I Will Not Weep

I will not weep

Didn't think I'd come, did you? But I've proved you wrong, once again. I was going to bring some daffodils for you, but they didn't have any at the petrol station and I didn't think red roses were appropriate. So I brought you this potted plant instead. Hope you like it.

Bet she hasn't visited, has she? Last I heard she'd moved in with that Frank from accounts. Moves on quickly, doesn't she? Guess she didn't love you all that much after all, did she?

The washing machine's broken again. I told you it would, didn't I? But you never listen. There are piles of dirty washing all over the house and no money in the jar, so I can't run down the street to the laundrette and get some of the bloody mess cleared up.

Of course the worst thing to wash was your white shirt. I was scrubbing at it for hours and hours; don't know why I didn't just throw it away. And I scrubbed at the carpet too; the stain wouldn't come out. In the end I decided to buy a nice big rug, that one I'd been wanting for ages; the one you said looked like a cat had gone at a pigeon on.

Buster likes it too - he's always curled up on it in front of the fire now, he's switched sides, you see. From yours to mine. I always told you he liked me better.

I didn't mean to do it. Honest. I was simply chopping carrots ready for your favourite dinner – I thought a nice beef stew after a long days work would be lovely. Running it through in my mind, I realise I never suspected. But the subtle scent of another woman on your leather jacket, that cheap Pretty in Pink from the body shop instead of my J'adore Dior, the late night working, that bloody Christmas present...

Yeah, that's right, I watched the bidding war on Ebay. You and that other man fighting over the pretty piece. You shouldn't have left your office door open when you had the window on the computer screen up. It was cruel.

There I was, finally thinking I'd get something luxurious for Christmas instead of the usual crap I get from you; ironing board covers, a hoover, aprons, a serving spoon, a mop and bucket... You played them off as a joke each time – 'now you can serve me a bigger portion of trifle!' - when you gave me the spoon. The year before last you didn't even bother with the wrapping paper.

I saw them all as last minute presents.

This year I thought I was finally getting something thoughtful and loving, things a real Christmas present from husband to wife should be. But of course I gave you too much credit.

I even found where you'd hidden it. The beautiful, delicate little silver charm bracelet placed carefully at the back of your sock draw. How did you think I wouldn't find it? For God's sake; who washes, dries then puts away your socks? And what did I get? A bloody Beatles CD. I don't even like the Beatles!

I was angry. I was furious. I wanted to kill you! And who wouldn't feel the same in my situation? You came home too soon, didn't give me enough time to calm down, think things through. A key in the lock. Footsteps down the hallway into the kitchen, and then there you were. You didn't know something was wrong at first. Ha – all of those hours you spent boasting about how simple women were and how you could read them like books! What a pack of lies! Maybe you could read her simple sluttish mind, but mine, mine was just too complicated for you to handle, wasn't it? You couldn't even tell that your own wife was thunderously mad, and you strolled in moaning about how hard your day had been, how Richard had sent you down all of those stairs to the basement to search for records not once, but twice! Oh, how hard your life was.

Compared to mine. All I'd done was make your breakfast, pack up your lunch, wash up the breakfast plates, clean out the ashes from the fire place, hoover the sitting room, mop the kitchen floor after you spilt your coffee, ring up the gas company to confirm the time of their visit, get dressed, go to work, on the way home do a quick shop around Tesco, fill the car up with petrol, get home and unpack the shopping, start cooking the dinner, do the ironing and finally make sure the kettle was boiled for when you got in. And check there was a plate of chocolate digestives on the table. I don't know why I bothered, because half the time you never came home till nine anyway.

So there I was, after having a dreadful day myself, listening to you drone on and on...

Something snapped. And I flew.

I suppose I should apologise. But I'm not sorry, my dear, lawful wedded husband. No, you were bringing me down long before this happened. You honestly had it coming, ever since you became mine to have and to hold. You know – your problem was that you were just too cocky. For better, for worse? I think I had the worst deal out of the both of us, wouldn't you say? Thought you knew everything, owned everyone and were just in every way so much richer. As the months went by, I was the poorer. The present was just the breaking point.

You kept me on a tight leash, ever since the vows had been promised. I was kept in your kingdom, became a slave to you and made to obey your every command. And so it was, till death do us part.

Now I'm finally free! Free to do whatever I want! Oh, how good it feels to finally be a free woman.

I just can't believe it!

Oh, look at these dead flowers someone's left here. I wonder who? Perhaps your dear old mother, I suppose she'd come and visit her only son, wouldn't she? Shame her only son was a cheating bastard. Or maybe it was Henry and Aggie, we were quite close to them weren't we. They may have wanted to pay their respects. Anyway, I'd better tidy up the mess, take off the dead bits. I'll leave the new buds to grow.

I sent her a special parcel. I know how much she meant to you, so I even delivered it personally. A bright red package it was – carefully carved by yours truly – which dropped onto her doormat. What a mess it would have made on her spotless cream carpet! What a shock she must have had. I would have given anything to see the surprise on her face. Perhaps she may have wondered what it was doing in her house. But I could see clearly there was no-where better for it; you don't need it any more do you? Yes – much better that she ended up with what she had won. The ruby-red trophy. Because I, as sure as hell, didn't want it any more.

I'm sorry I haven't been to visit sooner. I had to make myself scarce for a while; caught a ferry over to Calais. Gave myself some time to think. Lived a little. But now I'm back.

See those men just walking past that tree? The ones in uniform, handcuffs tied to their belts. They're here for me.

So I'm off again I'm afraid.


Word count: 1275


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