A Situation
By Sam Fleet
Ray had been home about an hour already, and still hadn't managed to spur himself to cook. Things had been pretty much that way, since his second coming into bachelorhood. He'd used up every plate in the bedsit, on take-away food, and toast, and they'd been piling up steadily in the sink. But, did it matter? No, he didn't think so, not when you considered the fact that he could clean them whenever he wanted. Or not at all if he chose. He had a choice.
With a yawn, he stood up, surveying the mountain of grease stained crockery in the harsh light of the naked electric bulb, and smiled. His beer gut grumbled a protest at his lethargy. He gave it an affectionate pat.
"A'right, a'right. I get the message."
He ambled over to the minuscule kitchen, and opened the leaky fridge, in hopes that the remains of last night's Chow Mein would be there. It was. He reached for the top of the wash pile, and shook burnt breadcrumbs onto the tiled floor, wiping the plate afterwards, with a faded blue shirt, that had been left on the worktop. He scraped the left overs onto it, and thrust the whole thing into the oven, turning the gas as he did so.
"Coupla minutes should do it, I reckon," he said to no one.
Yes, single life was very underated in Ray's opinion. You couldn't eat last night's dinner, off of this morning's breakfast plate, with, shock horror, cutlery that you'd been using since last week, not when there was a woman around.
He shuddered, recalling, against his will, his ten year mariage.
"Raymond!" she shouted. "Raymond! I'm thirsty, make some tea!"
"Coming, Pet!" he called from the dining room. "I was just finishing up with the polishing, Dear."
"You should have been done with that ages ago. The place needs a good hoover."
"Oh, I did that earlier, Pet."
"Do it again, there's filth everywhere," she called to her husband's back. He'd gone to fetch the vacuum cleaner. "You can make my tea first. Honestly, anyone'd think you didn't care about me at all. No. All you care about is that awful machine in the garage. Infernal thing, you should get rid of it. It's never going to run. Ever."
Raymond came into the sitting room, carrying a tea tray laid for one. He set it down on the coffee table, and began to prepare her drink. He dropped two sugar lumps into the dainty cup, and poured in the Earl Grey, leaving a shiny silver teaspoon resting on the side of the saucer.
"That's just not true, Carol. And, the motorbike gives me something to do when you're away."
Carol didn't answer. She was stirring her tea, whilst staring into space, as if recalling something. "Yes," she said. "That reminds me. They need me for testing again. Friday morning, and they're keeping me in over the weekend. Nothing to worry your head about, though, Raymond. You just make sure the house is spotless when I get back on Monday. And, make sure that dreadful cycle is out of my sight. You know how it upsets me to see it cluttering up the driveway."
Raymond nodded. "Ok, my Pet."
She sipped her tea. "You can go now."
He nodded again, and retired to the garage to work on his beloved bike, grateful that, for now, she'd forgotten about the vacuuming.
Looking back, he should have known that something hadn't been quite right. His wife was being admitted to hospital on a monthly basis. For three, maybe four days at a time, sometimes a week. But, he'd never thought it strange that there had been no quick appointments, or consultations. Nor the fact that Carol always insisted on getting a taxi, alone, each time. She preffered him to stay home and take care of the house, ever since her best friend had been burgled back in '96. And, besides, who was he to say how long it took to analyse a person's brain activity.
Ray wasn't a stupid man, by any means. Ok, so he'd not finished school, but that was normal when he was a kid. You did what your Dad did, education or not. But, he was intelligent enough not to make assumptions about things he didn't understand. Brain surgery was one of these things.
Carol was delicate, that was why he put up with it. And, he had loved her, once, before her condition turned her into that. And, afterwards? Well, he still cared for her, and didn't want to increase her suffering on his selfish account. So, he'd stayed, given up his job to play House Husband, as was his duty. A marriage vow was not one to be taken lightly, in Ray's opinion, it meant 'til death did you part, love, or no love.
Ray ate his pauper's dinner standing up (another thing Carol would never have allowed), and looking out of the grimy window, into the smoggy night. He could see the docks from his room, which is one of the reasons he moved in. Those metallic sounds of masts creaking in the wind had lulled him to sleep as a child. So soothing, so apart from anything else. He closed his eyes, enjoying the clinking silence.
"Raymond," a faint voice called, from the street, highheeled footsteps on the paving. He shook his head, and opened his eyes to look. It couldn't have been, just a guiltly conscience was all it was. Besides, there was no one down there in the dimly lit street.
He returned his empty plate to the dirty pile, and went to lie down, intending to fall asleep, but, wait. There it was again, the voice, closer now, working its way through the open window.
"Raymond, where are you?"
His eyes darted around the room. Ray licked his sandpaper lips, and turned once again to the window, where the cobbled street below was still deserted.
"You're going positively crazy, Raymond," he laughed, mimicking his ex-wife's upper class accent.
He closed the window, just the same, and checked the lock on the front door. Satisfied that it was still in tact, Ray went to bed, and fell asleep.
"RAYMOND!"
He awoke, with a start. It was pitch black, although he had no recollection of killing the lights. He sat on the edge of the bed, still fully clothed, put his head in his hands, and sighed. He walked silently over to the bearly wired fixture, and flicked the switch. Nothing. Damn, was his first thought. Must be a power cut, right? Wrong, the street lamp across the road was still lit. He could see that much though the window.
Ray was beginning to panic. He recalled the almost ghostly voice from earlier, and shivered. It had to have been in his head. There was no way that Carol could be here, no way in hell. Why would she come looking for him anyway, here, in Poortown, where filth was practically a food group?
"Revenge, dear Raymond," she answered, from inside.
"You want revenge, Raymond?" Her voice was almost shrieking. "For what? I'm ill. Can't you see?"
"I see. I see, perfectly!" he shouted back at her. "You're fine, when it's all "Cook this, Raymond." , "Clean that, Raymond." But, now, I've found you out, and you're suddenly ill."
The bedroom was in total disarray. Carol's clothes were strewn over the floor and the bed, where she'd been packing them when Raymond had found her. He'd come in, breathing heavily, face red with rage, clutching an open white envelope. He'd stormed up to her, torn out the enclosed letter, and thrown it onto the bed beside her suitcase.
It was an official looking document, from the Hospital, requesting that Carol come in for "testing", just as she'd told him she was going to do. This wasn't the problem, though.
"What's that?" he demanded, pointing to a handwritten post script beneath the main body, his eyes glowing with fury.
"It's a doctor's note." Her voice was very calm. "Sorry it's illegible, but you know what they're like." She continued to pack for her weekend visit.
"Dammit, Carol! I can read! Since when does a Doctor sign notes with, "Can't wait unwrap you again, Love Marty"? You think I'm stupid!"
"Managed to fool you so far, didn't I?" she said. "I think after two years everyone BUT you knew, Raymond. But, nevermind. Why don't you go down to the garage, and take some of that frustration out on that monster you keep in there."
He'd snatched the suitcase, and thrown it against the wall, in the way of a childish tantrum, and all but ran from the room.
He took her advice, and went to take it out on the bike.
Ray smirked at the irony of it all, as he looked out of the darkened room, at the streetlamp.
"See, she didn't know my secret," he began to tell the orange ball of fire. "I had one too. While she'd been away getting her therapy from "Dr. Love Marty", I'd been having an affair of my own. Beautiful, she was. Curves in all the right places. Purred like a cat most of the time, roared like a lioness when you really turned her on. And, well, I was just getting there, when the lying slut burst in on us." He snorted, there was a wild instinct reflected in his pupils. "Had the nerve to tell me to make sure the house was done by the time she got back! Ha! What, else could I do. She knew my secret, and now that I knew hers, I had no qualms about showing her exactly what Stella and me could do. And, afterall, a vow is a vow, and even if she hadn't taken hers seriously, I did."
Revenge. The word had a sweet ring to it. He'd had revenge for everything, that night. He and Stella had taken the driveway at top speed, and not looked back with anything but contempt for Carol. Until now.
Now, she'd found him. Here in this dingy bedsit, with the leaky fridge, and stacked dishes. She was back to torment him, to get her own revenge. And, there was no running this time. No escape. She was back in his life. For good.
He had no choice.