The Prankstress

Things seemed to improve slowly until almost a year later, when I started to feel uneasy again. Rachael had initially tried to defend their stupid behaviour but I told her straight: she could shut the fuck up or fuck off. Do you know? I never used to use that word until Rachael entered our lives. It seemed to have become my go-to ever since.

There were whispered conversations when Rachael came over. Meaningful glances and texting; lots of texting. I assumed that I was supposed to believe that they were swapping messages with other friends on a group chat. I didn't. I had a bad feeling and started to plan accordingly.

I made it known at work that I was prepared to consider moving site if another post became available. I looked into divorce processes in the UK. I made a list of our valuables and shared assets and checked on the renewal date for the lease on our flat. Hoping for the best but preparing for the worst, that had to be my strategy.

One evening, after a fairly pleasant week, Rachael came over to watch some RomCom on a streaming service that she didn't have. I was cool with that. The pair of them necked the first bottle of Prosecco like it was lemonade, so I opened another one and topped up their glasses. In my defence, I didn't pour the drinks down their throats but neither, I admit, did I tell them when they were on their third bottle.

It helped that the film was massively over-hyped and was, in fact, tediously slow and laboured. That and the booze ensured that, by the time that the final credits rolled, they were both fast asleep.

I found Sandy's phone and used her fingerprint to unlock it. I had already bought a cheap second hand phone with a pay as you go sim. I entered the throwaway's number into Sandy's preferred chat app under the name 'The Cloud'. That way, I reckoned, all of her chats with her mate would be shared with 'the cloud' and I hoped she would think that was a backup, rather than realising there was a new member of her group: me.

I quickly scanned through their log of back and forth messages. Most were trivial exchanges throughout the day; "What u havn 2 eat?" or "urs 4 film 2 nite?" But others were longer, better written, more concerning.

"Im bored," wrote Rachael, in one. "There must be sumthin we cn do."

I would have hoped by now that Sandy would have learned: would have just shut her friend down, but no. "Im thinking," she replied. "Was really cross last time. Need to b careful." My heart sank as I saw one from Sandy that evening. "Got an idea. Tell u after this shit film."

Rachael replied. "Cool. Yeah this sucks. Good plonk tho." followed by a smiley face.

I left them asleep in their seats and went to bed. Over the course of the next week I followed remotely as they planned out their prank. Much of the detail they obviously discussed in person but wild ideas and odd asides intrigued me. "Liquid hand soap in used condoms," certainly puzzled me; as did, "Not sure I want to show him my tits," from Rachael.

Slowly though, a picture emerged from the noise. On Friday evening I would, as normal, go straight to five a side from work. On my return home it would look as though they'd had a threesome and fallen asleep. I would go apeshit; they would laugh; I'd see the joke as well as Rachael's tits and then they would post the video. Like fuck! If she went ahead; that would be the last straw. I wasn't even going to give her a gentle reminder. I had been more than clear about my feelings on the whole pranking issue. Now it was down to Sandy's own common sense. You can probably imagine my thoughts as I wrote that sentence.

Over the course of the next few days, I began to separate our lives. I found out my essential documents, paid the rent and wrote to the landlord suggesting that he contact Sandy regarding renewing the lease when the time came, with her as the primary occupant. I wrote to Payroll and redirected my salary to an account exclusively in my name and I asked Harry and Vikki if they were prepared to put up with a pissed off but rent paying flat mate, while I looked for somewhere else, possibly in another town.

By the time Friday arrived, I was ready. The only clothes of mine left in the flat were those I didn't really care for. The rest had been covertly shifted to my temporary accommodation. I went to the sports centre and played as usual: well why not? And, at the usual time, I returned home. Rachael's car was parked in the street but there were no lights showing in the flat. I let myself in and looked around. Nothing. Walking along the corridor to the bedroom, I stopped at the door and took out my phone. I opened the camera and selected video mode. I had one more thing to do then I pressed the record button and, holding my phone down by my side, I opened the door.

By the dim light of our bedside lamp, the two women were laid in tangled sheets, apparently asleep and naked in each other's arms. They actually looked quite sweet in a sexy way. There were four knotted condoms strewn on the floor, their teats apparently full of pearly white fluid. As before, a phone was propped up facing the door to capture my horrified expression. I stood for a moment admiring Rachael's tits - they were fine, just attached to a dreadful person - when Sandy pretended to wake up.

"Rachael!" she cried out, "Ewan's home. We fell asleep."

Rachael sat up giving me an even better view. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "It's not what it looks like, Ewan."

I was past caring. I'd warned them. I'd made myself clear. If Sandy seriously thought that her mate showing me her tits was going to make this okay, well... "You win, Rachael," I told her, in a quiet voice. "Sandy cares more about you than me and, frankly, she's not worth fighting for. You two have obviously had a fuck-fest while you knew I was at the football. That's it. I'm out."

I threw the envelope in my hand towards the bed. "This has all the details you need for your solicitor, Sandy. Have a nice life. Rachael, fuck you!"

Truthfully, I was ambivalent as I left the flat, ignoring their protestations. I really did love Sandy and I had thought that we had a future together, but not like this. On the other hand, I did feel some satisfaction that I had left on my own terms. I suppose that overall my mood was one of disappointment rather than hurt.

That was a year ago; our divorce was completed just before Christmas. Apparently, Sandy moved back in with her parents. I know because her father asked to meet me a few weeks after that last prank backfired. Having received his assurance that Sandy would not be present, I agreed.

We met in a quiet coffee shop in town. We greeted each other amicably, ordered and collected our drinks and found a table. After a few more pleasantries, we addressed the reason we were there. He said that Sandy now understood how hurtful her behaviour had been and he asked if there was a chance of reconciliation.

"Has she shown you her video posts?" I asked him. He seemed puzzled. More questioning revealed the Sandy's parents had only heard a carefully curated account of her 'harmless little tricks'.

"Did she tell you that she asked for an open relationship?"

She hadn't.

"Did she tell you exactly why I left?"

He looked uncomfortable. "Well, she admitted that she and her friend let you see them kissing. But she insists that it was just a joke."

I studied Robert carefully. He was a nice man. We'd never argued and I had no reason to want to hurt him. I gave him a choice. "Robert, Sandy, with Rachael's encouragement, videoed a heap of stupid stunts with me as the victim. Then they would post the clips on line for other morons to like. I told her to stop, but here we are." I paused to let it register. "I had suspected that they were planning another prank so, when I got home that night, I was ready to fight fire with fire. I recorded what I found."

He met my gaze. "So whatever Sandy has told us, you have an actual recording."

"An actual, unedited, recording," I clarified. "But once you've seen it you can't unsee it," I pointed out. "If you just want to accept Sandy's account and reassure your wife that your daughter is better off without me, I'll understand."

He sighed. "Show me, Ewan. I can't guide her if I don't know the truth."

His face showed his resigned determination, so I pulled up the recording and passed him my phone. I saw his face tighten as he saw his little girl naked in another woman's arms. I saw as he noticed the condoms on the floor. I saw the disappointment in his eyes as the two women tried to pretend that they had been caught in the aftermath of a group sex session.

"And letting you find them like this, your wife apparently having been unfaithful, that was the joke?" He seemed confused.

"Yes. But then, having caught my horrified expression on camera, they would explain it was just a joke and we'd all laugh. I think letting me see Rachael's breasts was by way of consolation."

Robert was obviously struggling to comprehend. "And this was just one example?"

"The latest, the worst and, I'm sure that you'll understand my position, the last."

We spoke a little longer but we both knew that we'd said all that needed saying. I explained my colleague's theory about validation and Robert suggested that therapy might help her. But unsaid went the observation that this was now his problem, not mine. We finished our drinks, shook hands and parted, if not friends, at least not enemies.

I started dating again in June, only two months later. Yes, I know that I was still married but, as far as I was concerned, that was just bureaucracy; my marriage ended for me that Friday evening. Since November, I've been seeing Danielle, an Australian girl who works with Vikki. Where Sandy was shy and easily led, Danni is an extrovert with a will of iron. After our second date I invited her round to the flat I now shared with Harry and Vikki. I explained, over coffee, how my marriage had ended and gave her the chance to walk away if she thought that I was the humourless twat that I might seem.

She gave me a stunned look. "That's just fuckin' feral," she gasped. "She thought that was funny? What sorta cunt would pull a stunt like that on her bloke?" I grinned at Danni's outburst. I'd barely sworn at all since that day and now I was dating a woman who was worse than I'd ever been.

"Nah," she said. "This is funny: So this uptight English bloke is dating an Aussie gal, and at the end of the first date he just kisses her, and she thinks, 'is this cunt gay?' At the end of the second date he squeezes her tits and she reckons there's still hope for him." She gave a mischievous smile as this was more or less our history up to then.

She carried on. "But on the third date, she was all dressed up to go to the pub, when he turned up at her door with a bunch of fuckin' flowers. She's so overcome by his smooth manners that she drags him into the house, pulls her panties off and leans back on the sofa with her legs apart. The English guy is stunned. 'What's going on?' he sez. She sez, 'This is for the fuckin' flowers.' And he looks real surprised an' goes, 'Okay, but I think they'd look better in a vase'." Then Danni burst into gales of laughter. I joined in, thinking two things: Danni always laughed with me, not at me; and for our next date I was definitely turning up with flowers.