Smoking Kills

"Well I'm not qualified or anything, but in this job you do see life. In my opinion she's desperately trying to recapture her youth. She seems like a nice woman, and she's married, so some poor sod will be crying in his beer over it. But she comes in and sits with that lot laughing and giggling like she's one of them. You must have heard the way they talk about her when she's gone. Just easy meat to them. It'll all end in tears, and she's the one that'll get hurt."

"It's not that I don't believe you, but how can you be so sure?"

"Like I said, it's this job, you see it all, and I have seen it all before. If she's lucky, when that little runt is finished with her it'll be a wake up call, and she'll try and patch things up with her husband. More likely is, she'll become so addicted to the feeling of being young again that she'll be looking around for another youngster. Believe me, it's as much of a drug as those fags junior just had to have. As time goes by she'll be in bars offering herself to any younger man who seems vaguely interested. It really is pitiful."

"You certainly sound like the voice of experience in all this."

He leaned forward so that his mouth was close to my ear. "Why do you think you don't see a wife in this place."

As he pulled back I could see the sadness in his eyes. He looked like a decent bloke , and he was obviously hurting just talking about it. He looked down at my glass.

"Now, sir, are you having another one of those?"

"No thanks, my lunch break's over. I'd better get back to work. Thanks for the chat."

The landlord had certainly given me something to think about. Could I live with the situation? Was Barb hooked? She was already lying to me, so maybe she was.

That night Barb sat on my lap. She wriggled around on top of me. Little Frank was feeling the restraint of my pants . She took my hands from my sides and put them between her legs. I pulled my hands back to her hips.

"So how is little Dick these days?"

There was a moment's hesitation before she responded. "I'm sure I don't know, Frank. I haven't spoken to him for — oh, it must be four weeks now."

She was good. If I hadn't seen it myself, I might have believed her.

"So you've only got another eight weeks to go. Then maybe we can get back to normal."

"Do we really have to wait, Frank . I'm sure we'll be okay. If you're really worried you could always..."

"Don't even suggest it, Barb" I interrupted her. "I'm not taking precautions just because he didn't."

I pushed her off my lap and got up. I went to my room, and lay on the bed thinking. I realised she was never going to be straight with me. She needed me. She needed my stability the way a rebellious child needs stable parents. I knew then and there that I couldn't be that stability. I couldn't watch her decline the way my friend in the pub described. I had to make the break.

I spent the next two weeks preparing for my move. I found myself somewhere to live, booked a day off, and arranged to borrow the company van. I'd come to realise that Barb was using what used to be our room for her clandestine meetings. I decided to make my departure on a Thursday, after a little confrontation with the lovers.

I collected the van and parked it in the garage. The morning flashed by, and I only just got my packing and preparations done in time. The coffee pot was on the gas stove waiting for them. Just after 2 pm Barbara's car pulled into the drive. I watched them walk up to the front door. Twenty, she said he was. He looked more like sixteen. I opened the front door. Barb's mouth dropped open. I looked towards little Richard. From the way he walked up to the door I could tell he was shitting himself. Barbara almost had to drag him through the door.

"What are you doing here, Frank?"

"I could ask you the same thing. I thought it was all over."

At least she had the good grace to blush at that. "I'm sorry, Frank, I really tried, but I just couldn't keep it up. In the end I had to speak to him, and well, you can guess the rest. I'm sorry, Frank, I really am, but we can get past this, I know we can. Go back to work. We can talk about this tonight."

"I want to talk to him. Your lover, that is."

"Frank, do you really think that's wise? I mean, it will only embarrass you."

"Barb, if a man's going to come into my house, smoke in my bedroom, with my wife, the least he can do is sit down and talk with me."

"Does that mean what I think, Frank? Are you really OK with it?"

"Nobody said anything about being OK with it; but you know I could never see you unhappy, so I'll just have to go along with it. I just wanted to meet him."

"And you really promise not to hurt him."

"I told you before I won't touch him."

She walked over to him, took his arm, and pulled him over toward me.

"Frank, this is Richard. Richard, this is Frank."

"Well hi, Dick, come over and sit down, have a cup of coffee."

"My name's Richard, sir, I'm pleased to meet you." He held his hand out for me to shake it.

"Well I'm sorry, Dick, I can't shake your hand. I promised Barb that I wouldn't touch you, and I always keep my promises."

I saw him fumbling in his pocket. He pulled out a packet of fags, got one out, and put it in his mouth. He pulled out a lighter, and was about to light up.

" Don't be a dick, Richard. Those things will kill you, and if you light up in front of me, I might have to do their job for them. Now it's common courtesy to ask before you smoke in a man's house, and I don't want to end up smelling like an ash tray."

"I'm sorry, sir, I thought it was alright. I mean, Babs said you were okay with it."

"Then 'Babs' was wrong. What goes on in that bedroom between you two is up to her, but making me breathe your poisonous second-hand smoke is not part of the deal. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir, very clear." With trembling hands he put the cigarette away.

"I gather you like a post coital cigarette. Beats me why you smoke those things; don't you know the risks?"

"Oh, yes I do, sir, but they say if I stop for ten years the risks drop to zero. I figure that if I give up when I'm thirty, by the time I'm your age I'll be home free."

"That assumes you live that long, Dick. Now drink your coffee."

"So what happens now, Dick? Can you keep her in the manner to which she's become accustomed? I mean you are planning to marry her, right?"

I thought he was going to spray me with coffee as the shock of what I suggested hit him. Seeing his predicament Barb stepped in.

"You know very well, we haven't even discussed that. I'm your wife and always will be."

"I see. So he's just a little dick on the side then is he Barb?"

"Now stop this Frank. Either go back to work or we'll leave. We can talk about this tonight."

I turned back to the young man sitting across the table. "Well, Dick, I can see Barb's getting anxious."

Barb was starting to fidget about, going from one foot to the other and wringing her hands. It reminded me of the times when my daughter was waiting to go out on first dates.

"Maybe she's frightened of losing you, or maybe she's worried about losing her place in your little group."

For the first time I saw a hint of recognition in his eyes, as if I'd just confirmed that we'd met before but he couldn't remember where.

"Still it looks like I'd better get back to work and leave you lovebirds to it"

"I must say, sir, you are taking this very well. I don't think I could."

"It's called love, son. I've always vowed that I'd make Barb happy for the rest of her life, and that's what I intend to do."

Barb came over and hugged my neck. "I really do love you, you know."

I didn't answer that. Barb started tugging at young Dick's arm. He started to get up.

"Are we finished now, sir?"

"Sure." I said. "You two go and have fun."

He stopped as Barb dragged him away.

"Sir, is it okay to have my cigarette?"

"If it's alright with Barb then go ahead."

The master bedroom was separated from the kitchen by a single thickness breezeblock wall. I could hear them giggle as they undressed each other. I walked around, picked up the last of my belongings, took them out to the van, and put them with the rest of my stuff. I walked back into the house. I used the coffee to dowse the flames on the stove, and left. An hour later all my gear was stowed in my new flat, and I went out to do my food shopping. It was nearly six by the time I'd unpacked and put everything away. I switched on the TV in time for the news headlines.

"On Points West tonight, a house in Kingsnorth is destroyed in a massive explosion." The announcer said. That got my attention.

I sat through the national news and waited for the regional reports. The regional headlines were read, and then I saw it: a road that looked very much like the one I used to live on. As the camera moved down the street I saw two houses that looked very much like my neighbours' houses; and between the two, a pile of rubble where my little bungalow should have been.

"Thank god for insurance." I thought.

The reporter stood in front of the camera and told her story.

"At approximately 3 `o' clock this afternoon, the whole area of Kingsnorth was rocked by a huge explosion that knocked out windows in houses all around. The owners of the house, Mr. and Mrs. Bigelow, were thought to be in bed at the time. Both were pronounced dead at the scene.

The fire officer walked into the shot and the reporter jumped at the chance of an interview.

"So, Officer Reynolds, do we know what caused such a large explosion? Is this terror related?"

"We've found no evidence of explosives. Everything points towards this being an explosive build up of gas. I'm afraid people don't treat it with the respect it deserves. Leave a gas tap on for a while and all it takes is an ignition source. Something as simple as switching the light on."

"Or lighting a cigarette." I thought.

"Can you tell me how the occupants died?"

"We'll have to wait for the post mortem for that, but it looks like it was related to the blast."

The reporter finished her piece to camera, and I switched off the TV.

I got out my laptop and switched it on . Barb's face looked out at me, and for the first time in years I dissolved into tears. I stroked her face on the screen.

"I'm sorry, Barb, I couldn't let him do that to you. They say an addict has to reach rock bottom. I couldn't watch that happen to you. Forgive me, Barb, I love you. I always will. Please forgive me."

I sat like that for a little over two hours. The computer had already gone into hibernation. I started it up again, launched the browser, and looked up the number of the TV station newsroom; then I dialled the number. It took a while, talking to minions, before I got through to anyone who could make a decision.

"Hello," I said, "You've just run a news story from what remains of my house. Yes, the one in Exeter road. My name is Frank Bigelow, and you've just told everyone that I'm dead. I have to tell you that I am very much alive." I paused.

"But then, I don't smoke."