Part 9 : Last Laugh of the Laughter

Connie had drummed herself so far into work over the past few weeks that when it came to having a day off it felt weird. Having been off for such a long time the idea of pottering around the house returned extremely quickly once she got used to it. Michael hadn't had the foresight to book the same day off as her so she had the house to herself; a blessing in disguise all things considered. Michael had been supportive, yes, but almost smothering in his attention to detail, she hadn't cooked dinner in weeks as he saw it fit for her to rest upon returning home.

She'd caught up on lost sleep that inevitably happened with shift work and had a long soak in the bath. Her attentions had then turned to bills and other debris that filled their study. Sifting through the various bills that needed paying she eventually reached the laptop previously buried away.

Opening her emails she ditched the junk that had somehow made it through the ether and was left with an empty inbox, the satisfaction of clearing it lasting a very little amount of time. She opens a new file and begins to type the address she knows all to well. Then her fingers start to pick up pace as she touch types the rest of the email, thanking whichever god it was that sent her on the seemingly pointless typing course.

Dear Ric,

It's only just occurred to me just how long it's been since we spoke, you've not called me and I've not called you. I do have my reasons, you see the night that I came home Michael and I had a disagreement, yes I know you have your opinions on us but well we ended up discussing Georgia, and some lunatic inside me agreed to go back to work. I did you know, I made it through the doors and up to the ward and I think it's safe to say that I am back! Michaels being ever the supportive git, sometimes I just wish he'd give me reason to hate him, but he doesn't, I say it's only a matter of time till he grows tired of the caring partner routine. Each day seems to blur into one, it seems the same with work keeping things together, and I did make the right decision, didn't I? Anyway days don't matter, it's the nights that are more important to me, some are fine, I sleep perfectly well, but most are either filled with thoughts of this blasted trial that is hanging over me, the attack itself (though with everything that's happened this is no big surprise really) or us last summer, those are the best memories. The ones where I wake up in your arms in Nice, the ones where you and I are, pardon my bluntness, making use of that sofa again! But anyway enough of lowering the tone this email is basically to say that I am still alive, that I am coping fine and that speaking to you again would be lovely, just the small matter of my husband.

Love Connie xxx

Hearing the satisfactory click as she sent the email Connie stood up and left the room. The rest of the afternoon was spent entertaining a trashy novel she'd picked up at the airport. Curled up on the sofa she felt remotely safe, it felt like being back home in the dusky suburbs of London and hiding under her quilt at night with a temperamental torch to light her book. The inevitable bout of sleep soon followed, as her eyes grew tired of the kitsch romance merrily sidling along each page.

It wasn't till the phone began to rattle in its cradle that Connie stirred, taking a moment to realise what had been going on. Picking up she began the formal greeting she's used for years, "Connie Beauchamp speaking…" her heart skipped a beat as Ric's voice began wafting down the phone, none of the sultry honey tone being lost over the connection.

"Con, it's Ric, I just got your email," Connie bit her lip as it attempted to unfurl into a smile. "You ok?" he continued, clearly munching on something.

"Yes, fine, I just fell asleep on the sofa," Connie rolled her eyes at the roof as she moved back to the sofa, slumping into a comfortable heap.

"Wish I could?" Ric admitted thoughtfully, kicking off his theatre shoes so he could fully stretch out.

"Busy day," Connie mused awkwardly, "so what have you been up to since you got back?" although awkward it made a logical progression. Face to face the pair could happily fall into friendly conversation, pausing for minutes at a time and then continuing but on the phone it was different, something wasn't right, something was missing.

"Work, though I think it's probably for the same reasons as you…" he trailed off with a light chuckle as she finished his sentence instantly.

"…Avoidance, yes you and I both, it only works till you get a day off," she smiled absentmindedly playing with the creases forming in her trousers.

"True, Jess is back though. I'm pretty sure she's sick of the sight of me," Ric smiled, resting his hand on the edge of the sofa, his heavy head lying pray on his muscles as he spoke.

"I assume she's doing ok, all things considered," Connie asked, remembering the short months before her departure when she'd helped him get over the grief of loosing another grandchild. All said and done his troubles had taken somewhat of a back burner.

"Yes, she's back at work and coping better than even Lola and I expected. It's you that's causing the most trouble though Connie," his last admission startled her slightly as she sat upright, taking to pace the floor as she mulled over something of an answer.

"Michaels making sure I stay on the straight and narrow," she told him eventually, feeling like the petulant teenager being warned about drinking, being out etc.

"And I'm glad to hear it but I won't believe it till I see it, you will tell me when the trial date is set won't you?" Ric asked pensively in response.

"Yes, yes of course I will," Connie replied as she made her way into the kitchen, filling the kettle as Ric sat silent on the other end.

"Listen I've got a full theatre list for the rest of the day so I better go but you will remember that my door is open regardless and I want to see you soon," Connie smiled as she mulled over his proposition, shaking to herself as she thought twice.

"Yes, you know I would say the same, small matter of my husband but anyway I'll call sooner next time," with that the line went dead and she turned the phone off, tapping the kitchen side as the kettle jilted vigorously.

Taking her tea into the living room Connie lifted the afternoon mail and sifted out the junk until she reached a slightly thicker envelope, the company name instantly recognisable. Everything else paled into insignificance as she ripped the seal viciously, scanning the title of the document.

Date for Trial: 26 May 2006

The date, the date bore into her mind like a devil's trident, floating with angel's wings, one the one hand she was happy that for once she'd have proper closure on something and be able to move on good or bad, but on the flip side if she was unsuccessful she would have to live with the fact that the man, the animal would roam the streets again. Whether it was the thought of someone else having similar happen to someone else or not she couldn't tell but for several minutes, hours even she just sat. Looping in her mind was the past six months, the event's varying at different speeds, stopping at they key moments like when she faced him in court, his chin grey with stubble, his head cut close to his head, the tattoo of a snake slithering up his arm. His gruff voice, echoing in the background like a theme tune. "Give me your phone," "b I t c h," it made for a melancholy beat. Laced with the grace of an arrogant man, the icing was on the proverbial cake.

She read and re read the letter, memorising each fine detail, the court, the time, the place and the protocol. As she was about to fold the letter away and go upstairs when the door clicked open and Michael bundled through to the living room, carrying what seemed to be a Rigby and Peller bag. A smile criss crossed his face. "Good evening sweetheart,"

"Yes dear, good day at work?" Connie asked, trying to feign the smile the depicted her need for distraction.

"Yeah, board passed the new budgeting agreement, I've secured the department a big dose of extra funding so to celebrate I bought you something," Michael replied, proffering the gift to her. Smiling lightly Connie opened the bag, not the least bit surprised to find a black lacy bra and matching thong. He was predictable, anytime something good happened to him, he'd buy her underwear, jewellery, flowers; it depended on the occasion. He always had one aim in mind, for her to be so grateful that he'd be able to call the shots in bed that night, screw her like she would be dead tomorrow, think that she loved it when secretly she loathed the very idea. Playing along with it gave her an easy ride. Grant him praise where it was needed, this was the first time in months that he'd come home with such a present.

"Congratulations," Connie muttered dutifully, flopping back down onto the sofa.

"You had a good day too I take it," he smiled sitting down beside her, playing with his hands as he waited for a response, years of marriage together had taught him to notice when something wasn't quite right.

"Yes, well until that arrived," Connie motioned towards the letter folded neatly on the deep wood coffee table, a quick squint at it and Michael turned to her giving her a pitiful look. Looks controlled their relationship. Seeing his face fall like that made her physically sick, since she was little she'd always been level with men, never below them and she wasn't about to stop now. She motioned to stand up, stopped by his hand grabbing her and sitting her down again.

"This is great news Connie, surely?" The doubt poised in his voice made itself evidently clear as she shook her head in protest, being on the run for so long had made her barriers weak.

"No it's not really, means I have to face the b a s t a r d again, which is brilliant," Sarcasm laced every word she uttered in reply before getting up from the sofa and wrangling her hand away from his, "thank you for the present darling, but if you don't mind I think I'll pass tonight." Dealing the final blow she excused herself from the room and trundled upstairs to bed.

"S h I t," Michael cursed before slamming his hand on the arm of the sofa. All he f u c k I n g needed.