What Becomes of the Broken Hearted? Page 2

Douglas watched as Alice's husband sleazed over a thin brunette in a figure-hugging black dress. His eyes moved back and forth between her face and chest. God, could he be any more obvious? If Eve was screwing him, then Douglas was disappointed in her taste of lovers.

  “We're probably the only two women he hasn't tried it on with,” said June.

  “Too old and too wise,” agreed Gloria.

  Douglas had moved his focus to his table companion as they spoke, but looking up again goosebumps ran along his skin as Eve had taken the place of the brunette; Ben's over-attentive gaze never waivering.

  His mouth became very dry and he suddenly became hyper-aware of his wife and the other man: the slight head flick Eve did to move her fringe out of her eyes; the knowing smiles playing on their lips; the subtle touches to Eve’s arm; the occasional look around.

  “What about her?” Douglas heard himself ask.

  “Eveline Sanders?” Gloria asked, as they watched the couple across the floor.

  “She’s no better,” remarked June.

  “You think?” Gloria asked her friend.

  “Of course. I'd be very surprised if they haven’t slept together yet.”

  “I thought she was married,” said Gloria.

  “Since when did that stop anyone?” asked June, darkly.

  Both women appraised Douglas. Gloria was the first to speak.

  “Listen to us gossiping away like a pair of old hens. “

  “Speak for yourself.” June said, nudging her friend with mock [unimpressed].

  “Anyway,” Gloria carried on, ignoring June, “who have you come with, this evening?”

  Douglas drained the last droplets in his glass, and stood up. “My wife, Eveline Sanders.”

  Leaving the two women to exchange guilty looks, Douglas strode across to Mrs Sanders and Mr Williams. The pair sprung apart when he reached them, making Douglas's pulse race with anxiety.

  “Darling,” Eve said, a big smile on her face, though he didn't know which man was the cause of it. “This is Ben. He works in our Finance department.”

  Ben. Just Ben. No surname. And an accountant, for Christ's sake. She couldn't be carrying on with an accountant.

  “Nice to meet you, Doug.” Ben's outstretched hand waited.

  Douglas looked at it for a moment, then reluctantly met it. “It's Douglas, actually.” He felt slight relief at the weakness of the other man's handshake.

  “Right.” Ben glanced at Eve who was avoiding his gaze. “Look, Douglas, I want to apologise for the outlandish views my wife has been spouting.”

  “She seemed... upset,” said Douglas.

  “She gets paranoid,” shrugged Ben. “I can't even be in the same room as a woman, without Ali thinking I'm cheating on her.”

  The younger man had looked earnestly at Douglas as he spoke; didn't avoid his eyes either.

  God, have I got this all wrong? Seeing things that aren't there? Am I paranoid, too?

  “This fine woman is way out of my league, anyway,” Ben added, giving Eve an admiring look. Douglas watched as his wife's eyes lowered in a coquettish manner.

  “Listen, darling,” said Douglas. “I'm going to head home. I'm not feeling too great.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” said Ben.

  Eve looked sorry, too. She adopted that concerned look that always put him in mind to when they first met, though the recollection was cloudy due to Douglas being intoxicated. Hence the concern.

  “Okay, I'll just get my coat,” Eve said, making to walk in the direction of the coat room. But Douglas took her wrist gently to stay her.

  “No, you stay. Enjoy yourself. I'll get a taxi home.”

  “Well, if you're sure.”

  “Don't worry, I'll take care of her,” said Ben.

  I bet you will, you bastard.

  Douglas kissed Eve goodbye, making sure it was on the lips and slightly prolonged than usual. Turning to leave, he regarded Ben once more. The younger man drinking from a delicate champagne flute, his eyes still averted from the exchange between husband and wife.

  Once outside, instead of walking around the corner to where he knew was a taxi rank, Douglas sought out a hiding place in an alleyway between Eve's office and another tall building. If anyone came upon him, he would play drunk and pretend to be having a piss. After years of hedonistic boozing, he could play the part, faultlessly.

  Unsure how long he would have to wait (for what?), he pulled out his phone and started reading the latest Stuart MacBride on his ereader app. Douglas still loved the feel, and smell, of a well-thumbed paperback, but ebooks were fast becoming his guilty pleasure. The space he was saving in the house was fantastic, which was a godsend as the living room and study resembled little libraries already. Eve put up with his literary hoarding, but he would catch her sighing as Douglas arrived back home with another addition to the shelves of books.

  So engrossed in his book, Douglas almost missed his wife emerging from the [roundabout] door of the building. It was only when Eve walked underneath one of the street lamps, her shadow falling over Douglas's phone, that he looked up. He quickly checked the time on his screen. It hadn't even been an hour since the lie about going home.

  She was alone. No sign of that little creep. Douglas felt relief and guilt. How could he have suspected his wife on the say-so of a crazed woman? He wondered if he should call out to Eve; tell her he had just got some fresh air instead of going home. Maybe they could get some supper at one of their favourite restaurants.

  Just as Douglas put away his phone and started heading out of the alley, another figure emerged from the office, and Douglas slipped back into the shadows.

  “Wait up, Evie,” Ben called out, buttoning up his jacket. Eve had lit a cigarette and stood there, blue wisps of smoke rising into the night air. She was standing at the far side of the car park, so when Ben reached her, Douglas couldn't hear what was being said. So he studied their body language instead.

  Ben had his back to Douglas, so he had to focus on Eve's reactions. Squinting, Douglas noted the unhappy look on his wife's face. No, not unhappy. Annoyed. Had the younger man made a pass at her, causing her to walk out of the party?

  Ben's hands now rested on Eve's shoulders. Douglas's hands balled into fists. Get your creepy little hands off her, he thought. How many times had Ben done that, he wondered? Eve didn't flinch, or move away. He watched her face. She stared intently back at the other man. Douglas wished he could hear what was being said, what words were being used to seduce his wife. After all, what platonic words could have induced Eve to put her arms around Ben's waist? Not tentatively. Not as if this was the first time.

  And then she kissed him.

  It was a cliche but it felt like time froze in that moment. Douglas remained rooted to the spot, watching helplessly as Eve and Ben made out, there in the middle of the car park. Douglas's vision blurred a little so that the only thing he could see clearly was his wife and another man getting passionate under a street lamp.

  He stepped back so he couldn't see anything anymore. What should he do? What should he do? Oh god. What should he do? He peered out again to find Ben holding Eve's hand as the pair disappeared into another car -Ben's? - and drove off. As the car turned to leave the car park, Douglas could see Eve sitting in the passenger seat, grinning.

  SCENE

  Jesus Christ. Jesus Fucking Christ. She was having an affair with Ben fucking Williams. Alice had been right all along. What a fool he had been. He was a complete idiot. A stupid old idiot. How long? When did it start? He and Eve had been married for six years. Surely not that long? Not for the duration of their marriage? What should be do? Confront her? Confront them? What exactly did he see last night? Yes, they had kissed, quite enthusiastically as it happens. And Ben had led Eve away but they hadn't necessarily gone to have sex. Maybe Douglas should have hailed a taxi and followed them.

  Oh god, he didn't know what to do. But what could he have done? Believed the ramblings of a mad woman? Well, yes, in hindsigh
t, he should have. But at the time...

  Douglas went into his bathroom - His because Eve had the ensuite and he had the so-called family bathroom on the first floor - and poached through the bin for the scrap of paper Alice had scribbled her number on. When Eve had arrived back that evening, he had shoved the number into his pocket before she could see it. He found the number and flattened it as best he could. Then he took out his phone and called the number.

  "Hi, this is Alice Williams. I'm sorry I can't answer the phone right now. I must be doing something more interesting instead. Leave a message after the annoying but brief beep."

  Douglas asked her to meet him at The Wandering Spirit at two o'clock, so she could tell him she told him so. It had just gone ten am. Douglas had time to shower and change, Eve having left for work hours ago.

  The pub was filled with the typical daytime punters. Douglas greeted one or two faces he recognised then ordered a whisky and sat in a booth in the corner. Someone had left that morning's copy of The Sun on the scratched wooden table. Not usually a reader of red tops, Douglas nonetheless perused the usual salacious gossip and images of scantily-clad z-list celebrities that filled the pages. Douglas was busy deciding if the Page 3 girl's breasts were real when Alice entered the bar. Douglas folded the paper and set it to the side, waving Alice over. She came over and slid into the seat opposite him. She had dyed her hair blonde since he's last seen her.

  "Where's my drink?" She asked.

  "I don't know what you drink. Apart from red wine."

  "Yes, please," she said, slipping off her jacket. Douglas cast her a look then went across to the bar. When he returned with a glass of red wine and another whisky for himself, Alice had the newspaper open at page 3.

  "I can't tell if they're real or not," he said, setting the drinks down and resuming his seat.

  "They're fake," Alice said nonchalantly, pushing the paper aside. " Too circular without the aid of a good bra."

  "Well, as much as I'd love to talk about breasts," said Douglas, "I didn't ask you here about that."

  " Oh yeah, " said Alice, and proceeded to down her drink in one go. "I told you so," she said, and got up from her seat. "Thanks for the drink."

  "Wait, is that it?" said Douglas, as she headed towards the door.

  She turned around. "You asked me here to say I told you so. That's what I've done."

  "No, wait. " He took two big gulps of his whisky then went after her.

  She was walking along the street, through the crowds of people going about their business. Douglas caught up with her at a crossing while the traffic passed back and forth.

  "Look, I wanted to discuss things with you," said Douglas.

  "What 's there to discuss? " said Alice. "I assume you've found out the truth for yourself. Our spouses are screwing each other."

  The traffic came to a stop as the green man appeared. Alice started crossing the road, Douglas next to her.

  "Please," he said. "I don't know what to do."

  They stopped at the other side of the street. Douglas looked pleadingly at Alice. She looked away and then sighed. "I've not had any lunch. Buy me lunch and I'll listen to your woes."

  They found a small cafe covered in cult posters, postcards and hipsters. They both ordered soup of the day from the bearded server with the nose-piercing. Once the waiter left them alone, Douglas revealed what he had seen in the office car park.

  Alice shrugged when he was finished. "What do you want me to do about it?"

  "You were right."

  "I know."

  "I wanted to apologise for not believing you."

  "Apology accepted. So are your bags packed or hers?"

  Douglas looked down at his Superman napkin. "Neither," he admitted, avoiding her gaze. When she didn't respond, he finally looked at her and was met with a look of disgust.

  "Coward," she said, shaking her head.

  "I thought I was tarmac," he said, lightly.

  "You're scared tarmac. "

  Silence followed and persisted even when the soup arrived. With every minute that passed with neither speaking, Douglas felt uncomfortable. He has to speak. Say anything.

  "You look nice," he told her, immediately regretting it as Alice looked incredulously back at him. "That evening, when you came around, you looked like some crazed lunatic."

  "I had just discovered the man I loved was cheating on me," Alice reminded him. "But... thank you for the compliment. I feel great since I left Ben, if you must know."

  "Apparently he's been telling his colleagues that you'd cheated on him and walked out after you were discovered," said Douglas.

  "Why am I not surprised?" Alice said. "It's true, kind of. I slept with someone, but only after I found out about him and that bitch. Sorry, your wife. You should try it. You might not look so haggard."

  "Haggard is my default look," Douglas replied, finding the woman's bluntness refreshing. Too many people went round the houses instead of just saying what they wanted to. " Anyway, I don't know any attractive women to sleep with. "

  Alice cleared her throat purposely.

  Douglas raised an eyebrow. "You?"

  "You did just compliment me."

  Douglas put down his spoon, and met her gaze. "Are you suggesting we get back at our respective spouses by sleeping together?"

  "If you're up for it..." Her voice trailed off as she continued her soup.

  Douglas studied her for a moment, unsure if she was joking or not. If she was, her humour was much drier than his own. He picked up his spoon again. "So, who did you sleep with?" He asked.

  "Just a guy at a bar. He was charming, attractive and made me feel wanted. So I thought why not?"

  "I don't think I could sleep with a stranger," Douglas mused, and then shook his head. " This is madness. I'm not going to sleep with anyone to get back at my wife. I'm not even a hundred percent certain she is cheating, anyway. " The look he received made him amend his words. "Okay, she probably is cheating but I'd need to see it with my own eyes."

  SCENE

  Douglas left the house, trailing a small black suitcase on wheels. He could feel his heartbeat thundering away beneath his ribcage. He had his excuse worked out. "I wanted to surprise you, sweetheart." Eve would never discover the real reason why he had followed her up to the other end of the country.

  He still felt bitter at the cost of the train ticket he had bought on a whim late last night. The rail service in the UK was atrocious, and he avoided it as much as he could but he couldn't very well hire a taxi to drive up to Scotland. It was times like these where he regretted giving up the driving lessons.

  Talking of taxis, his was late. It should have been here nearly ten minutes ago. He still had an hour and a bit until his train departed, but he did want to get there in plenty of time. He called the taxi firm and explained the lack of a black cab before him.

  “Sorry, boss, but it should be there,” said the [taxi operator] in a cockney accent. “I'll give Terry a bell, find out what's going on. Hold on a sec’,” he added before his voice was replaced with some shitty rap music. This did not improve Douglas's mood. He was already feeling flustered and irritable.

  “Yeah, boss,” the operator said, coming back on the line. “Terry's waiting outside for you. Do you want to open your door, then you'll see him.”

  “I am already outside,” Douglas hissed. “And there are no taxis as far as the eye can see.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes,” said Douglas, through gritted teeth.

  “Hang on.” There came a shuffling of papers. “D. Sanders, 164 Park Hill Lane?”

  “Try 104 Garville Avenue.”

  “Ah.”

  “Exactly.”

  “That's the other side of the city.”

  “Yes.”

  “Right, right. Okay, boss. I'll get Terry to turn round and go to the other address.”

  “The correct one.”

  “Yeah, boss, yeah. It will take a while though. It is on the other sid
e of the city.”

  “How long?” asked Douglas, in a resigned tone.

  “Dunno, boss. Could be forty minutes, maybe more. Lots of road works going on.”

  “Just forget it. And another thing, if I were your boss, you'd be sacked already for poor training management!” He jabbed the Hang Up button with as much force as he could without dropping the phone.

  Fucking hell, he just wanted to get to the bloody station. Was that too much to ask? Wasn't it simple enough? Every second wasted waiting on the clueless driver meant he was closer and closer to missing the train. Yes, alright, he could get the next one but that would mean forking out more money for an overpriced ticket. It also meant, Douglas thought, that he may miss Eve with that pre-pubescent prick.

  Not to be thwarted, he gripped the handle of his case and dragged it along the road like the determined parent of a toddler mid-tantrum. He was going to get a bus. Okay, so the last one he’d hopped aboard was smelly, rattling and filled with louts and their molls. That had been in the early 90s, though. Surely mass public transport had cleaned up its act by now, metaphorically as well as literally.

  As he wandered along the road, checking each stop he came to for a bus that passed the station, he could hear something weird. It sounded like the tinny sound you got from someone's earphones. Except there was no one around him at the moment, and he could still hear it.

  He stopped and took his phone from his jacket pocket. His screen was very touch-sensitive and on more occasions that he would like to admit, he'd discovered he'd accidentally phoned someone.

  Ah yes, it had happened again, and - oh god, not her...

  If he hung up, she would think he was a weirdo. He held the phone to his ear.

  “Hello, hello. I'm here,” he said, interrupting Alice mid-sentence.

  “Finally,” he heard her say. “I thought you'd maybe rung me by accident, or something.”

  Douglas chuckled awkwardly. “No, not at all.”

  “So, what do you want? I'm in the car.”

  An idea came to Douglas, then. “Where are you? In town?”

  “If you must know, I'm stuck on Wallander Street. Bloody roadworks.”

  Wallander Street. That was the next street. Douglas grabbed his case, and hurried onwards. “Stay there,” he told her.