Divorced and Deadly

Ah well, happy days. Tomorrow has to be an improvement. Doesn’t it?

BEDFORD OCTOBER, SATURDAY (#ulink_8d38aaa2-86ac-5a04-8924-93a1e0667112)

Well here we are, diary. After all the doubts and aggravation, today’s the day, and I really hope I’m not about to make the biggest mistake of my entire life (though, Lord knows, I’ve made enough mistakes already to sink a battleship!).

I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, with my head in hands and all my pitiful worldly possessions lying round me, consisting of: four pairs of plain brown socks, two ties—one formal for unexpected events, and one bright green with a motif of Donald Duck in the corner. Then there are seven pairs of yellow and blue spotted underpants from Marks and Sparks (Laura bought me those two weeks before she threw me out—is it any wonder our sex life took a nosedive!).

Fraying at the elbow, my black Travolta bomber jacket was lying crumpled on the floor; beside it was a blue windjammer depicting a skier in action; there are my favourite baggy jeans; two pairs of serviceable trousers for work, and my one and only suit for unexpected formal events (which so far number two in total—one was for an aunt’s funeral, and the other ever ready for when the virtual owner of the kennels pays a flying visit, to check that his business is not being run into the ground).

Then there are the usual man’s things, like a baseball cap, an unused cricket bat, a pair of dodgy sunglasses from House of Fraser, oh and a packet of extra-size condoms for unexpected emergencies (also never used how pitiful is that?).

‘How can you be so ungrateful?’ The door was flung open and there she was—every sane man’s worst nightmare! ‘I hope you know you’re breaking my heart.’

‘Oh, Mam! Don’t start all that again!’ Her eyes were redraw from crying, and she was wringing her hands together like she had my neck between them. ‘It’s no use, Mum.’ Oh yes, I can be heartless when tried, ‘I’m leaving and that’s that!’ Before she could persuade me to stay, I began throwing my things into a bag like the ship was going down!

‘Oh, Ben, after what I’ve done for you, I honestly don’t know how you can up and away like this.’ She was so close I could feel the fire of her breath down the back of my shirt collar. ‘I took you in when that witch of a wife threw you out. I’ve loved you and cherished you. I’ve washed your dirty socks and made sure you never go to work without your lunch pack, and when you had the flu, I sat by you day and night and held your hand. I’m your mother, for heaven’s sake. You can’t leave me here with your dad!’

A huge surge of compassion made me forget all the bad things, ‘Aw, Mum, I’m sorry, I really am. I know you sat with me when I was ill, and I know you washed my dirty socks, and I’ll always be grateful to you for taking me back when I had nowhere else to go. And you will never know what it meant to me when you lovingly packed my lunch.’

I tried not to let her see how badly my life had been affected by these things, ‘I promise you this, Mum…if I live to be a hundred I will never forget what you did.’

‘There you are, y’see!’ (She was so puffed with pride I hadn’t the heart to burst her bubble.) ‘Nobody can say I haven’t been a model mother.’

Drawing myself up to my full height, I placed my hands tenderly on her lardy shoulders, and smiling into her pea-like eyes, I tried to soften the blow of my imminent departure. ‘Look, Mum, I know it’s hard for you…oh, and me of course. But I’m not a little boy any more. It’s time I moved on…don’t you think?’

I swear to God I didn’t see it coming. She smiled at me, then before I could scream for help, she had me against the wall, her hands at my throat, ‘YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE!’ I could have yelled for my father, but something told me he was probably lying downstairs with his head caved in.

‘Let go of me!’ I gurgled, (though it wasn’t easy with her shovel-like hands flattening my windpipe). ‘I promise…I’ll come back and visit!’

‘Oh, no you don’t! I’m not falling for that old lie! (When she smiled that smile, I knew I had to escape or die.) ‘You’re a liar, just like your useless father. You say you’ll come back and visit, but I know you won’t! I’m sorry, Ben. I did not want it to come to this, but you have to understand. Y’see you are my one and only child, and I can never allow you to leave this house.’

She waggled a key in front of my face, ‘I would not be doing my duty as a mother, if I let you leave! You’re too vulnerable. People take advantage of you. Look at the way Laura treated you! And look at that slip of a girl…what’s her name…Poppy? One of these fine days she’ll have the pants off you and there’ll be a child on the way, you see if I’m not right. Then she’ll leave you and I’ll have to pick up the pieces as usual. Oh, and what about this new idiot you seem to be hanging around with…what’s his name…oh, yes, Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants. And why would a man get a nickname like that, eh?’ (When she winked one eye like that, she had a distinct look of Captain Pugwash.)

Suddenly the sound of Dad’s voice calling her made her lose her grip and that was my chance, which I took like a true hero. ‘You come back here!’ she yelled as I grabbed my bag and ran. ‘I haven’t finished with you yet.’ As I half ran half fell down the stairs she was right behind me; it was like being trapped at the foot of an avalanche, like any minute she would fall on top of me and I’d never be seen again.

‘Leave me alone, Mum!’ The terror must have been etched on my face, because when I got to the bottom of the stairs my father leaped aside, shouting, ‘KEEP GOING, SON…IF YOU DON’T GET OUT NOW, YOU NEVER WILL!’

As I ran out the door, my bag fell open and all my underpants fell out on to the pavement. ‘Somebody’s got a colourful ass, that’s for sure!’ That was grumpy old Bob from the corner house. Judging from his long, straggly beard and dirty overcoat, I wouldn’t be surprised if his underpants have never seen the light of day. (That’s if he wears any. Ooh! What a frightful image!)