchen and failing to see the note she heads to the living room. I chase after her, crying out mum no, please mum..." She reaches for the living room door, I plead pitifully, "No mum don't go in there..."

"Oh Elaine, what... how... I can't believe this, how much did you drin... Ah, here it is."

She reads it and looks at me. We stare at each other for what seems like hours and she asks, "Well?"

I stand there feeling helpless trying to deny this is happening.

"If your answer was anything other than March you have a problem."

I know I am repeatedly saying no, as I shake my head.

"Are you telling me you have refused your husband since February?"

My face contorts as it tries to expel tears that are no longer there, only croaks come out of my mouth as I struggle to answer.

"Longer, not even Valentines day, what's wrong with you woman? January? You mean you have not had sex this year. Oh god no, he hasn't but you have haven't you?"

I feel her eyes boring into me penetrating into my soul. The silence is oppressive, I need her to say something, but when she does, I wish she hadn't.

"You fucking disgust me..." I am shocked, she never uses that word, "The sick you have spread over this room and the hall is more acceptable to me than you are. You had better tell him and hope that he will forgive you. If he does that's better than you deserve. I know if I had done that to your Father he would throw me out in a heartbeat and I will tell you this, if Colin does throw you out you needn't come running to me and your Father, we won't take you in. You'd better hope that, that, cunt you're fucking can put you up, or is he married too?"

I gasp, I have hardly ever heard Mum really swear, other than the odd bloody and such and now she has said fuck twice and even the C word, that's one even I almost never use. Desperately I try to talk, to tell her she's wrong but my throat is too tight, I can't get anything out and then she is gone, a fact emphasised by a loud slam, so loud I am surprised the glass didn't shatter.

I had heard nothing back from my text or the voicemail, so again I am in limbo. As bad as I feel remembering my voicemail, my Mother has really driven it home. I doubt I could feel any worse than I do right now.

I wait in all day hoping to get another clue, or even a text telling me he understood my anger. I am now in fear for the future of my marriage and of course that reminds me of the many times recently I have led Dick to believe I am almost ready to leave Mac although I have never meant it.

I triy to go to bed early, but sleep will not come so I get up and sit staring at the idiot box until after three and sleep still does not come easily.

I awake with a start, glancing at the clock I see I have slept late. I jump out of bed and run down to see whether there is anything for me.

My heart skips a beat seeing an envelope that has been put through the letterbox, with trembling hands, I open it.

At last your quest is near the end

feelings have pushed you far

Now you wonder where I'll send

you No stay where you are

He wants me to wait here. I breathe a sigh of relief, why? I don't know nothing has changed but it makes me happier. I know that whoever dropped this through the letter box has probably been in contact with him. So he has, he must have understood my drunken rant. Feeling better, I suddenly realise I need to pee. I dash to the loo and sigh with relief again. I dress in clothes I can get dirty and really go to town cleaning the house.

I think about making something special for tea to welcome him back home. It would be a nice gesture and god knows I need to make plenty of them, but it's Friday and generally on Friday's we either eat out or have a takeaway.

I decide to go with tradition, not because I feel lazy, but because I think we... I should start trying to get things back to where they should be, back toward the way they were.

When he comes through the door I look at him carefully, but I really can't see whether he is happy to be home or really unhappy. We just look at one another and neither of us speak. Still without saying anything he launches himself upstairs. I hear the wardrobe open and then several drawers. I can't move. I'm sure he's leaving me.

I hear the shower running and breathe again.

He comes down probably a bit quicker than I would usually expect. I finally manage to speak, smiling I say, "I don't know whether to hug you or kill you."

He just looks at me and says, "You can tell me in the car."

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"You'll know when we get there, come on, we have to go."

88888888888888

Well. It's here, the day I find out whether she is going to stay with me.

As I have been all week, I am up early and I set about walking around the house to make sure I have left no evidence that I was there. Nothing jumps out at me, so I head off to work.

The day passes and I leave at five for a change, as soon as I get to Dicks I start feeding him alcohol.

At first he refuses, but I explain to him that if he drinks all he can and passes out, I will set him free.

"Right, you bastard, if you grass me up, it will probably go nowhere. Her old man don't know I'm here and you don't know who I am, so you just chalk this up to one of life's misadventures. If I find out you have spoken to the law, then I will be back and you will not live through it. Understand?"

"Yes."

I give him moose's milk, that's white rum and milk. Why not, he's got almost two cases of the rum in the cellar. I'll give him his due, he gets through over a bottle before he passes out the first time. I wake him up and get him to drink another quarter bottle before I can't get him to wake.

Of course, I'm not going to let him off that easily, I plan on leaving him a little surprise.

It is risky, but besides me there are only two other people that would be almost sure I am to blame for what must happen next and I was sure only one of them would consider telling.

I give the house another once over and once satisfied there are no telltale signs there has been anyone else here besides him, I check to make sure he isn't waking up anytime soon and cut him free.

To get to my house from his, on a pushbike you can cycle through Cardington industrial estate where I was able to take the tape off my bike and dispose of the pallet wrap in a skip. It isn't hard to see Elaine isn't sure how to greet me. I go for a very quick shower while she is making up her mind, I hadn't read any of the texts she had sent until then, and while I am actually showering I play the voice mails, I do laugh.