Was a Safe Bet
A 100 to 1 Shot
I'd just come around the corner when I saw the taxi stop three doors down.
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.
It was clear from how they moved, the tone of their voices, this wasn't their first visit,
A Bit of Background
My Da was a gambler, but my Mum never knew.
When me Da would take me for a walk we'd arrive at one of the many betting shops. He didn't have a pattern, sometimes East, other times we'd go North, always a different route.
I always knew when we'd go, for my Da would wear his lucky hat, which hid much of his face
Whether he'd started this ritual of going to different shops in different directions in case I'd be questioned by Mum or it had something to do with luck, I never pondered. I followed the same pattern when I got old enough to place my own 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 shops. Never the same time.
That is why I was at that particular spot at that particular time on that particular day going to that particular Betting Shop.
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, well, she'll be the one who has to move out.
When it comes to 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 about his cheating, I acted as if I didn't know 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.
It was me who'd select the costumes.
I had him decked out in Manchester United Kit, and I'd as a Spice girl. The party was held in Chelsea domain.
Oh there was a bit more to it.
Oh, like dropping his cell into the loo, knowing he'd have to find a phone to call his mistress.
Oh, and at the very '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 waiting on line when I heard the sirens and came out to see the police. I did the hysterical wife thing.
He'd gotten a bit of beating, and was brought to the hospital.
Allowed to see my husband, when convenient, I injected him with an empty syringe and a not particularly clean needle I'd found in what was called 'addicts alley'.
In a short time I was a widow.
Considering the battering Ian had taken, there was nothing very strange about him slipping away. If they even found the needle mark, it would have nothing to do with me.
No one could ask me anything, I'd never been in the Pub, I'd been in the Pharmacy across the street. I had no idea Ian had even entered the Pub or why.
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.