The Rose and Crown

Everything went calm __ relatively that is, as two injured guys can make a lot of noise.

It was a short walk back to the car, though my legs were so wobbly I thought I might fall over. The shotgun went back in the boot, and I gingerly started the motor and made my way home. I drove slowly and very carefully indeed.

I'd thought of going into the pub to frighten the shit out of Carrie, but I couldn't. I didn't trust myself, and to be honest, it had terrified me doing what I'd just done.

But I'd done it though ___ I'd bloody well done it! Just as I'd promised myself I would, but enough was enough!

Strangely I slept well that night and woke up quite fresh. Black eye and bruised face still, but otherwise quite fresh.

I wondered who would turn up first, Carrie or the police to arrest me.

I hadn't even put the shotgun away, and it was still in the boot of my car.

As it turned out Carrie couldn't turn up.

About ten O'clock I got a phone call asking me if I was the husband of Carrie Bellings.

"Yes I am," I replied, wondering what it was about.

It was the police. I'd been fully expecting them to call round to arrest me that morning, not ring me about Carrie.

"I'm sorry sir, but we've got her under arrest at the station. Could you come along and collect her please."

"Under arrest," I queried, my surprise obviously genuine. "What for, for goodness sake?"

"Prostitution sir," he answered. "She was taken in last night with a group of other working girls after a shooting on the edge of town.

"Oh no! That explains it," I answered. "I wondered what the hell she'd been getting up to lately, coming home at all hours."

"I understand sir," the policeman answered sombrely. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way. You'd be surprised how often this happens."

I think my comment sealed her fate. It turned out that they thought they'd made a mistake with her, being a bit more upper class than the other women. Then when I refused to come and get her, that must have made it sound worse.

She was prosecuted and found guilty. Lost her new job, and would have had great trouble finding another. Young female graduates with a conviction for prostitution are not exactly widely sort after by most firms.

The police didn't even so much as ask me whether I owned a shotgun. Mine was registered to me quite openly back in Bedford where we'd just moved from, but they never even checked.

I wasn't a suspect in any way, so why would they?

But why did nobody from the pub split on me ___ well I'd no idea at all.

Carrie tried to contact me time and time again. I never met up with her again but I did eventually accept one of her calls after she got more and more desperate.

She told me she still loved me and all the usual rubbish. I think she really did as well, and obviously was broken hearted that I wouldn't entertain taking her back. I refused to even discuss it, and she acted a little frightened of me after I had dealt with our problem as firmly as I had.

Carrie was at least honest with me when I questioned her about Karl and her job at the pub back when she had been a student.

"How the hell do you go from working behind the bar to what happened the other night," I demanded.

"I said I worked at the pub when I was a student," Carrie told me. "I never said I worked behind the bar."

Oh bloody hell!

I can't describe how I felt when I realised the implications of those few words. She'd worked for that bloody Karl, as one of his girls. Only then did it all make sense, the hold he had over her. I'd married an ex prostitute, and would never have known it if we hadn't gone back there.

Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

Hard to say really. You'll have to judge for yourselves.

It was her that warned me that Karl would come looking for me to sort me out himself. Once he was back on his feet that is. Maybe that's why nobody from the pub told the police about me, as people like that sort their own problems out.

He'd never find me of course.

I backed out of the job in Leeds, which they understood after the news of my wife got out. But I took the one in the Middle East, where they were happy to have me on a bachelor posting, as they're cheaper than a married couple.

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That's about where we came in I suppose.

I got away with it to my surprise. I actually got away with it, and they put it all down to a gangland shooting.

I suppose you might be wondering what then happened to me. OK, well that's natural.

As you might imagine I gave up clay pigeon shooting and sold my shotgun, and then took up golf instead. Got quite good at it as well, and eventually got my handicap down to six.

I went out with quite a few different women, but only discovered just how good my wife Carrie had really been in bed. Well, she would have been wouldn't she, as she had worked at it as it were, in both senses of the word?

Then I met up with Angie, a lovely American woman who I met in Dubai. Life was fine after that___ really fine.

I never enquired too deeply quite where she'd gained her experience, but I really think she was just a gifted amateur. I hoped so anyway.

We have never married __ she didn't want to, and strictly speaking I was still married, and I still haven't bothered to get divorced.

I came back to UK occasionally but always steered clear of Leeds, till at last I couldn't resist it. One Thursday in June found me slowly driving past the Rose and Crown, hoping that nobody would recognise me after all that time.

The fine decorated windows had been replaced by some modern double glazed units.

Pity really ___ I'd rather liked them.

I sat there in my car for a while, and at last to my surprise, a guy in a wheel chair turned up. He was a big chap and tough looking, but fatter than I'd remembered Karl. But of course I'd only seen him a few short times, and that had been four or five years previously.

What clinched it was the big coloured man pushing him, the one with the really bad limp. That could only have been Ted.

Then several women poured out of the pub to see Karl, report to him maybe, that being easier no doubt than getting him up the three steep steps into the bar.

They all looked rough just like the last time I'd been there, except one of them that is. One of them looked that little bit different.

Pretty __ slender ___Sexy __ Nice boobs ___ Long legs ___ well; yes it could have been her though she looked much, much older. She still kept her hair short and was still quite smartly dressed.

Her eyes had a worn out look about them though, and the smile that I had once loved was nowhere to be seen.

She didn't look very happy at all, but I didn't hang around to make sure. She was, as she'd said, not fourteen anymore, and could look after herself.

Strange how things turn out isn't it?

If only that bloody restaurant hadn't redecorated their dining room, then maybe she would be at home right now with our children, the ones we'd never now have. I wouldn't have been any the wiser, and maybe we would have lived happily ever after

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Well that's it.

No sequel here I think.

Apologies if I haven't answered your e-mails and comments, but I've been having trouble with my e mail. I'll try to be better from now on.