Was a Safe Bet
A 100 to 1 Shot
I'd come around the corner when the taxi
stopped three doors down from where I
Out sprang an attention grabbing blonde,
pulling down her skirt, giggling. And
coming right behind, grabbing at her
bottom with a goofy smile on his face
was my husband, Ian..
They only had eyes for each other as they went into one of those by the hour hotels. By the way they moved I knew this wasn't their first visit,
A Bit of Background
My Da was a gambler, but my Mum never knew.
When he'd take me for a walk we'd arrive at one of the many spots that took bets. He didn't have a pattern, sometimes East, othertimes we'd go North, always a different route.
I always knew when we'd go to a betting show, for he'd wear his lucky hat, which hid much of his face
Whether he'd started this ritual in case I'd be questioned by Mum I'd be giving different venues or that he didn't want to be thought a 'regular' or it had something to do with luck, I never pondered. I simply followed the same pattern when I got old enough to place bets.
And just as he kept his gambling on the quiet, so did I.
And I wore his lucky hat.
When I married Ian he didn't know I followed football.
He wasn't a sporting man, and I didn't need him to be.
Like me Da I had a secret bank account with my winnings and kept myself to small wagers twice a week, Again, never the same days.
That is why I was at that particular spot at that particular time on that particular day.
It must have been the season, for many of our friends and family were involved
in ugly divorces.
What I'd learned is that where a house is given to a man before marriage, it never becomes the matrimonial home. Unless the wife can get her name on the land title she's the one who has to move out.
When it comes to the children, there's always problems with support or custody.
The pain increases when there's a child, usually a daughter, who worships her
Da blames her Mum for the divorce even though he's the one who can't keep his pants on.
To be divorced meant I'd have to leave the house, lose my status, probably
gain the hatred of our daughter Megan, and everything that was would not be.
The best thing would be for Ian to die.
Getting to the Final whistle
I never gave a hint I knew what was going on. I never asked questions, never got in his way, just waited.
His company always had a costume party at a particular time of year which seemed to coincide with the semi-finals. I chose the costumes, I had him decked out in Manchester United Kit, and I'd be a Spice girl..
The party was held in Chelsea domain.
Oh there was a bit more to it, like dropping his cell into the loo, knowing he'd have to find a phone to call his mistress and at the 'last minute', having him park near a particular pub as
I had to hop across to a pharmacy.
As the car stopped I hurried in, then took my time. I was on line when I heard
the sirens and came out to see the police. I did the hysterical wife thing.
I was taken to the hospital, allowed to see him. When convenient I injected Ian with an
empty syringe and a not particularly clean needle I'd found in what was called 'addicts alley'.
I did more of the hysterical wife thing and was eventually sedated.
I woke up a widow.
Considering the battering Ian had taken, nothing strange about him slipping away.
I couldn't be relied on for descriptions, for i'd never been in the Pub, I'd been in the
Ian's chippie came to the funeral, stayed far from me and my daughter.
I, of course, didn't know who she was.
She didn't come to the house, at least not that I saw.
BTW; Chelsea won that year.
No comments yet.