Fat Chance Ch. 04-05

"Not a problem, I will have a look at it shortly," I promised.

"Within an hour of me walking out of that office, Mrs Cox and Aoife were escorted from the bank by security guards and were not allowed to take anything with them. Your wife looked defiant but the girl was absolutely inconsolable."

"So that's why Maisie needs a lift tomorrow, she hasn't got a car!" I told him. "So, are you still holding on in there?"

"Seems like, I was called back in the office and told that a new manager and assistant manager would be down in the next couple of days and I was asked to help him out while they got settled in. It seems our assistant manager, who is in Tenerife this week, had been on this jaunt before and one of the girls at another branch who was caught out this week put the finger on him. It's going to be interesting here for the next couple of weeks, then they will probably get rid of me."

I felt sorry for Gordon, none of this was his fault and if he had declined to help me I wouldn't have got as far as I had resolving my little problem.

"Sorry to hear that mate, keep in touch, won't you?"

"Sure will, if it hadn't been for you I would still be in her clutches and I might never have got my Josie back."

"You two good?"

"Think so, hope so."

"Good, pass on my best to Jo and Kylie, bye."

"Will do, bye to you for now, call me tomorrow for another update."

I looked at Max's site and accessed the hidden folders. I watched Maisie's interview, particularly when they played her the CD. Max had installed microphones which recorded the sound too, so I could hear what was said at her interview. Maisie was clearly shocked to the core and slumped in her chair at first. When she had recovered somewhat, she demanded to know if this tape had come from me. The interviewers admitted no, the recording had come from someone in the office. She thought of Gordon straight away. She didn't mince words, just called him every foul name under the sun. For the first time since I had met and fallen in love with her, I suddenly realised how ugly, coarse and bitchy my wife really was.

For the first time, since I started planning this day, I felt no twinge of loss or remorse. The bitch should pay and I was resolved that she would carry on paying until I'd finished the job.

I felt depressed after that and called Adrienne to cheer myself up. Even as I dialled I realised how sad my life had become. The only friends I seemed to be on speaking terms with was one of my wife's lovers and his wife, and the wife of another lover. I wondered whether to call Mrs Marshall-Hobbs and make up a full set.

"Hi, Jer!" came the cheerful greeting as she answered her phone, recognising my number, "How are you holding up, honey?"

"Feeling OK, I guess, but a little mixed," I replied. "Pleased with the way it has gone so far but sad when I realise my marriage is finally over after twenty wasted years. Enough of my situation, what about yourself, did Gavin behave himself over the weekend?"

"Yes, as far as I know, the kids certainly enjoyed having him around," came Adrienne's bright rejoinder, "He slept in my bed while I was at the hotel and was back on the sofa last night. I told him exactly what we had been up to over the weekend and he was shocked. He honestly didn't realise what your wife was up to, and called her a lot of not nice names once he saw the video. He said Maisie had told him that you were no longer able to get it up and was happy for her to take a lover, but that you didn't want to know who it was. Gavin said he thought he was her exclusive lover and was doing both of you a favour. He was pissed off to find out about M-H and even more pissed off to discover that Tuesdays and Thursdays, her boy Gordon was keeping her company!"

I laughed at that, but it was a hollow one, the cheater being cheated on didn't bring out my sympathetic feelings at all. "Not sure if he can take any moral high ground here, what with your sister and all."

"True, but both of them have now admitted that this was a one-off last Christmas round at Mum's. We were all pissed and Laura woke up with a hangover to find Gavin in her bed fast asleep. He got up in the night for a piss and went back to the wrong room."

"So perhaps they didn't have sex at all, then?"

"They might not have done before, but they were both horny when they woke up and they did the deed there and then. Afterwards they swore never to repeat it. Gavin was happy with that, but Laura had felt guilty ever since and owned up after Mum told her that Gavin was suspected of having an affair."

"Well, I really hope it all works out for you. Must go now, I need to sort out some meals for the week. Bye!"

"Bye, hon, keep your chin up!"

Good job she said chin and not pecker, or I might have lost it.

I concentrated on meal prep for the rest of the week, so I could heat up stuff in the microwave with the minimum of effort. I packed everything with butter and whey powder, olive oil and salt. By this time I didn't worry too much if I got fat again, even though I was only four pounds off my target.

I wasn't going all the way home to go to the slimming club so I looked online and found the nearest group that meet on a Monday. I discovered one just seven miles down the coast. Would you believe it, with all that excitement over the weekend I lost five pounds and overshot my target by one pound! I was so chuffed to get my target membership, to the accompaniment of polite but slightly puzzled applause. It was just a shame that Emma and Karen, and all my thinning friends in my home town, couldn't share my triumph.

Next day I collected Maisie from our home. She was all packed and ready to go and must have been looking out of the window for me. She didn't even want me in the house. She jumped on me and started kissing and pawing me like she was demented. I told her I wanted to make sure we had emptied the fridge.

"Done that!" she said triumphantly. I wanted to sort through the mail.

"Done it, all junk."

Make sure all the appliances except fridge and freezer were off.

"Done it!"

By now she had stopped being all lovey dovey and back to her cantankerous foot-tapping annoyed self that I had come to know and hate. Well, not hate, exactly, but not far off.

I chucked her bags and the carrier bag of perishables from the fridge and fruit bowl in the back of the van. I noted there was no wine, she must've finished it all off on Sunday and Monday. Plenty more at the caravan, I thought.

We stopped for lunch on the way and she asked for a gin and tonic. I made it a triple. I asked how she had got on at the weigh-in the previous night. She didn't go, she said, "too tired" after the weekend. That explained the missing wine.

Over the meal, I asked her about the current hassle in the bank. All I got back from her was that it was all about internal politics, like personnel changes at the top and how the male chauvinists were making things difficult for the few female managers. She laid it on pretty thick that none of it was her fault.

I pretended that I was sympathetic to her fictitious tale, of course, and mentioned the sex discrimination act would have to be invoked if she was blocked from the area promotion she had been saying was hers for the taking.

In the van, as we continued our journey, she mumbled something about the job being too time-consuming and she would prefer to be home a lot more, even if it meant leaving the bank if necessary. She kissed my hand and even held it in both hers pressed, unexpectedly lengthily I thought, into her lap until I had to let go and change gear.

She was amazed to see the sign showing we were winners of the best caravan award. I must've forgotten to mention it to her. She said she was so proud of me.

She stowed away her gear and I popped up to the shop to get a newspaper. I took the opportunity to drop into the clubhouse for a pint. The chairman of the caravan club introduced me to a nice young couple who were looking to buy a caravan. They weren't expecting to be able to buy one as good as mine of course, but the chairman thought I could give them a few tips about what to look for. We had a nice chat, they were a friendly pair, clearly very much in love. I took a liking to them straight away and they had my undivided attention for well over an hour as we got a few rounds in under our belts.

Maisie was asleep on the deck in the unseasonally glorious spring afternoon sunshine when I got back. She was slumped in a deckchair in a two-piece bathing suit which was now at least a size too small for her. Beside her was an empty wine glass and upturned wine bottle alongside a couple of screwed up chocolate bar wrappers. I smiled, I hadn't been as cheerful in her company since I didn't know when.

Her skin looked a bit red on one side. I knew that she had hardly been out in the sun at all during the winter and early spring but I thought, hey, she's a big girl, she can look after herself.

I found that I had a healthy appetite for the first time for a week, so I enjoyed my early evening meal of cold roast chicken and salad. Then I waited for Maisie to surface from her alcohol-fuelled slumbers. The sun dipped over the caravans in the west of the camp and the temperature dropped before I decided to wake her up. Even in the half-light she looked as if she was burnt to a crisp. I ran the shower for her, not too hot but it did sting her. I rubbed some cream on her crinkled skin, then sat her down in front of the telly, serving her with another glass of extra fortified wine and a nice greasy lasagne.

When she went to bed she was so sore that she didn't want to be touched, which suited me fine. I wouldn't touch her with yours.

On Wednesday we lazed away the day, with me lounging on the deck, and Maisie staying well indoors put of the sun, trying not to rub up against anything. In between meals she managed to get through two bottles of wine, a big bag of crisps and several bars of chocolate. She looked terrible, her skin candy pink and painful, while I looked bronzed and serene. I thought I might have to do more shopping.

"Got to go into work tomorrow, baby," I informed her late in the day, maintaining my present pose of loving husband, "They tell me they have a rush on. I'll leave at five in the morning for an early start and try and get back as soon as poss."

"Uh huh." She was so tired, I don't think she quite took it in.

The next morning I was back home early before seven and, with my cordless screwdriver, I took off all the internal doors and stacked them out on the decking in the garden. At nine I called a third estate agency and asked them to price up the house for a quick sale. Then I broke up our marital bed and piled that on top of the doors. I poured some petrol on top and flicked a lit match match into the pile. It went up like a Roman candle. Then I started to remove all the back double-glazed window units and chucked them onto the roaring fire.

The glass crazed, cracked and melted, the PVC coating smoked like a bitch. The acrid smoke from the bedding, plastic and wood blew straight into the house, ash and all. The sitting room suite went on the fire next, joined by the dining room set, all her clothes, the doors from the fitted wardrobes, and finally the bedside cabinets, before sitting back and admired my handiwork.

I reckon you could see the pall of smoke from outer space. Flights from the airport had to be re-routed.

I was pulling the heavy oak sideboard, from the dining room towards where the patio doors used to be, when the estate agent I called arrived. He was only a young lad and I could see the fear in his eyes as he walked around the house, so he daren't turn down my request for a hand with the sideboard. I told him to price the house on the basis of no carpets as they were going on the bonfire next, and he came up with a price of up to £160,000.

I told him to put it on the market for £140,000 or near offer, for immediate sale. He scarpered, pleased to have got away unscathed. Mind you, he'd have to get his suit dry-cleaned - the smoke from that burning furniture was absolutely toxic.

With the carpets and underlay smoking and smouldering away nicely, I was exhausted and called it a day. I drove down to the coast with all the van windows open to blow away the smoke from my hair and clothes. A good day's work, I thought.

On the way home my mobile phone chirped. It was the young estate agent speaking. I had to wind up the windows for a moment to hear what he was saying. He was still coughing slightly, but an offer from a local builder had come through for £120,000 cash in my hand by the end of the week. I told him the deal was done, and when did he want me back to sign the contracts and hand over the deeds? I agreed to see him Friday, he had a sale.

[to be continued, one last chapter to go]