The Property Manager: You'll never rent again... (25 page)

Jenny – Slow down. Calm down. You’ve got more lipstick on the mirror? What does it say?

Grace – I’ve got to call Michelle.

Jenny- What does it say?

Grace – I’m watching you.

Jenny – How clichéd. So how did someone get in?

Grace – I don’t know. (You’re sounding snappy) What do you mean ‘someone’? It’s that bitch-wife. That’s the last straw. I’m sick of being his ‘fuck’. I love him and I can’t keep doing this.

Jenny- Look you’ve spent all week soul-searching. Tell him how you feel. But we both know they never leave their wives. You’re being used. Did you know, I’ve got splinters in my belly from that frikkin’ wood last night?”

Grace – I’m calling Michelle.

Jenny – What about your diary? You said something about your diary.

Grace – There’s writing in red pen telling me to stop sleeping with him and telling me to that I’m a sperm bucket or something gross like that. And it can’t be my big boys because they’re away. It’s her. She’s a psycho. Dangerous. He doesn’t believe me.

Hang on, that’s the door. Harry? Shit. Hang on. Oh God. I’ve got to go. It’s Andy.

Jenny – Call me back.

You hung up and I watched you shrug off his embrace.

He snuggled into your neck and then looked at you.

“I missed you so much and I saw you and Jenny drive through town so I peddled here as fast as I could. I bought a new bike.”

You grabbed his hand and said very icily – “Come and look at what the woman you love has been doing while I’m away!”

“Oh, not again. It is not Amanda….”

“Shut-up” you snapped at him and disappeared.

Back to the bedroom.

You pointed into the bathroom.

Cox pursed his lips and shook his head.

“I don’t like this.”

You gave a snort and answered that you did not like it much either. And then you showed him the diary. He sat on the edge of the bed and read. He flicked back and through a few pages. You took it from him and threw it onto the bed.

“What do you think of that then?”

He looked sadly up into your eyes.

“You said you love me.”

There was a moment of silence between you. You looked down at the floor and the tears began to run down your cheeks, your lips quivered and you slowly nodded your head. He just sat there. What a prick.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “That wasn’t meant to happen. We said to each other that it was going to be just sex with no strings attached.

“It was!” you arched up. “But I didn’t mean it….I just….oh just forget about it.”

The bastard put his face into his hands.

Then he lifted his head and sighed.

“It’s not her, Gracie. You’ve got some ex-boyfriend or crazy lovesick patient with a crush on you. Don’t tell the police. If you tell them about us and that you suspect my wife, that’ll be the end of my marriage.

“You areshole!” You shouted. “There is someone on the verge of fucking killing me in my sleep and you are happy to let that happen rather than fuck-up the equilibrium of your relationship with a nutcase who can’t fuck her own husband.”

“Stop it…” he murmured.

“NO!” You were getting very heated. “She is a nutcase.”

“Stop it, Gracie.”

She’s psychotic. I AM going to tell the police. She’s mad and is capable of this.”

“But our relationship has been so much better since you came along. I’m more relaxed and I don’t know….she seems nicer than she has been for years…”

With that you threw your hands in the air and began choking back your violent sobs.

“How fucking wonderful for you. I’m glad I’ve been such a relationship therapist. Leave your fucking money on the dresser and get OUT OF MY LIFE.” And then those magical final word. “FUCK OFF!”

“You changed the rules, Grace. I never promised you more than I gave you. I’m sorry but I can’t leave my family. I laid my cards on the table…….” He blubbered.

You shoved him out of your bedroom and slammed the door.

I watched you throw yourself face down on the bed and howl into your pillow.

It’s over and I know you’re grieving but don’t. Smoking is bad for you too and it’s tough to quit but you will be so much better for having him out of your life. Was that true about his wife? Either she really is a delusional nutcase or you are very inventive and quick. You sounded pretty sincere. That will give the bastard something to think about but how can he bring that up without telling her how he came by the information? I’ve got the code to get into the surgery. I haven’t even wanted to until now. It’s a big thing though and I would have to be ultimately careful because being caught out there would be the end of me. I will give it some thought. The surgery is never opened on a Sunday. If I came into the side door from the back entrance, no-one from the main street would see me. And anyway, the street is like one in a ghost town every Sunday except market day.

I think you’ve scared him off for good. Telling a married man that you love him is the death knell to an affair.

You let Harry sleep with you tonight and I am pretty safe in the knowledge that no one’s going to tap him on the shoulder and ask him to step aside so he can have the next dance. I also noticed that you left a lot of lights on and shut all the doors. You didn’t try to ring the police. Perhaps you are sleeping on that idea. You had one other call from Four-Toed Sloth but you mentioned nothing of your troubles to her and arranged for her to deliver the three-legged cat back to you at eight a.m. before you went to work. I guess you’re not that friendly that you would reveal such private information. Mind you, I think half the town know about your sordid affair. There are enough sticky beaks, nosy parkers and gossips in this tiny town to put pieces together. Even the Buxton’s mentioned, or at least, inferred, something about you being very friendly with one of the married, drama, dads. I made no comment whatsoever. It was not good news because reputations stick like superglue in small communities. For that same reason I don’t want my association with the Moorebanks made public.   

I do hope you find time soon to go and re-register your car. I wouldn’t like you to waste my generous gift.

You have done a wonderful thing. A strong and courageous thing. I will reward that sort of behaviour. A bottle of Veuve Cliquot and a bunch of flowers. I’ve got a bottle in my wine rack and I’ll choose some flowers from the garden. The roses have bloomed and their scent is divine.

You’ll probably sleep badly. I, on the other hand, will sleep like a baby, knowing that my darling Grace is back.

I have just picked and bunched a lovely bouquet of roses and retrieved the champagne. I’m not bothering with a card.  I’ll run it over now before hitting the sack myself.

Tuesday 4
th
August

Midday

I woke up feeling uneasy. Didn’t eat breakfast and decided to go for a run to stretch out my nerves. That bastard, Cock-head, was sitting outside the bakery with a coffee, looking deep in thought. He didn’t acknowledge me. He’s obviously worried that you will go to the police who will then come sniffing around his wife and he will be royally busted and kicked out of home.

I went to work and waited to see you arrive at eight. You didn’t show. At nine, the doctor arrived with his girlfriend. It seemed you had decided to be a no-show and she was filling your boots. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. Was feeling jumpy and jittery. I snapped at Belinda and told Ron to piss off. At eleven I could stand it no longer and told the office I was sick and going home. Ron looked annoyed but I assured him that it would not be good form to spend a working day in the toilet with the runs. That was more than enough information for him and he gave me his blessing to go home. Which I did but only to gather all my surveillance equipment.

I’m now in my usual spot and watching you and Jenny drinking tea at your dining room table. You have swollen eyelids, bags under your eyes and look quite haggard.

The two of you are arguing over whether to ring Michelle or not.

“It could be a lunatic stalker, not the wife. You should ring her” says Jenny.

“It could be anyone. A patient. It could be Doctor Death. What about that creepy real estate guy…Jack…whatsit. You said he left flowers when you moved in.”

She pointed directly at my flowers that lay on the dining room table, as far away from you as possible. They weren’t even in a vase.  

“Yeah, Jenny. Maybe it’s you. Or my dead husband. Just let’s stay rational.”

That made my blood go cold. Jenny put me out there as a possible suspect. She called me creepy. Me! She’s a sly little bitch who is just intimidated by me.

I watched Jenny go to the freezer and take out the bottle of Veuve.

“If you are going to ring Michelle, this might be considered evidence….so what will it be…drink it…or let the cops take it away?”

“If it IS her and if I call the cops, she might get violent. It’s over between Andy and I so the crazy stuff will stop now. I’m over it all! I’ll just forget it.”

You began blubbering again.

“I can’t imagine him not in my life,” you sob.

“It’s for the best,” your friend says.

I completely agree and now is the perfect time for me to approach you. I will help you forget and soothe the hurt. My plan is to ask you out. Finally. Tomorrow. You are a bit behind in your rent and I’ll ask you for coffee so that we can discuss a payment plan to help you catch up.

“If he bought a new bike, they must have come into some money.” Jenny observed. “It might have been him that gave you that $600 bucks.”

You thought about that and shrugged.

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Well, stuff it!” laughed Jenny. “Let’s open the good bubbly anyway….unless you think it’s poisoned!”

“Perhaps we should save it to be finger-printed.” You were back-peddling.

“Let me open the bloody bottle,” Jenny snapped back at you.

FOUR A.M

Exhausted. What an afternoon. What a close call. I thought I had lost you again.

At two o’clock, not long after Jenny had left, you were washing up and listening to the soundtrack of “Brigitte Jones Diary”. What melancholic and fitting background music. I saw that film. The torn between two lovers thing. Appropriate because I really am your Mr Darcy, Grace and I will sweep you off your feet. Slow and steady wins the race.

I digress. At two, I heard your front door slam and you bristled and turned to find Andy Cox , wild-eyed and BALD, storm into the kitchen.

“What have you done?” you whispered and your shock was palpable.

“I love you,” the fool declared and began to cry. He actually began to cry. More fool you – you went to him and enveloped him in your arms.

“I realised that it is you. I don’t love my wife. I couldn’t be with you if I loved her. I can’t lose you.”

Your tears began and I watched with a lump in my throat, the bile churning in my gut, as the two of you embraced and poured out your stupid feelings. I fought the urge to go straight over to your place and slaughter the both of you!

He went on to tell you that he had made a full confession to his wife. You reeled back in horror as he assured you that until that point she had been completely unaware of the affair and was suitably distraught at the news. He had decided to leave his marriage for you. I was cold and clammy and had this out of body feeling that I was dreaming. It was a nightmare.

He looked ridiculous. Like a plucked chicken. Your eyes took it all in and ….

FELL FOR IT.

I felt sorry for you. He was spinning a great yarn and selling it well.

Van Morrison crooned in the background. The two of you held each other, slightly swaying, for what seemed an eternity and then I heard the front door explode open and the two of you exited your trance instantly.

Lo and behold, the scorned woman, took centre stage. This was better than any Hollywood movie I’d ever seen. It had all the ingredients for a good meaty ‘drama’.  The deranged wife stormed into your living room, looking prickly with hands on hips and a firm set to her jaw.

“I want the two of you to tell me to my face what is going on.”

You looked like a stunned mullet. Mouth and eyes gaping.

HE moved between you and I had visions of a snarling cat-fight, with scratching fingernails and hair-pulling. Wrestling on the floor until one of you went down and then HE could give the floor count…one..two….three….four…..

Who would win? I think you might come out second best, Gracie. She’s bigger, with more to lose and even I think she is a bit unstable. A little madness, I believe, can create superhuman strength, sometimes.