Link Detached

Contents: British English and grammar.

Write your own ending if you must.

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Link detached

English housing construction used to fall into four simple categories. Detached: you can walk round all four sides. Semi-detached: you can walk round three sides, but have a party wall with your next door neighbour. Terraced: a common wall both sides. You can walk right through, but only have windows at the front and back. And apartments; often called flats.

Then along came a new one. A house, with its own garage, which was usually attached (integral), to the house. And that garage had a party wall with next door's garage. So, you could still walk around four sides, providing you went through your garage. It saves a little brickwork for the builder and gives the estate agents an exciting new description: link detached.

A short road of link detached houses was built just south of the park. Willow Avenue was probably the last good location within walking distance of the town centre and Northside shopping centre. Twelve houses, all with an integral garage. When I married Roisin (pronounced Ro-sheen) my parents cashed in most of their shares and savings, and bought one of them for us as a wedding present. Not quite true; they bought it for me and the grandchildren to come. Before the big day they had a serious talk with me.

"Edward, we don't want to give you the impression that we do not trust, or approve of, Roisin." my father said. "And we will not burden you by insisting on what they call a pre nuptial agreement. But we do want to ensure that the house will pass to our grandchildren. And hope that what we say next does not offend you."

"No offence." I assured them. "You hardly know her, so I do understand. With my current job, I couldn't afford a house like that for the next ten years. So any restrictions you place on the ownership, are fine by me."

My mother took over.

"You won't be the owner. Your father owns this house, as you know. Our plan is that the new one in Willow Avenue shall be in my name. Clauses in the ownership deeds will prevent me from living there or taking any income from it. You will have unrestricted use of it, and merely need to discuss with us, if you need to improve or sell it. If you should die, in non-suspicious circumstances, Roisin will have similar free use of it until your child or children are twentyone. Then it becomes theirs."

"With you so far."

"But if you divorce, the house will remain in my keeping. And if that divorce is Roisin's fault, she gets nothing but her personal possessions, and anything she can show was purchased jointly. The property subsequently changes to your name only, one year after the settlement."

"I can see what you're trying to achieve with this, and have no arguments."

"There's a but isn't there?"

"Yes. I wonder if I need to tell Roisin at all. She's Irish and has a fiery temperament. And I'm not sure she needs to know. After all, it's a long time into the future before the house goes to any offspring. And by then she won't object to ownership passing down the line. So it never needs to crop up unless we divorce."

"Or unless you need to move." added my father.

"Hmm. We'll cross that bridge if we come to it."

There were many times I almost broached the subject with my wife, but life kept getting in the way. Then Rose joined us. Roisin is from classic Irish stock; deep auburn hair and green eyes. And a healthy crop of freckles from May onwards; which I love but she hates. Inevitably we called our daughter Rose; as that's the translation of Roisin. Rose was blessed with brown hair, with red highlights. Big relief: I wouldn't wish ginger hair on any kid these days. Now, come what may, she was going to inherit our house in Willow Avenue. There seemed no reason to bring the subject of ownership up with my wife. Life was good.

Like the other garages in Willow Avenue, ours was accessed from three sides - the front, the back garden, and the kitchen. But unlike most, ours always housed the car, rather than getting filled with junk. The car comes out onto our front drive most Sundays, to get washed. It's only a second hand Ford Escort, but that's all the more reason to look after it properly. There is certainly no reason to leave it out on the front for the neighbours to admire.

The house itself has a main bathroom and an en suite off the master bedroom, and soon an interesting pattern emerged. Roisin spent so much time in the main one, helping Rose to shower, making sure she brushed her teeth properly, that she ended up using it permanently. She also said she preferred to have a bath occasionally, whilst the en suite only had a shower. So, effectively, I had my own bathroom.

It was bliss! I'm tidy, but my wife is not. Not dirty you understand, but not especially houseproud. I don't mind; we keep the place clean enough. It's our home, not a showhouse. Sadly, our daughter is turning out the same way as her mum. So my bathroom became a tidy oasis in a desert of toys and girls' stuff... with the toilet seat left up! Naturally they used mine sometimes and I used theirs but, generally speaking, the system worked well.

I think Roisin just assumed I had a well-paid job. She was aware my parents had given us the house as a wedding present, but never asked if I needed a mortgage as well. She just got on with life, never asking about money. Which I must admit was a relief. When Rose was five, she started primary school. Roisin got a part-time job; nine to two thirty. Those hours meant she could take our daughter to school, go in to the office, and leave in time to pick her up. And do it all on foot, as we only had the one car. Her pay wasn't much but allowed us a few luxuries. And she liked the work, and the change to her motherhood routine.

Over that first year, we got on well with the other residents. I'd always been concerned they might look down on us. Not that we looked any different to the rest of the neighbourhood; we were hardly scruffy or anything. But simple observation of our lifestyle and jobs, and the car of course, put us in a different social class to the other home-owners. But it never happened. They were all as nice as pie. We were just Ed and Roisin Peterson. And quickly got friendly and comfortable with all of them.

We particularly liked Carter and Liz across the road from us, and Chas and Rosalind who shared our garage wall. Carter and Liz were older than us and had a son Jamie at university in the city. He came home most weekends with the washing, which Liz still did for him; lazy bugger. Chas had bought their place outright and extended the garage to encompass a laundry room and sunroom / greenhouse. He still kept his Lexus on the drive though, and Liz's Audi out on the road. The rear of their place had beautiful decking and a hot tub. He also set up security cameras on the front of the house, after a dispute with a delivery company. The houses on that side of the road were slightly more expensive because their gardens faced south.

We got most friendly with the Thorntons though. Chas was in the army, stationed nearby, and on his final posting. He'd met and married Rosalind whilst in Germany. Their Audi looked pretty cool, but was left-hand drive. "You have to be careful overtaking lorries." he told me. Chas looked pretty much like me - tall and slim - but our wives could hardly have been more different.

My Roisin, is a petite redhead, and can be hot-headed when provoked. But Hannah was tall, blonde and busty, and very placid. She hailed from Dortmund, though her English was faultless and accent free. Every time I looked at her, I imagined her wearing a dirndl, with a low-cut peasant blouse under it. And carrying four steins of beer in each hand. Ironically, her name also means rose.

Willow Avenue has three link-detached pairs of houses on each side. Chas and Rosalind were separated from the next pair by a small path. It led to the local park and was rarely used. But it did have an incongruous white line down the centre. One side had that bicycle logo painted at both ends. A bit over the top really; separating dangerous pedestrians from the even more dangerous cyclists. We residents named it Park Lane, after the upmarket location in London, and the second most expensive property on the Monopoly board. I've walked down there to the park with Rose many times, but have never seen a bike.

Almost as if we'd planned it together, the Thorntons next door, installed a small swimming pool, and I built a barbeque. We couldn't really afford to buy one, but digging up our back garden - the plan was for potatoes and carrots - revealed a lot of left-over bricks. I'm not a DIY expert, but cleaned them up and laid them; a metal tray for coals, and a grill, and we had a barbecue. I was rather proud of the result.

Chas and Rosalind came round and christened the bbq one evening, bringing some huge German sausages. My daughter was delighted to find we could also cook burgers on it. McDonalds, over in Northside mall, was a treat reserved for birthdays and so on. 'High days and holidays' as my mum calls them. When Rose ran up to me and shouted "Daddy, daddy, this is much better than a Big Mac!" - for a moment there, I filled up.

The next addition we actually did plan. Every house had a six foot high larch lap fence between the back gardens. The panels were set into concrete posts, four feet apart. A gap at the bottom let the wind through, and kept the wood off the ground. And there was fancy trelliswork on top of each panel. Across the back of the gardens it became an eight foot high fence. The far side of which was heavy gorse bushes. And just beyond them, a row of high conifers. The idea was to make the rear of the properties secure.

I removed the panel which was attached to our garages and replaced it with discreet hinges and a near invisible magnetic catch to keep it closed. High up I fitted a brass lock with an old-fashioned key. Roisin asked why we had to lock it as we were so friendly with the Thorntons.

"Because we don't want Rose wandering through unnoticed and trying out their pool. That's why the lock is five foot off the ground. Don't worry, there are two keys. Either one of us can lock or unlock it. Just remember to keep the key safe so they can't wander through and see you sunbathing topless!"

"With the tits Rosalind has, I can't imagine Chas would be interested in my little buds!" she laughed.

Now we had a 'secret' door, and could move freely from one garden to the other without having to carry beer and food round the front of the garages. Often we would leave it open on a weekend; barbequeing food at our place, then relaxing in the pool at theirs. Keeping a weather eye on Rose, of course.

Then Chas was told he would get promoted to Master Sergeant, if he signed on for another three years. The economy was in decline, he had no work in civvie street lined up, and it would mean a decent payrise. So he extended his service and immediately got a two year posting back to Germany. Rosalind thrilled. They came round one evening armed with cans of German white beer and a bottle of riesling. We were indoors, and Rose was in bed.

"We need to ask you a favour." said Chas. "Can you please keep an eye on our place while we're away?"

"Sure. Are you renting it out?"

"No. We really like it round here, and even if I don't get posted directly back to this location, we'll still settle in this area when I'm demobbed."

"No problem, we'd be happy to."

"The thing is, if you do this, we can just leave it as is. No farting about putting stuff into storage - you can even finish off what we leave in the fridge; in fact we insist you do!"

"Turn it off when it's empty?" I asked.

"No, we can still keep stuff in the freezer - leave it on."

"OK."

"We'll keep in touch of course, and let you know when we're coming back for a visit. If we leave you some cash, pehaps you could stock up with essentials before we arrive. You know, milk bread, eggs."

"Of course."

"One last thing. Feel free to use the fence door to swim in the pool whenever you want. But if we leave you the keys, can you please check the place out, using the front door? Say, once a week?"

"Yes. Can I ask why?"

"Security mate. I'll feel happier knowing people sometimes see you going in and out. I don't really want to advertise the fact that it's not inhabited."

"Tell you what." said Roisin. "I'll open lots of windows once a week, when I check in the daytime; air the place out, check your fridge and so on. I'll even give a dust round when it needs it. Then Edward can turn lights on and off on a different evening when he goes round."

"Perfect!"

"There's a price to pay though." I said seriously.

"Name it." said Chas.

"Bring back more weissbier and bratwurst!"

I went over the day after they'd gone. It looked like they'd only taken their clothes and bathroom stuff. I had a thorough search through her underwear drawers, and the laundry hamper; all empty. Well it was always possible Rosalind had left some used knickers around. OK, I'm disgusting, but not in a bad way! I think most men would at least have a look. But there wasn't even a stash of porn. What's the army coming to?

Roisin and I had a varied sex life. I don't mean in terms of quality or quantity; we did it every way a man and woman can, two or three times a week. I mean emotionally varied. Sometimes it was sweep-her-off-her-feet romance. Other times it was flirting and fun. When she was having her period it was quiet oral. And there were occasions when she liked to be forced.

She wouldn't vocalise much when we did that; just make a lot of grunting sounds while I fucked her hard. She'd thrash around in her own little world like a landed fish, almost, but not quite, complaining. Then, after I'd more or less raped her, she'd shout 'Good!' She'd usually give me a clue early on in the evening, so I knew what role I'd be playing.

It was autunm when I first noticed little changes. Hard to pinpoint exactly; only someone who lived with a woman every day, would spot them. There was a slight increase in our sex frequency; to three or four times a week, mostly fun and romance. I did say changes - not complaints! And she started paying me little compliments. Nothing I could put my finger on, but I was pretty sure.

I always thought the signs a wife was having an affair were the opposite - decreased sex and picking fights. But it was still suspicious. I checked her underwear drawers in case she'd bought anything racy. Then, all the usual hiding places a woman might keep stuff. But I never found anything out of the ordinary.

Rose was six by then and one day she asked me if I wanted any of her pictures.

"I know you stick some up on the fridge daddy, with those metal maggots."

"Magnets."

"Yes. But I've done better ones than those. My best ones have fingers!"

She pushed half a dozen towards me.

"Just throw them away if you don't want them."

"You're sure you don't mind, Rosie? I might really throw some out; the fridge is pretty full."

"No, that's ok. I've got lots more."

I shuffled through them and went downstairs. Standing at the bin, I went through them again. What had I seen? I pulled one to the top and stared at it. It was a crude rendering of Roisin; a stick figure with violent orange hair. It was dressed in a baggy sweater and trousers and had no fingers. But it was the writing that caught my eye.

'MUMMY ON GOOD FRIDA' it announced. I took it back up to Rose's room.

"I can see this is mummy, it's very good."

She wrinkled her nose; no freckles yet.

"No it isn't, she's got no fingers."

"But why do you call it Good Friday? Is it Easter?"

"No, silly, that's when we have chocolate eggs! It's because mummy says so."

I asked her what she meant.

That evening I had a conversation with Roisin, making sure to keep it light-hearted.

"Seen this picture Rose did?"

I kept my hand over the printing as she looked at it.

"That's me, in my pre-fingers days."

"Correct. But how are your observational skills? Tell me which day of the week it is."

She had another look.

"Friday."

"Because you remember she wrote that on it."

I moved my hand.

"No, because of the way I'm dressed."

"Really?"

"Seems like Rose's observational skills are better than yours!" she laughed. "She's painted me in my jogging clothes. So it's Friday."

"Go on."

"Monday to Thursday, I pick her up from school and we get home about three fifteen. I don't always bother to change out of my work clothes. The skirts are not uncomfortable and I'll be changing my blouse and underwear next morning anyway. So, kick off my shoes, and I'm fine. But Fridays are different; that's why Rose thinks they're good. We go to the park and she runs around and plays with other kids. Roundabouts, swings, and there's one little friend from a different school, she likes."

"Sounds fun."

"Yes, it started with 'only if you're good'. But now it's every Friday. We get back from the park about three fortyfive and Rose is tired out. She invariably has a nap in front of the tv, which gives me a chance to leave her for a few minutes, go up and have a shower and change into my baggy sweater and gym trousers."

"And it has to be on a Friday because?"

"Psychologically it marks the end of the week. I got the idea from Chas. He told me that when he had weekends off, Fridays were special. He always used to get home, have a shower, and change out of his uniform. That way, the weekend had begun early."

"Got it. I never noticed."

But I was thinking there might be another reason Friday was 'good'.

As Sherlock famously said: 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' I couldn't claim to have a definitive truth, but something wasn't right, and there were not many scenarios that fit my suspicions. Of those that did, Roisin having an affair seemed the most likely. And if she was, I knew the when and the where. Fridays, upstairs in one of the four bedrooms.. Now I was curious to know the who and how; I didn't give a shit about the why.

All of which left me in a sweet position. If she was playing away from home, Roisin would get nothing from a divorce. No house; it wasn't mine. No furniture, I'd bought it all, and the car wasn't worth much. And my keeping the house, would ensure I got custody of Rose. Neither of us were earning enough to pay the other maintenance, but I made enough to look after Rose and myself adequately; mum and dad would chip in if there was an emergency. And the fact that all this would come as a big surprise to Roisin, made it that much more interesting. I wondered if her partner was in a position to support her. I didn't care, just wondered.

Next evening, I popped across to Carter and Liz's for a chat.

"Unless you guys have lots of juicy gossip about our neighbours having affairs," said Liz, "you can go and talk in the study. I'm watching Colditz!"

We laughed.

'Study' I thought. 'Ours is called the front room, and isn't fully furnished yet.'

"Come on, the empress has spoken!" said Carter. He went and stood in front of the tv, grinning. "Will it be ok if we have a couple of cans of beer, dear?"

She craned her neck, trying to look round him.

"Just bugger off!" she said, though she was smiling. "You can finish the bottle of Laphroaig for all I care!"

He grabbed a couple of Heinekens from the fridge.

"Not as good as Chas's German stuff," he said, "but it hits the spot."

I'd had a mental debate how much I should tell. But once I got started the floodgates opened; it was relief. He nodded wisely then said something that showed he'd been listening carefully.

"And now you want me to do two things, Ed."

Actually, I could only think of one.