What Becomes of the Broken Hearted?

  WHAT BECOMES OF THE BROKEN HEARTED

  By Izzy Hunter

  © 2019. Izzy Hunter. All Rights Reserved.

  Visit Izzy Hunter Writes for more information

  Also by Izzy Hunter

  Curiosity Killed (A Short Story Fantasy)

  A Town Called No Hope

  The Twin Dilemma

  Loving the Alien

  Highland Fling

  What Becomes of the Broken Hearted? (Coming Soon)

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  What Becomes of the Broken Hearted?

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  Further Reading: Highland Fling

  Also By Izzy Hunter

  CHAPTER ONE

  The woman, thought Douglas Sanders as he opened the front door, wine glass in one hand, looked quite mad. Though not of an age that would put her over forty, she appeared unkempt; dark hair standing up in places, as if she'd continuously run her hands back and forth through her locks. And on a cold autumnal night like this, she appeared without a jacket, and possibly without a bra, since no strap appeared as the shoulders of her red polka dot top slipped down a little. Her make-up, previously carefully applied no doubt, now ran down her face in tear stains. She looked faintly familiar, too. But Douglas was glad to say that number of bat-shit crazy women he did know he could count on one buttock. And this woman did not look like his second wife. This woman was alive, for a start.

  "Can I help you?" He asked, merely out of habit, more than genuinely offering his assistance with whatever this wild-eyed woman required. His eyes flicked to the clapped-out red metro she had brought to a screeching halt in his drive way, stopping precariously too close to his black BMW.

  "Yes, I'll have a glass of whatever you're having," the woman declared, before barging past Douglas and into the hallway. Outraged at her rudeness, Douglas closed the door and turned to confront this stranger only to find her walking into the living room. Douglas rushed after her.

  "Sorry, who are you? What do you want?" God if she was about to reply with any sentence that included the word "dad", Douglas would give up there and then. He'd always assumed that his hedonistic younger days would result in a visit from an hitherto unknown offspring of his. No one had called thus far. Douglas leant against the mantelpiece, steeling himself as she opened her mouth to reply.

  "That bastard," the woman practically spat, pacing the floor. She'd scooped up the bottle of wine from the coffee table, and took a large swig. Some of the red liquid dribbled onto her chin and then her top. It just added to the overall unhinged theme she was apparently going for.

  "I'm a bastard?" Douglas repeated, bemused at the accusation coming from a complete stranger. Though he was sure he had seen her face before.

  "What?" the woman said, screwing her face up. "Not you. Him!" Another swig of wine was imbibed, though no wine escaped her mouth this time.

  Douglas was getting quite sick of this now. "I'm sorry, madam, but if you don't explain yourself right now, I shall have to ask you to leave."

  The woman took a deep breath then exhaled slowly. Good, at least she was calming down. She put down the bottle and looked directly at Douglas. "My husband is fucking your wife."

  Well, whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't that. Douglas felt a huge sense of relief at this woman not being the fruit of his loins, before the enormity of her actual words hit him.

  "I beg your pardon?" He said, as if she had started speaking in tongues.

  "Your wife and my husband," she said slowly, "are having an affair. I thought you should know."

  "I'm sorry, but you come into my house - a total stranger - and tell me my wife is cheating on me?"

  "With my husband, yes. And we have met before. Briefly. Your wife works in the same building as my husband, Ben. I'm Alice. We were introduced at a drinks thing."

  "And do you have proof of this so-called affair? Conclusive photographs? Signed confessions, perhaps?"

  "You're mocking me," said Alice.

  "Can you blame me? It's preposterous! Your husband may be cheating on you, but I can assure you my wife isn't like that."

  "Eve. Your wife's name is Eve, isn't it?"

  "Yes. So?"

  "So? So I found a text from an Eve. In fact I found several texts from Eve, some quite explicit. Not exactly words you'd send a mere colleague."

  "Alright, what was the number?" asked Douglas. He'd rested his glass on the mantelpiece and was standing hands on hips. "I mean, your husband gets sexy messages from another woman, you're going to write down the number, aren't you?"

  For the first time, she looked uncertain. "I... I didn't have time. He almost caught me with his phone. I didn't have time to write it down."

  "So this Eve woman could be anyone," said Douglas, now feeling embarrassment and pity for this sad young woman. "I mean, the name isn't exclusive to my wife. It's at least been around for more than 2000 years."

  "I know it's her. I know it's your wife."

  "Just... leave, before you embarrass yourself any further," said Douglas, ready to show her out.

  "Where did she say she'll be, tonight?" Alice asked. "'Out with girlfriends? Working late at the office?"

  "Not that it's anything to do with you, but she's working late. She's been helping with a large project and it's near completion."

  "How convenient. That was his excuse, too."

  "Just get out, before I call the police."

  "Call her," said Alice. "Go on. Call her, but call her work number not her mobile. If she really is at work, she'll answer."

  "I don't have to -" began Douglas, incensed.

  "If you think she's the innocent party here, then there's no harm in ringing her, is there?"

  Douglas wanted nothing more than to get rid of this deluded cow. Glaring at her, he went to get his phone from the kitchen and returned, flicking through the Contacts list until he found EVE - WORK.

  "You'll owe me - and my wife - an apology in a second," Douglas told Alice as he heard the dialling tone. Alice just folded her arms in response.

  Relief washed over Douglas as the call was answered and the velvety voice of Eve spoke. "Douglas, what's wrong? I told you I was working late."

  "Oh, it's nothing, sweetheart." Doulas stuck his fingers up at Alice as he spoke. She looked surprised. "I just wanted to know if you'd want something to eat when you got home."

  "She'll be full from all the cock she's had in her mouth!" Alice shouted, having strode over to Douglas and attempted to wrestle the phone from him.

  "Get lost, you demented bitch," Douglas hissed, pushing the woman away.

  "Douglas, who is that?" Eve said sharply.

  "It's alright, darling. It's nothing. I'll see you when you get back. Bye bye." He hung up and gave Alice a smug look. "I think I'm ready to hear that apology now."

  Alice glared back at him. "You think just because she's at her office, she's not shagging my husband?

  "I obviously have more faith in my spouse than you do in yours. Just because your husband can't keep it in his trousers, there's no need to go around accusing random people of being the same."

  Alice shook her head. "You're pathetic, you know that? You're a doormat. No, you're worse than that. You're a scrap of tarmac. At least with a doormat, it's occasionally cleaned and cared for. You? You're just something to be walked over and forgotten about."

  Tarmac? Well that was a new one. "Right, I'm calling the police." Douglas held the phone aloft.

  "Fine. Obviously there's no getting through to you," Alice said. "But once you realise the truth, give me a call." She grabbed a pen from the co
ffee table where Douglas had been filling in his tax returns earlier and scribbled on the edge of a form. "If only for me to tell you I told you so."

  "Nah, I don't think I'll need to, thanks," said Douglas, but she finished writing the number, nonetheless.

  Eventually, she left. Douglas watched from beyond the net curtain in the living room as she reversed the red metro out of the driveway and drove off. Hopefully that was the last Douglas would see of her.

  He settled back down on the sofa with his glass, refilling it. Had the past ten minutes been a dream? How ridiculous to think Eve was having an affair solely based on texts written by someone with the same name. He wondered if the woman's husband was even having an affair. Or was there even a husband? Perhaps the lunatic had made him up, too.

  He used the remote control to switch on the digital radio system and listened as Radio 3 blasted out a vigorous concerto. Classical music normally relaxed him, but that evening his thoughts could only drift back to Alice and her accusations.

  Now he thought of it, there was a colleague of Eve's called Ben. And Douglas was sure he had met him. Yes, a couple of times when Douglas had picked Eve up from work. Usually, Ben was leaving the same time as Eve, so they often appeared outside the building together, chatting together. That didn't mean they were having an affair. Christ, if the sole requirement for having an affair was talking amicably to an attractive colleague, Douglas was a serial adulterer.

  Ben. Ben. Ah yes. A little on the short side, probably five foot six or thereabouts. Black hair styled into the latest, edgiest 'do. A bit smarmy, smug. Up himself, really. An eye for the ladies. He remembered back to the party Alice had mentioned - though he had no recollection of meeting her - and noticing Ben's gaze falling on all the attractive women in the room, including Eve. Oh yes, he remembered the ogling. He'd even mentioned it to Eve in the taxi home, but she had laughed it off and said "it's just Ben being Ben", as if that settled the matter.

  Eve returned home just gone 11pm. Douglas was in the kitchen, making himself some french toast. He'd been tormented over whether or not to tell Eve about Alice's visit. They could laugh about it over the toast, but Eve would be tired after a long day at work. Maybe he didn't need to bother her with such nonsense.

  He heard his wife head upstairs, a ritual she did every night where she would change into her pyjamas before coming back down for a glass of wine. Douglas had the wine waiting for her on the kitchen island.

  "What a day," Eve said, sitting down on a stool and taking a hearty swig of the red wine.

  "At least you're home now," Douglas said soothingly, reaching across and kissing her on the forehead. "Toast?"

  Eve shook her head. "I've already eaten."

  Despite himself, Alice's rant on the phone came to mind. That bloody woman!

  Eve watched Douglas finish the toast and then picked up her glass again. "So, who was the shouty woman on the phone?"

  Douglas paused for a second. Damn, he was hoping she'd forgot about that. He put the toast on a plate and sat down opposite her.

  "She was some insane woman who ridiculously thinks her husband is having an affair with you."

  "With me?" Eve said, eyes wide.

  "Apparently so," said Douglas.

  "Who's her husband?"

  "Ben something. I didn't catch the surname," admitted Douglas.

  "Ben Williams?" Eve made a face.

  "His wife's called Alice, if that's any help."

  Eve nodded. "Ben Williams. God, he's such a man-child. Anyway, why would I want him when I have my Big Bear?" She reached across and squeezed his hand.

  Douglas looked into her bright blue eyes. She was not cheating on him, with Ben Williams or anyone else. Mrs Williams needed to look elsewhere for someone to blame.

  SCENE

  Alice Williams woke up with a head that felt like it was being sawn through, from crown to forehead. Dear god, she'd never put away that amount of alcohol since her cousin's 40th birthday two years ago. Bleary-eyed, she sat up and realised, she had at least made it back to the spare room. Arsehole Formerly Known As Husband was probably at work by now. Good. Alice was in no mood for another row. Not yet, anyway.

  She traipsed through to the kitchen and searched for some aspirin before filling a glass that was on the drying rack with water. As she downed the fizzing water, she saw the remains of his breakfast. Lazy bastard couldn't even be bothered to bin the crust of toast left on the plate. Alice peered into the Star Wars cup. Yup, too lazy to tip his coffee down the sink. Bastard.

  Of course, this was nothing new. That was the deal, wasn't it? He the breadwinner, she the homemaker. Like something from the 1950s.

  I know you hate your job, Ali. I earn enough for the both of us. Just be a lady of leisure. You don't have to work ever again.

  That's how he had worded it after they'd got engaged. It was true, she'd hated her job; legal secretary for a stuffy law firm, so the thought of not having to turn up every day was like a dream come true.

  In the beginning, things were great. Alice found she enjoyed keeping their house in order. Ben would lend a hand, too, when he could. Taking the bins out, doing the dishes at the weekends. But as the years passed, he had taken her for granted and she yearned to have a nine-to-five job again. When she had found herself some hours working in an independent book shop in town, he'd said he was pleased for her, but she could see it annoyed him. How ironic, then, that he goes and has an affair with a career-obsessed, sour-faced bitch like Eveline Sanders.

  She wondered how Douglas Sanders was feeling today. She could remember being in his house - the epitome of an upper middle-class abode - and him phoning his wife there and then. As if the woman would freely admit to having an affair! The husband hadn't believed Alice. He seemed older than Eve, so probably wanted to cling on to his younger wife. Well more fool him. If rumours at Ben's work were to be believed, Mrs Sanders wasn't averse to using her femininity to get what she wanted. Alice's husband was no doubt not the first notch on the woman's adulterous bedpost.

  Alice headed into the living room and so a folded piece of paper on the mantelpiece, leaning against the unlit cinammon-scented candle. Her name was scribbled on it.

  As she moved forwards to retrieve it, she hoped it would say that Ben was leaving. She had wanted him to walk out the previous night, after she had returned from the Sanders, and confronted him about the text messages. Messages the bastard must have deleted in the interim. But he had told her she was paranoid. There were no texts. Eve Sanders didn't even have his number. Nor him hers. But Alice knew she had seen those texts. If only she could remember the mobile number above the messages. 0726-something. Damn, she should have got the number from the husband last night. Stupid Alice.

  Briefly she considered going back to the Sanders residence again, but she had a feeling the husband would call the police if she turned up on his doorstep again.

  She snatched the note as if was being offered from Ben himself.

  We need to talk. You're being paranoid. I'm not sleeping with anyone. I'll be home early tonight. We can discuss this over dinner.

  She crumpled the paper in her hand and tossed it into the bin. She was not being paranoid. She had seen those texts (or should that be sexts?). What she needed was undeniable proof, but he was too damn clever to slip up. If only Eve's husband had believed her. They could have teamed up to discover the truth. Confronted them at the same time, in the same place.

  After her shower, Alice changed into a black and orange knee-length skirt and black polo neck top and left the flat. If Ben wanted to talk over dinner, he could damn well make it himself.

  SCENE

  Douglas met Ben weeks later at a formal drinks do in celebration of completing the project Eve had had a hand in. He saw him almost instantly when he and Eve arrived. He could tell it was him. An unmistakable aura of smugness, not to mention a bizarre hairdo that looks like the barber had been instructed to close his eyes and run a razor haphazardly around the man's head. The
top three buttons of his purple shirt were undone, revealing a smooth chest. How 1970s tacky. There was no way on earth Eve was sleeping with this loser.

  "I know you hate these gatherings," Eve said sotto voce as they moved into the busy room, adorned with strategically-placed fairy-lights and busts of long-forgotten old men. "Let me mingle for a while then I'll come and find you. I'm sure you'll find something to occupy your time. Won't be long." She gave him a kiss on the cheek, then disappeared amongst the throng of bodies inhabiting the function room of the hotel.

  Douglas moved idly around the room for a bit, snatching bits of conversation here and there. None that piqued his interest enough to hover about. Eventually, with another glass of wine, he sat at an unoccupied table and wondered if it was bad manners to bring his phone out and look up The Guardian website, for something to do.

  As he was peering at the tiny screen, trying to read the latest pompous theatre review who probably thought We Will Rock You was the zenith of plays, two women sat down opposite him. He looked up from his phone and offered them a genial smile.

  “Oh don't mind us old dinosaurs,” the woman in the blue frock told him, as she eased herself into a chair. “Can't stand for long periods of time, these days.”

  They introduced themselves as June and Gloria, the longest-serving secretaries in the company. Both well on their way to their seventies. June and Gloria had been there when the business had been three pokey little rooms in Bracknell. Douglas had put away his phone. These ladies seemed genuine and were that rarest of things at a party like this one; interesting people.

  They hadn't asked Douglas anything about himself, apart from his name. He didn't mind. It would have been the same boring stock answers.

  Conversation exhausted, all three turned their attention to the rest of the guests. Douglas was educated in who was nice, who was an arsehole and who was cheating with who. This led Douglas back to the accusation about Eve.

  “And Ben Williams, from Accounting, has split up with his wife,” Gloria was saying, nodding towards the man in question.