Rough and Tumble

Wendy was forever leaving stuff around the house, wherever she happened to last be using whatever it was. "Have you seen my hairbrush?" or "Have you seen my earrings?" she would ask, presumably expecting me to keep track of her various belongings. Earlier in our married life I had made the mistake of picking up after her and then taking the blame two days later when she had once again mislaid an item. I was trying to be helpful, but quickly realised that the safest course of action was not to move any of her stuff. All of which explains why I left her handbag at the top of the stairs when I saw it lying there that Saturday morning.

I went downstairs to the kitchen and started making breakfast. Wendy's routine on a Saturday was to lie in bed until I had made fresh coffee and warmed up some bread in the oven. I had just poured myself a cup of Vietnamese Sang Tao Number 8 when I heard the surprised cry, the rumble and thump and the moans of pain. It didn't take a genius to work out that she had fallen down the stairs. How bad was it? Our trip to the local hospital saw her back home that afternoon with a neck brace, bruising to the face and a very nasty looking black eye. No bones broken, although the doc who checked her out asked her to go back for a routine follow up on Monday morning.

We had a very quiet weekend. Wendy took some painkillers and spent most of the time lying in bed, talking to her mum and various friends on her mobile phone and doing some shallow internet socialising as far as I could tell. My role seemed to be as some sort of butler or nurse. She did get out in the garden for some fresh air on Sunday morning, but the weather was not very friendly and she went back indoors quite soon, leaving me to get on with the autumnal tasks of pruning bushes and sweeping up dead leaves.

Our next door neighbour, Bob, a builder by trade, was busy with the same tasks, but when Wendy went indoors he stopped what he was doing and came over to the garden wall, clearly looking to chat with me.

"Hi, Dave. I saw your wife this morning. Is she OK?" he asked.

"She'll recover." I replied.

"How did it happen?"

"Oh, she blamed me. Said it was bound to happen, she was a bit careless, but it was basically my fault. She seems to think I was trying to trip her up, or something."

Bob seemed quite surprised. "Wow! Is that what she said?"

"Yes. Anyway, I think she's learned her lesson."

Bob was still looking a bit nonplussed. "Well..." he said, "I think you're being very understanding, given the circumstances. If she needs a shoulder to cry on, Marjorie can be very discreet."

Bob turned away to get on with his gardening, leaving me to scratch my head. Bob's wife Marjorie was a nice lady, but I thought it a bit odd that he was providing reassurance about her discretion. Presumably he thought Wendy would not want the local gossips chin-wagging about her clumsiness.

On Monday morning I drove Wendy over to the hospital and waited while she got her check up. I called my boss to let him know that I would be a bit late. Wendy was a while longer than I expected, as it seems the hospital has a one to one interview with the patient if the injuries could possibly have been the result of domestic violence. Better safe than sorry, I suppose. Anyway, I eventually dropped Wendy off at the bank where she works as a loan officer and got into my office later that morning.

I work as a government purchasing manager, so my work schedule is fairly flexible and I have my own separate room, not because I'm important, but mainly so that meetings with suppliers and colleagues are completely confidential.

Not long after I got settled in that morning I started getting phone calls from some of Wendy's friends and colleagues and I was glad to have that privacy. They all seemed to doubt her explanation that she fell downstairs. The callers were all women who didn't believe Wendy was that clumsy and they were either seeking reassurance from me or threatening me or both. Of course I protested my innocence, but they were all quite adamant. Jenny, her best friend at the bank, told me that even if everyone went along with the line that the black eye, bruising and sprained neck were the result of an accident, she hoped I would exercise some restraint if I was ever tempted to be violent towards Wendy.

That afternoon it seems news of Wendy's injuries reached our office, probably via Jenny's husband, George, who is a colleague. Anyhow, our boss came by to see me. I've always had a good working relationship with Jimmy and we are very straightforward with one another. However he took me completely by surprise when he asked if I needed to take some time off to deal with any domestic issues that I might have. As I hesitated, he went on to say that he could help to arrange counselling or anger management therapy if that would get things back on track. By this time I was beginning to realise that the louder my denials, the less weight they seemed to carry. I just told him things were okay and that we didn't need to start making this into a major incident.

By the end of the day I was getting tired of protesting my innocence, so when I pulled up outside our house that evening to be greeted by our other neighbour telling me that "Hitting a woman is no way to get even", my reply was simply to say, "You're absolutely right, Steve." I walked on up the path to our front door, but as I was putting my key in the lock, I thought about what he had just said. What was he implying? If he had misunderstood what had happened and jumped to the wrong conclusion, it would have been simpler for him to have said that hitting a woman is unforgivable. That would have been very straightforward and to the point. But why did he think I would be getting even? Maybe he thought Wendy had damaged the car or ruined my favourite shirt or something like that. Strange that he thought I'd raise a hand in anger towards her under any circumstances.

Wendy was home early, having been told to take sick leave for the rest of the week. It seems the bank thought she needed rest and recuperation, or more likely they didn't want to have her battered and bruised face in front of the customers. She said she was worried that people doubted her story about having fallen downstairs. Clearly, she was having the same trouble as I was, but there's not much you can do if some folk have their own version of reality. I didn't think there was any point in telling her that her friends and colleagues had been giving me a hard time, so I made dinner and we ate quietly, then we watched TV for a while before going to bed.

On Tuesday morning I noticed George looking over at me as I sat in my office and eventually he cornered me at the water cooler, glancing around to make sure there was no one within earshot. "Look, Dave, Jenny says Martin's not stupid and he knows Wendy didn't fall down the stairs. He told Jenny it was a mistake for him to get involved with Wendy. I'm sure he'll stay away from her if you don't stir things up. What do you say, Dave?"

To say I was stunned is a bit of an understatement. What the heck was happening? I think I must have been staring at George for a while. I hadn't said a thing, so he quickly continued, "Okay, Dave, I know it's a lot to ask, but please think about it. He's got a wife and kids, after all." He turned away, as I stood there, speechless. Presumably, he thought my lack of response indicated an unwillingness to enter into any discussion of the matter. The plain and simple truth is that I was in shock.

Sitting in my office afterwards, I tried to make sense of what George had said. The only Martin that I could think of was Martin Locke, Wendy's boss at the bank. I had chatted to Martin and his generously proportioned wife, Vanessa, when the bank held its annual staff party last year. If what George said was true, then Wendy had been working under Martin in more ways than one. That the source of this information was Jenny, Wendy's closest friend at the bank, meant it was unlikely to be some sort of misunderstanding. I felt numb, but I knew I needed to try and sort out what was happening.

I decided I better head home and talk to my wife. Jimmy wasn't at all surprised that I asked for the afternoon off. He probably felt his reading of the situation had been fairly accurate and I did nothing to change that impression.

There was a silver Lexus parked in our driveway when I got home, so I parked round the corner and walked back to our house, wondering who was visiting Wendy and whether I'd have to put our "heart to heart" on hold. The garage door was open, so I went through the garage and opened the door to the kitchen, expecting to find Wendy and her pal having a cup of coffee. There was no sign of anyone in the kitchen, but I could hear a man's voice coming from the lounge.

Of course, what I hadn't realised was that Martin had decided to have his own "heart to heart" with Wendy while I was away at work. Thinking back on my conversations with the neighbours I expect he had been a regular visitor to our house when I was not there. As I stood quietly in the hallway, I heard him say, "Look, I'm sorry I have to dash off, love. I'd love to stay and keep you company for a while, but I've got a meeting this afternoon that I can't reschedule. Are you sure you'll be okay? I'm glad we cleared things up, but I still find it difficult to believe that you really did fall down the stairs." Wendy was all reassurance. "That's really sweet of you, Martin, but I keep telling you. I tripped over my handbag. Dave would never raise a hand to me and if he ever did, I would not hang around. I'll see you on Thursday evening as usual. Now off you go and don't worry about me."

Quickly gathering my wits I retreated through the kitchen and went out the back door into our garden. I stood behind the garage, weighing up my options. I felt simultaneously sick and angry at Wendy's obvious betrayal. I go bowling and a bite to eat after work on Thursday evenings with our office team and normally get home around 11pm. It looked like Wendy and Martin balled while I bowled.

I realised that immediate confrontation was likely to result in outright denial and then the guilty parties would be alerted to my suspicions. I had been badly hurt and I didn't want to end up trapped in this marriage for any longer than was absolutely necessary. It didn't take me long to decide that some incontrovertible evidence would be required if I wanted to bring things to an end. I had the beginnings of a plan and could use the next day or so to work out the details. I waited until Martin drove off and then returned to my car via the narrow lane at the back of our house, so Wendy wouldn't see me.

It's surprising how well you can lie to your wife when you discover she has been deceiving you and screwing around with another man. I went for a walk in the autumn sunshine that afternoon and returned home at my usual time. Wendy had cooked one of my favourite Spanish dishes, chicken with saffron rice. Was she feeling guilty? I had no idea, but I wasn't going to waste good food. Although it was a weekday I decided I would open a bottle of nice Spanish dry white wine to go with the meal. "Are you celebrating something, Dave?" she asked. "Kind of," I replied, "There's a lot happening at work and I think I may be about to solve a difficult problem." I didn't explain that the two things were not linked.

Wendy decided that she would use her time off to do some housework on Wednesday, but she wasn't keen to do any food shopping, as her face was turning into an interesting mixture of black and yellow from the bruising. She was happy when I offered to do all the shopping for the rest of the week. That would give me plenty of time during Wednesday and Thursday to make all the necessary changes to our bank accounts and credit cards.

Thursday afternoon seemed to drag on forever, but eventually it came time to leave the office. My colleagues on the bowling team were a bit surprised that I called off after we got to the bowling alley, but it wasn't difficult to find someone to stand in for me. The place is full of bowling addicts and no doubt my substitute would score better than I would have.

I drove over to Martin and Vanessa's place and parked down the street. Martin came out just after seven, hopped in his silver Lexus and drove off. I waited another half hour before driving the short distance to their house. I got out and went up to their front door. Naturally Vanessa was surprised to see me. I didn't know her all that well, but she had seemed to be one of those kindly big strong momma types when I talked to her at the staff party, so I was gambling that she would be sympathetic.

Martin must have told her about Wendy falling downstairs, so all I had to do was tell her that Wendy was having a bit of an emergency with some sort of woman's problem and I couldn't get hold of any of her other female friends to help solve the problem. Did Vanessa mind coming over and seeing what she could do? Vanessa grabbed her coat and bag and we were on our way.

I calculated that Wendy and Martin would have had the best part of an hour to get things going by the time Vanessa and I turned up. Vanessa didn't spot Martin's silver Lexus, which was parked discreetly further down the street. As soon as I turned the key in the lock and opened the front door it was obvious that my calculations were spot on. Vanessa looked very concerned when she heard the wailing and keening coming from the lounge. It probably sounded to Vanessa like Wendy was in pain. I ushered Vanessa towards the lounge, leaving the front door open to facilitate Martin's exit, which I expected would be very soon. I wasn't disappointed.

Once Vanessa got over the shock of seeing Martin with his tool jammed in my wife's toolbox, she set to with a vengeance. That handbag must have weighed at least ten pounds and she swung it like a battle axe while screaming at Martin and Wendy. I think Wendy's face might actually have got in the way at some stage. Of course I don't have to rely on my memory to replay the scene, because I had set my mobile to record video and got most of the action from just after Vanessa walked in the room. Martin finally managed to grab his trousers and ran for it, sprinting out the front door as I had expected. Vanessa had begun to run out of steam by this stage and Wendy sat holding her head and sobbing in the corner.

"I'm sorry, Vanessa," I said. "I didn't really want to bring you here on false pretences, but you wouldn't have believed me if I had told you what was going on. Let me take you home." Vanessa was really angry with me and called me all sorts of names, but eventually I was able to shepherd her back out to my car.

Epilogue

Wendy moved in with her mother and we put the house on the market. I know it was her fault our marriage ended and she was a selfish and deceitful person, but I don't hold a grudge, as I got some rough justice when Vanessa tanned their hides. Two years later I have a wonderful girlfriend and I trust her, but I don't go bowling.