Caged, a Midlife Crisis

By Peter Nutty

Tessa Sanders is a modern-day Calamity Jane. After ten miserable years married to horrid Rupert, Tessa finally decides to leave him. Her exit is made possible following a chance meeting with Major Adam Parker-Hurst, the golf club captain. The major offers her and her five-year-old twin sons, Sam and Freddy, a place to stay at his magnificent country house, Manorbier Estate.

Thinking that marriage is eventually on the cards, Tess is miffed to find out that shes not the only lodger at the house. Simon, a corporal in the local Territorial Army is also a guest, or so it seems; the relationship between the senior officer and his subordinate appears to be a bit too friendly for her liking!

To make matters worse, Rupert becomes more of a burden now shes left him than he ever was when they were together! Put into the pot, her dithery mother and Tess is slowly being torn apart with everything thats going on!

And all this is performed in front of the boys who provided such an innocent background to the entire saga it makes her cry! But when shed finally managed to get herself on an even keel, even the rivers of tears shed shed over the boys didnt compare to what happened in the end. It was the saddest part of her entire life; it was tragic.

The reader is taken on a hilarious and very witty roller-coaster ride that exudes a calamity of heartache, agonising sorrow, stupidity, naivety, sleaze, chance, and unbelievable romance; the incredible journey seasoned with large servings of humiliation and disappointment along the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: May 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468578676

Peter Nutty

Born in 1959, in Port Talbot, Wales, Peter Nutty is married to Claire; they have three daughters—Amy, Kate, and Chloe—and have spent most of their married life living in the Middle East. Pete and Claire plan to retire back to their home in Pembrokeshire to spend more time with their children and Pete’s son Craig and two grandchildren, Callum and Oliver. Peter Nutty is also author of The Last Hangman.

Book preview

Prologue

If somebody had been able to tell me even vaguely how the year was going to unfold I would have laughed! Being a normal, run-of-the-mill housewife I had little to shout about. And then there was Rupert, who constantly and sometimes cruelly kept me on my toes. That part of my life was naturally full of regrets and heartache, too. The marriage was dead in the water as far as I was concerned. There was no excitement. Nothing ever happened to me. My life was dull, I knew that. Every morning started in the same knowledge that the day-to-day household chores and challenges that I detested and hardly completed were there, ready and waiting for me. And they’d be there the next day, and the day after that, and so on. Like so many women caught in the same trap it was difficult to maintain a willingness to carry on under these circumstances.

But the biggest disappointment was being married to Rupert of course. Over the years I’d slowly come to despise my husband. It was like being married to a massive slug. He was mean, selfish and a bully I found out all too quickly after we’d tied the knot. If only I’d known sooner! And if I had another chance I’d tie that same knot into a noose and swing the fat, lard-arse from the rafters! But, for the sake of my twin sons, Sam and Freddy, I carried on regardless. Life was like a Carry-On film at the best of times in my little world!

Looking back on it the events that took hold of me that year were unbelievably spectacular! You couldn’t have predicted it even in your wildest imagination! The start of the year was mundane and slow, but by the end it was as if I’d been propelled at speed through a time-warp only I’d painstakingly lived every second along the journey.

Yes, the year for me was filled with a calamity of heartache, agonising sorrow, stupidity, naivety, sleaze, chance, and unbelievable romance; the incredible journey seasoned with large servings of humiliation and disappointment along the way. And all this was performed in front of the boys who provided such an innocent background to the entire saga it made me cry! But, when I’d finally managed to get myself on an even keel even the rivers of tears I’d shed over the boys didn’t compare to what happened in the end. It was the saddest part of my entire life, it was tragic.

Chapter 1

Jane Brooks was a free woman and she was ecstatic. In fact she was close to paradise she told me over the phone. Her decree nisi was made absolute that afternoon and now she could do whatever she pleased; not that she couldn’t before mind you. At that precise moment all she wanted to do was soak in a hot, bubbly bath, drink expensive champagne that she couldn’t afford and tell her closest friends how happy and relieved she was to be rid of Michael, her husband of fifteen years. At least he was up until that afternoon. Now it was her ex-husband of fifteen years.

‘Good on you,’ I said pretending to be overly pleased for her. I more or less had an inkling of her relationship with Michael and compared to my marriage it seemed okay. In fact it was marvellous so I never really understood why she wanted out?

When Miss Brooks, as she would be called from this moment onwards, first told me about the pending split she couldn’t give one good reason for going through with it. Oh, apart from not wanting to keep a big pig knowing that she’d only end up with a small sausage at the end of the day! Anyway, I didn’t give that miserly excuse too much credit at the time but now realised it was probably sufficient reason after all… silly me!

Nevertheless, in love or not the more she told me about Michael the more convinced I’d become that she was making a big mistake. Mid-life crisis perhaps, who knows? Who cared? In my book Michael was a great guy. He owned his own building company. It was a small affair but plans for growth were good the last time we spoke, which wasn’t that long ago. With a small team of four tradesmen, or maybe seven or eight in the summer when the weather permitted more adventurous projects, Michael Brooks Ltd went about their business with pride. The company, or those who worked for it, couldn’t build a motorway or shopping mall or anything of that nature, but they could build a house. Or houses if they were lucky enough to get the business but lately they were limited to small extensions and the odd conversion. To that extent he was more or less successful, the later being more accurate. Most people paid in cash and the fact that they paid at all in these unpredictable times mattered of course. Oh… and he was polite, and he was charming, and he was good-looking too and… secretly, I absolutely adored him! To top it off he was a Master builder, unlike my husband who was a masturbator. Michael’s worth a couple of bob too I bet. Oh… but come to think of it he’s probably skint now isn’t he. I forgot about that. Jane would’ve taken him to the cleaners wouldn’t she!

‘Can you believe it, Tess?’ Jane then asked. ‘After all this time, me and Michael, over. Finito! The end!’ With the phone crunched precariously between my chin and ear as you do, I half-listened whilst sitting on the loo painting my toe nails at the same time; I was multi-tasking. I had one foot resting on the bath as Jane garbled on telling me she still couldn’t believe the relationship was, well… done and dusted.

What did she expect after asking for a divorce?

I wondered how much she’d got from the proceeds, must have been a pretty sum by my reckoning, bloody gold digger. All of a sudden my foot slipped off the side of the bath and I made a complete mess of varnishing this little piggy had roast beef. I carried on listening to her mixed up state as I wiped the toe clean, including this little piggy had none.

Sitting in the bath trying to savour the moment and doing her best to convince me she was happy wasn’t really working. I’m a woman, I could tell; she needed to convince herself she’d done the right thing before telling anybody else. And in any case, she was a bit naive if you ask me.

Then all of a sudden, ‘I still love him, Tess!’ she confessed, a hint of sorrow in her voice.

Oh, oh, here we go… I was right. Upon hearing this I might as well have used a roller brush to varnish this little piggy went wee . . . wee . . . wee . . . all the way home! The guilt trip was about to sweep over her and I waited for more to come.

‘Now I feel sad and lonely. A bloody big dollop of insecurity has replaced the earlier euphoria I had,’ she told me, sounding rather dejected. Tears welled and were inevitably about to be shed and good enough for her, too. ‘Even the champagne’s gone flat,’ she muttered, miserably sizing up the glass I imagined. Well, she had a point. Flat champagne is good enough reason to be saddened I supposed.

I tried to make her feel better. ‘C’mon… all that lonely mumbo-jumbo stuff will soon fade,’ I replied sounding like my mother now. ‘So cheer up and stop being so bloody miserable,’ I told her sternly. ‘Instead of looking back at the past, look to the future for goodness sake! Just make you’re mind up and go for it, whatever,’ I suggested trying to change the subject and put a more positive angle on things. What she’d go for I don’t know. Besides, I didn’t have the time for all this.

‘I haven’t really thought about the future, well not properly anyway.’

Surprise, surprise!

‘Oh, I’d planned to do this and that and all sorts but now the time has come I’m not sure it’s what I want,’ she confided with another hint of a sob.

‘Don’t be silly,’ I said, again without feeling. ‘It’s just a bad time for you right now.’ Although I couldn’t quite see how I thought rather callously to myself. I continued to try my best to console her over the phone.

‘The pressure of the divorce and the reality of it all coming to a conclusion must have taken it out of you,’ I told her rather half-heartedly. I purposely decided not to tell her that the most likely reason for her underlying depression was probably too much bubbly. ‘You’ll feel better in the morning, honestly. Don’t worry about it,’ I falsely assured her knowing full well that in the morning she’d have a throbbing headache, which pleased me no end.

‘Thanks, Tess. You’re a star,’ she replied slurring her words a bit. ‘In fact I feel better already after opening up to you, thank God. You’re right, I need to buck up. So tonight I’m going to enjoy myself,’ she said with a new and albeit remarkably quick-found confidence. ‘I’m gonna start by getting rid of all the memories, Tess.’ In a flick she was happy, which was a relief but I wondered how long it would last; another flick and I sensed she’d be back to slashing her wrists. I hated all this hard-done-by girly nonsense but as a friend I felt I had no choice but to continue to give her support however false it appeared. So I continued dabbing at my nails whilst she continued to ramp up all the hype.

‘Pictures, CD’s, the entire album collections I think, clothes, furniture, anything that reminds me of him.’ Bit of a cliché but she seemed excited by that prospect and who could blame her. No offence to the canine fraternity but I wouldn’t have furnished a kennel with that lot and wondered what had taken her so long to dump all that crummy stuff in the first place. I listened as Jane hammered on. Again, I cringed the moment she mentioned their worn-out, crushed velvet, beer stained reclining chairs that dated back to the seventies.

‘But first I’m gonna pamper myself,’ she bragged coming up for air.

Oh, wait for it. I sensed a pathetic change of direction. Her new found enthusiasm was running amok.

‘Right here and now,’ she added, her zest driven by Moet & Chandon. ‘In fact, I’ve got one of his old razors in my hand as we speak. The triple blade thing that I was never allowed to borrow in case I gave him a rash. Pity, would’ve been nice to have given him the pox before I kicked him out,’ she seethed quickly getting back to normal.

‘Oh, that’s a good start at trying to forget him then,’ I chirped down the mouthpiece, the playful remark seemingly lost on her. I heard a splash. One armpit shaved clean. I heard a shuffle of the phone from one ear to the other, which was followed by another splash and that was that, she was clean under the armpits I presumed.

Then out of the blue, ‘Glad I humped Liam behind his back now,’ she muttered with a sense of gratitude. This was followed by a series of smirking sounds.

‘Liam! Who the hell is Liam?’ I asked suddenly taken somewhat aback by the confession.

‘The carpenter, he works for Michael,’ she told me without any hint of remorse and before I could say anything else, ‘Think I’ll shave the lot, Tess. All off,’ she delighted in confiding intimately and a bit too much under the influence. It was all going on now. ‘You know, my forbidden regions like, just for the hell of it. It’s about time I shaved down there for me instead of Michael soddin Brooks, the builder-cum-pervert!’

Flipping heck, I was all for her forgetting the past but I hoped she wasn’t messing too much with the future? I could just imagine her slowly waving the triple-blade thing in front of her crotch ready to take a scalp.

‘Just be careful you don’t nick it,’ I said humorously down the phone and not really wanting any more detail about the task in hand. She laughed and then the phone slipped out of her hands and plunged into the soapy water.

‘Good heavens, she cut me off!’ I said to myself, looking astonished at the mouthpiece after the line went dead. ‘Why do people do that?’ I had no idea what had happened.

Then an angry voice shouted up the stairs, ‘C’mon, Tessa. We’re already late,’ moaned Rupert my horrible husband.

‘Think you can manage to get ready before the party ends?’ he demanded to know. ‘I mean, for heavens sake you’ve been up there for hours,’ he barked sarcastically.

I’d been no more than fifteen minutes of course.

‘Won’t be a mo,’ I replied defensively whilst Jane’s confession still minced around in my mind. How could she? Michael was such a decent guy. Why cheat on him in like that? And with an employee of his… and they’re probably good mates… he’s bound to find out. I mean, who can get away with that kind of stuff these days? He’s better off without her I reasoned to myself. Silly cow!

Then my thoughts turned to the stupid cheese and wine party we’d been invited to at Millie and Archie’s. Rupert got us the invite of course. His golfing chums, a right bunch of lovelies.

Toes finally painted and cured I quickly dabbed a new brand of blusher on my face and cringed at what lay ahead, all the rigmarole and whatnot. The next few hours would be taken up watching people getting hammered on cheap wine. And then there was my other half, Rupert! He was bound to make a complete arse of himself as usual.

Oh, how I envied Jane Brooks’ new liberated status at that moment in time. Although, my bet was that she’d turn into a lesbian within a couple of months and with that strange thought planted in my mind I went downstairs and straight out of the front door to meet horrible Rupert, who was waiting impatiently in the car and revving the engine to emphasise the point. When I finally got in the car Rupert had a right hump on. Taking one derogatory look towards me, the big lump of lard then gunned it hard and we took off doing a wheel spin, which only served to annoy the neighbours for the umpteenth time.

Rupert loved it.

Me, I wished I was married to gorgeous Michael instead of being married to a gigantic hippo who had three double chins and a hideous moustache! Latched on to Michael would be bliss and besides, like mum used to say, builders always come in handy, don’t they?

Chapter 2

I stood minding my own business when up popped Gladys Myles-Booth. She seemed to appear from nowhere. My eyes swept the vicinity for signs of a trap door as she closed in tight against my side.

‘Margot’s had a teeny too much as usual,’ she complained whilst quietly grabbing my arm as if it was my fault.

‘Oh, as she?’ I replied suddenly pretending to be concerned and wondering why she chose me to confide in such a sin. ‘Oh well, never mind. You know what she’s like,’ I told her.

‘Sherry I shouldn’t wonder,’ alleged Gladys stating the obvious.

‘Mm…’ I was non-committal.

‘Should be ashamed of herself,’ she glowered. On the outside I sensed Gladys was jealous of her neighbour, Margot. It was as if she’d some kind of unfinished business with her.

‘Oh, she’s okay, Gladys. She’s not hurting anybody,’ I tried to reassure her. ‘After all, we’ve all been there haven’t we?’ I declared in half-hearted defence of Margot whom I hardly knew; she could have been an alcoholic and chronic basket case for all I knew. Gladys turned and looked straight at me. I smelled trouble and edged slightly out of arms reach.

‘I beg your pardon,’ she shrugged, accusingly. ‘I can assure you that I have never been there,’ she corrected me. Rather abruptly, too. ‘It’s just not on,’ she hissed. Her eyes seemed to bore in hard, as if trying to shrivel me on the spot.

‘She’s hardly kale-eyed now is she?’ I argued, this time sounding a little overly defensive. I normally pretended to be blind to these types of goings-on.

‘Are you blind, Tessa?’ she then asked second guessing me. ‘The silly bugger is rat-arsed.’

I looked away and wondered why I should bother. Margot could get her kit off and walk around in the biff playing the bagpipes as far as I was concerned. In fact…

‘Trust me dear, people talk. Take it from me,’ added Gladys sure of the advice. What she actually meant was… she would talk. ‘And let me give you another morsel,’ she offered coming forward and once again grabbing my arm tight in the process. Gladys really was going to go off on one now, I could sense it coming. Margot had no chance, poor thing. Then it was my turn so I braced myself ready for a grilling.

‘When a certain degree of etiquette is required you make damn sure you maintain a proper measure, young lady. Not like that one. I mean… just look at her,’ she flicked her head over her shoulder, wide-eyed towards a merry fracas at the far end of the room. I turned to look. Margot was indeed under the influence; of that there was no doubt. Arms flayed everywhere as she reminisced about something or other to a small clique that had slowly closed in on her. Everybody seemed amused at her antics and laughter spilled out from amidst the rumpus. Margot was kale-eyed. Lucky her I thought.

‘Oh, of course,’ I said back tracking and not wanting to make an enemy. ‘I didn’t mean to… err… I mean… of course…’ I faltered into silence as horrid Gladys shot off to discretely grab another unsuspecting arm further down the room. I watched the old cow go through the same routine. It must have hurt Gladys not to be part of Margot’s crowd I thought. Or perhaps she didn’t like the way she got on so well with Millie, her twin sister and our host for the evening. Or perhaps the old bat is just a miserable old sod. Yeah, that’s it.

I looked at my watch… discretely by the way. No sense in drawing attention, I could have another Gladys on my hands. It was way past midnight and the party was in full swing. I wondered if anybody noticed me standing alone and sad and pretending to look at a cluster of old antique ornaments placed neatly around a small dresser close by. Could they tell how my once, brilliant and fun-packed life had come to all this? At a cheese and wine party of all things, surrounded mostly by old fogies for goodness sake! I scanned the room for a friendly face.

I saw Roger-the-butcher who was stood next to his wife, Amanda. They were talking to somebody I didn’t know. He waved the minute he saw me. His little dumpy fingers always made me laugh given his profession; they looked like a small pack of pork sausages!

Then I noticed the three Paul’s; Williams, Grayson, and Turner, whom I knew from school. They were stood chatting away to themselves whilst nursing a bottle of beer each. The nicest looking of the three, Paul Turner, looked over towards me and we made eye contact. Strangely I had the urge to do something when that happened. Feeling rather stupid in the process I gave him a little schoolgirl wave. He smiled and then shot me a cheeky wink, which prompted the others to look over, too. This in turn made me feel even more stupid. The other two then went into a bout of rude gyrating motions and humping routines in his direction and he blushed whilst looking at me from the corner of his eye. I thought about going over to say hello but I hardly knew them these days, not well enough to approach and make conversation anyway. Besides, I’d probably get laid on the spot judging by all the gyrating going on. Oh, but on second thoughts perhaps that might not be such a bad idea.

To take my mind off Paul and any thoughts I had about humping I turned away and tried one of the tomato and garlic broschete nibbles. They were placed on a table close by and looked really delicious. Food was always a good companion for me. It had transformed me into a size twelve. I took a big bite. Just my luck, the tomatoes tasted really sour and the bread was stale so I tossed the morsel discretely into a small stainless steel bowl close by and presumably placed there for that very reason. It was awful. I looked around to see if anybody noticed. Nobody did.

Soon the lounge had become quite crowded and I had a feeling of being boxed in, even in such a big room. A few more revelers stood close-by chatting before bursting into laughter. The source of their humor was coming from the general direction of Margot, God bless her. I edged closer to the action.

‘I was in the Women’s Royal Air Force, I’ll have you know,’ I heard her say. Margot was proudly standing to attention when she said this. The Dam Busters music played subconsciously in the back of my mind as an elderly gent acknowledged her standing to attention and also stood straight before swiftly bringing his right arm up to complete a smart salute. He represented the Royal Marines, Four Five, Commando, he said, very stiff upper lip and all that whilst looking dead ahead. His body went rigid as he stood to attention, an inquisitive look darting from the corners of his eyes towards the others as if to prove nobody else in the room was capable of doing the same. Then somebody from the Welsh Guards made to quickly stand in the same fashion but stumbled in the process. So it was difficult after all.

Had he been more sober and able to stand to attention like the Royal Marine we’d learn that he’d been a sergeant major in a regiment nobody could decipher on account of him slurring. I put the small clan neatly enlisted around the first Gulf war era; they were a proud, happy bunch and at this rate I imagined the party being turned into some kind of Remembrance Sunday. I looked around to see what they could use as a cenotaph. With a little imagination Margot’s sideboard could have been used for the march past I mused quietly to myself.

‘C’mon, another round of drinks,’ cried the Marine, now stood at ease and happy to oblige and get the refills. A few minutes later he returned to the fracas. The Welsh Guards were somewhere in Baghdad showing the American fifth infantry the way to MacDonald’s; all that fighting had left them ravished.

‘Here you go,’ said the soldier and dished out several G & T’s.

‘Where’s mine?’ asked the sergeant holding out an empty hand.

‘Oops… sorry, Sarge, be back in a jiff,’ said the soldier and then smartly nipped off to the kitchen for more of the same.

‘Fancy leaving old Sarge out?’ declared Margot, lifting her G & T and looking astonished on his behalf.

‘He’d forget his army number that one,’ hissed the former Guardsman. ‘No real soldier would ever do that,’ he said proud as punch.

‘Go on then,’ egged the cheeky marine who was back in less than a jiff as promised and was now quickly handing him a tall glass filled almost to the top.

‘What?’

‘Your army number, go on, tell us… what was it?’

‘Oh…’ In limbo from the sudden request and obviously caught by surprise, Sarge frowned and then… ‘D… one, five, three… err. Hang on. D, one five, three… err… It’ll come to me in a minute,’ he said looking puzzled if not embarrassed. The others laughed. I watched them go on for about another ten minutes or so.

My parting cue couldn’t have been timed better.

‘What did you do in the RAF, Margot?’ asked the sergeant major who’d conveniently forgotten all about army numbers and the like now and was instead probing for more memories of the good old days.

‘I was a groundsheet for the troops!’ replied Margot quick as a flash. More fits of laughter and that’s how I left them, happy.

Across the room, a thick-set man holding court with two young girls lit a cigarette and exhaled the smoke upwards towards the ceiling; the way he was carrying on it wouldn’t surprise me if he’d blown smoke up his own backside! Unusually, in today’s health conscious society, nobody seemed bothered by this. I watched as the smoke hung in the air and then waited until eventually the smell slowly but surely filtered to my side of the room. Phew! Bloody smokers! I’ll smell like a kipper in the morning. It’ll make a change from the cheap knocked-off Chanel I usually wore I supposed. Moments later I watched the ash fall on Millie’s beige Axminster carpet. Oh, she’d love that I thought and turned away quickly pretending not to notice as the smoker discretely made it vanish into the thick shag pile with the sole of his shoe without a care.

Oh God! How much longer was this thing going to go on? Not wanting to show my true feelings I mingled amongst a small group who had managed to distance themselves from the ever growing throng.

The next minute I was face to face with a very attractive girl wearing a very short Tartan mini skirt and black, knee-length boots. A small sporran hung from her waist at the front. Above the waist she wore a white, see-through blouse that covered a black tee shirt underneath; on top of it all she had a bust to die for. From first appearances, bagpipes and pole dancing sprang to mind.

‘Hi, I’m Natasha,’ she said and held out a hand. Miss Scotland wasn’t Scottish at all. She had the tell-tale tones of Eastern European about her. Polish, Rumanian maybe but from wherever she heralded she was very well spoken.

‘Tessa, pleased to meet you,’ I replied, consciously thankful for the introduction and at last somebody to talk to.

‘Enjoying the party?’ she asked, gently swaying back and for in time to the music. Natasha was over six feet tall. I looked like one of the seven dwarfs beside her; the one with a dick for a husband.

‘Yeah, having a great time,’ I lied, sympathetically smiling back at her.

‘Mm… looks like.’ Natasha looked down her nose in mock amusement. It wasn’t too difficult to notice I was bored out of my skull.

‘Sorry, just hate these things,’ I confessed feeling left out.

‘I know the feeling. They’re either a blast or nothing,’ she said smiling back at me. I’d still held my previous smile.

‘I wished they’d turn the music up,’ she whispered, leaning towards me to catch my ear.

‘What! Millie? No chance,’ I replied quickly easing away from her, ‘Archie’d have a fit.’

‘Yeah, suppose he would. He does look a bit old for all of this. In any case, Margot’s small group is far more entertaining,’ Natasha said whilst quickly flicking her head towards the small platoon assembled in the corner.

I looked over to see Sarge giving Margot a piggy back into the kitchen. She was whipping his backside as they went but then the mounted pair got jammed in the door frame on the way in.

More laughter…

‘Crazy fools.’ Natasha laughed and then turned to me.

‘Known Millie long then?’

‘Hardly,’ I said with honesty.

‘So what’s a good looking girl like you doing at silly functions like this then?’

‘The music; can’t get enough of it,’ I joked. Her smile never left her. We chatted about this and that for the next ten minutes or so about how life in our little community was so boring. She was from Italy she told me rather sarcastically when I asked what part of Russia she was from, which kind of made me feel embarrassed about my lack of geography, or at least my lack of understanding of people’s accents. How could I have been so far away?

Then she caught me by surprise.

‘With anybody?’ asked my new friend slowly licking her lips and now gently rubbing my arm a little too seriously for my liking. This gesture was obviously done for my pleasure I sensed rather too nervously.

‘Rupert, my husband,’ I quickly replied whilst deliberately looking around the room for my husband. ‘He’s over there somewhere.’ I pointed over my shoulder not sure where Rupert was and even more unsure of where this conversation was leading to. Perhaps she was fishing, or whatever terminology they used; God knows what it meant. It’s just that I’d heard the expression used by Jane once when she was chatted up by another woman in a bar one night.

‘Mm… shame.’ Natasha looked a little disappointed. I felt uncomfortable.

‘Ah, well,’ muttered Natasha with a sigh. ‘C’mon, let’s have some food,’ she then said quickly changing the subject and before I knew it Natasha was gently patting my backside towards the general direction of the awful tasting broschete. She picked up two portions and offered me one.

‘Err… I wouldn’t if I were you,’ I said pretending to poke my finger down my throat and nearly did in the process. ‘The food’s awful,’ I whispered towards her as if I was Egon Ronnay. Then Natasha’s mood suddenly changed. She pushed herself upright and seemed to regard me rather awkwardly. It was as if I’d said something to offend her.

‘Oh, is that so? Nice of you to say!’ she told me rather abruptly as Italians do from time to time and with a huff she quickly walked away without another word. I watched her push her way past Sarge and Margot, upending the mounted pair on the floor before disappearing out of sight.

Odd, but it was definitely because of something I’d said?

Then a familiar face appeared from the kitchen.

‘Hey, Tess, do you know what happened to the man who couldn’t tell the difference between shit and putty?’ asked John ‘Nugget’ Newman, one of the most likeable characters in the whole wide world. I looked back at him mesmerized. There was no greeting from Nugget, just straight into it. I knew John was a poor teller of jokes and so I knew the punch line was going to be crap!

‘No, go on Nug, why not tell me. What happened to the man who couldn’t tell the difference between shit and putty?’ I asked and deliberately yawning at him in the process.

‘His windows fell out! Ah-ah-ah-ah,’ chuckled Nugget. When he did this he sounded like Santa Claus. If his belly was smaller he could play the part but it was too big even to play this portly character.

‘Very funny, Nug,’ I replied without laughing. But of all the people there that night Nugget was a shining light. He’d been a very good friend ever since school. Nugget was liked by everybody. Nevertheless, shining light or not Nugget was only ever after one thing so I quickly conjured up an excuse to go but just as I made my move he held out his index finger and offered it in my direction.

‘Pull that, go on,’ he told me with the same charm. I knew what was coming and declined.

‘Nice try, Nug!’ I told him and escaped just in time. Moments later I could hear a low, tuba-like rumble reverberating from his backside.

‘Shouldn’t have eaten them three steak and onion pies for tea,’ he said over his shoulder in my direction. ‘Or was it the six pints of Guinness?’ I laughed back at his tasteless humor.

Left alone I shuffled unnoticed into the sitting room and reluctantly joined the men in the dining room. They’d no choice but to vacate the small library when earlier, Margot steam-rolled through their card school merrily leading a stupendously drunken clan doing The Conga. The snake got longer as they progressed through the house; I always get a kick from people behaving like idiots but tonight just wasn’t working for me somehow. Why, I didn’t know? Anyway, The Conga had fizzled out on account of Sarge feeling dizzy and in the meantime normal order had been restored.

Now, after making excuse after excuse not to accept countless offers of awful tasting broschete, and of course cheese and wine, which seemed to be on tap and quite right too, I found myself sat around the table listening to a load of waffle about golf of all things. It was out of the pot and into the fire. I was bored senseless. Did anybody really enjoy these hoity-toity goings-on? My head sank. I loathed the bloody lot of em. The whole thing was a non-event to me, but then little did I know how this particular event would turn out?

‘And I’ll tell you som’n else, Arch,’ blubbered Rupert my by now very drunk husband. ‘I’m gonna bloody do him tomorrow. I’ll show him how to play soddin golf, just you wait and bloody see,’ he blathered whilst swinging an imaginary three-iron around in his seat like one of the Three Musketeers. We watched in amazement, the entire group, as Rupert eyed the trajectory of an imaginary golf ball as it hurtled down the room like a rocket to land on some pie-in-the-sky green. In his childish mind’s eye Rupert had hit a hole-in-one, no doubting it. Ah, but… the real thing was a different matter though wasn’t it? Even I knew that. I watched my husband go through his swing again for the benefit of the blind and wished he’d drop dead on the spot, less embarrassing for me.

‘Oh do shut up, Rupee,’ cut in Millie far from being polite and just as fed up as me with it all. ‘You’re all wind and the other… always are when you’re sloshed,’ she added choosing her words carefully. She’d heard enough of my husband’s drunken bravado and who could blame her? They all had by the look of things.

‘Had sufficient to drink, have we?’ asked her twin sister Gladys, being sarcastic.

Ouch! She’d had her fangs into Margot earlier on and now she had Rupert in her sights. Gladys, having done her rounds drumming up support to have Margot ousted from the do, now had my husband on the list of undesirables. She had a full time job on her hands it seemed, which was fine by me.

Rupert looked back at Gladys in what could only be described as contempt only to see her plainly eyeing the level inside the last bottle of Port. A very expensive bottle of Port I might add and not the type she would have bought. She and Roger’s budget couldn’t extend to those prices these days. Anyway, pity she hadn’t come to the conclusion regarding the state of Rupert sooner. After all, she’d had Margot on the radar very early on in the evening. One can only assume Rupert must have used a stealth approach. Typical of my sly, fat, lard head of a husband. Anyway, I was glad of her intervention. In a standoffish kind of way, Millie and Gladys were the only ones prepared to stand up to Rupert’s bullyboy antics in this little crowd.

‘Ugh,’ piped Archie, ‘That told you old boy, hey?’ he scoffed, quietly sipping a brandy and admiring Gladys’s tongue. Millie looked daggers at her husband; Archie would have to watch himself from now on. Meanwhile, Gladys’s husband, Woger, (Gladys’s pronunciation for Roger not ours), who was sat looking meekly towards the ceiling said nothing; he wasn’t going to get involved.

‘Now, now, Archie,’ piped the next door neighbour, Gwyneth Meredith. ‘You know only too well how competitive Rupert is,’ she said sounding very Welsh in my husband’s defense. I knew otherwise of course, we all did.

‘There you go, Rupee,’ said dippy Bernard. ‘I told you before, you can do no wrong in Gwyneth’s eyes,’ he confessed on his wife’s behalf. She blushed.

But jeepers, wasn’t poor old Bernie stepping into a minefield here? Rupert hated being referred to as an Indian coin; I kind of knew how Millie got away with it, but Bernard?

‘Thanks, Gwyn,’ drooled Rupert smoothing himself up to her rather lecherously. And then, for reasons unknown even to this day, my husband sunk to new depths by mistaking Gwyneth’s small token of admiration as reason enough to lean and slobber all over her.

‘Mm… come here you little beauty,’ he