The Perfect Marriage

by Debbie Viggiano

  ‘Let me in, Terry!’ she screeched. Lucy bludgeoned the door with the knocker. Her raps were so hard, a part of her wondered if the door panels would cave in. ‘I know you’re in there, you bastard, so OPEN UP!’

  Lucy was just filling her lungs for another verbal onslaught when the knocker flew out of her grasp as the door opened inward. She tripped over the doorsill stubbing her big toe and tumbled into the vast entrance, landing painfully on her knees.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Terry bent over her, his face white and anxious. Helping Lucy to her feet, he retrieved her handbag and picked up the posh carrier bag.

  ‘Where is she?’ Lucy snarled.

  Terry gaped at her uncomprehendingly. He looked almost clownish standing there with his mouth hanging open, handbag in one hand and a dainty bag of underwear in the other. ‘Where’s who?’

  ‘Don’t you play the innocent with me!’ Lucy narrowed her eyes and looked him up and down. ‘And what the hell are you doing in your dressing gown at this hour?’ she spat. ‘It’s not exactly bedtime.’

  ‘I was in the shower.’

  ‘I see,’ Lucy sneered, ‘washing off her perfume were you?’

  ‘Lucy, darling, I’ve been on my own all day. I was in the bathroom and didn’t so much hear the doorknocker as felt it. For a moment I thought there was a freak earthquake!’

  ‘You’re gabbling, Terry.’

  ‘And you’re making no sense, Lucy! Why don’t you tell me what’s upset–’

  But he was talking to thin air. He watched Lucy take the stairs two at a time.

  ‘You’ve got a woman in here, Terry,’ she yelled over her shoulder, ‘and I’m going to find her!’

  Terry stared after her, confounded. What on earth had gotten into his fiancée? He knew she’d been pissy this morning, but put it down to hormones. However, this outburst was really taking the biscuit. He set Lucy’s handbag and shopping down and, slowly, followed in her wake. As he reached the first wide landing, he could hear Lucy in the master bedroom. Doors to the bank of wardrobes along one wall were noisily opening and closing. He peered cautiously into the room to see Lucy now down on her hands and knees peering under the bed. She reversed out and straightened up.

  ‘I know she’s here somewhere!’

  ‘Right,’ Terry nodded his head in bewilderment. ‘Well, let me know when you’ve found her.’

  ‘Get out of my way.’ Lucy barged past Terry.

  Other doors were opening and closing now. More banging could be heard as Lucy systematically worked her way through the number of other rooms, and the many closets within. Terry sighed wearily and waited for the noise to stop. A few minutes later Lucy stomped out of the last searched room. Her face was pink, and she was slightly breathless from exertion.

  ‘Found anything?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Lucy glared at Terry, ‘but you’re guilty as hell.’

  ‘Guilty of what!’ he cried.

  Lucy’s lips disappeared into a thin line. ‘I saw her, Terry.’

  ‘Saw who?’ Terry howled.

  ‘Unfortunately I didn’t have the opportunity to flag her down and ask her to introduce herself,’ Lucy shouted.

  ‘Flag her–?’

  ‘Yes! She was driving your car!’

  Terry stared at Lucy. His expression changed from confusion to horror. Frantically he fought to control his body language. But it was too late.

  ‘Ah, got your attention now, haven’t I!’ Lucy roared. ‘Just look at you. Your face is a dead giveaway. I suspected you were seeing another woman. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I found myself sitting a few cars behind her at the traffic lights on my way back here. Talk about bold as bloody brass! So are you going to tell me where you’re hiding her?’

  ‘There is no woman in this house,’ Terry said quietly, ‘other than the one standing before me.’

  ‘Liar!’

  Terry shrugged. ‘You’ve searched everywhere and found nothing.’

  Lucy folded her arms across her chest and regarded her fiancé coolly. True. She’d ransacked every bedroom. And then a lightbulb went off in her head.

  ‘But I haven’t looked up there.’ She pointed to the small staircase tucked into the corner of the landing.

  ‘There’s nothing up there,’ Terry sighed. ‘It’s just an attic room used to store a few bits and pieces. You know that.’

  Lucy tilted her head on one side. ‘Yeah,’ she said softly, ‘except this time I think it also has your fancy piece in there.’

  ‘This is absurd.’

  ‘Then you won’t mind me looking, will you?’

  Terry shrugged. ‘If you insist.’

  ‘I do.’

  For a moment they stood there, glaring at each other, and then Lucy brushed past Terry. Unlike the glorious feature staircase leading to the first floor, this particular flight of steps was very different. Huddling in a darkened corner of the landing, it was narrow and uninviting. She flicked the switch on the wall and, for a moment, a light shone on the tiny upstairs landing. And then the bulb spluttered and went out. Lucy hesitated for a moment, anxious about losing her footing. Then she pushed the thought away, and put one foot on the first step. Slowly she made her way up into the darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Gregory Tibor reclined back on the Captain’s chair in his study and stared out of the window. Not that there was much to see. The immaculate garden, manicured to perfection by a weekly visiting gardener, was shrouded in evening darkness. Only the courtesy lights on the side of the house lit up a limited view – that of the flag-stoned terrace directly outside this particular window. Gregory yawned. Scattered across his vast, leather topped desk was the dossier from Matt. He’d studied the set of business solutions and had an idea what to do next. Who to fire. Who to hire. He was relieved to have Rosie Perfect starting work at the Erith factory tomorrow morning. There weren’t many who wanted to sup dog food for a living.

  Gregory rubbed his eyes. He’d spent the whole day reviewing strategies and cost cutting exercises instead of chilling out. He sighed. Not that there was anybody to chill out with. Gregory’s life was barren in that department. Two marriages had cost him dearly, and he’d been lucky to hang on to his lovely house in Sevenoaks. He’d given the Leeds property to Heather, his first wife, and bought himself a small apartment in the City, just as a base for when he was popping in and out of the Northern factory. Gregory stared at the report before him. Matt had suggested closing that particular factory and working out of one site, ideally Erith. Gregory puffed out his cheeks. There was a lot to think about. But for the last couple of hours he’d lost concentration. A woman kept invading his thoughts. A dark-haired beauty. Lucy. A vision of her face floated through his mind. But despite taking Lucy to his bed and rogering her senseless, she wasn’t his. She belonged to another man. Okay, she wasn’t married but, as Matt had pointed out, there was a ring on her finger. A flippin’ big one too. Whoever her fiancé was, he clearly wasn’t short of a bob or two. Gregory wondered what sort of bloke he’d become to do that to another man. He’d never behaved dishonourably before. And then he wondered what sort of a woman Lucy must be to so casually betray a man she was just a few weeks away from marrying. Well clearly the woman was a cow. A hard-nosed, uncaring cow. She’d danced up to him, as bold as brass, and basically said, ‘I’m all yours.’ Well she wasn’t all his. She was a two-timing callous bitch. Fact! And he never wanted to see her again.

  Gregory rubbed his eyes and stood up. His stomach rumbled. Blearily, he made his way out to the kitchen to see what delights might be buried deep in the American fridge freezer. Gregory knew he wasn’t being honest with himself. He did want to see Lucy again. He’d never felt this way about a woman so quickly. And it wasn’t just lust. Gregory was sure of that. There was something else about Lucy that made his heart sing. She was witty, intelligent and an achiever. Unlike his two exes, Lucy was not a leech. She had let it be known to him that she was financially solvent, had a high-earning
job, her own London pad and was her own person. All very admirable. Apart from the fact that she was going to wed another man. She was definitely a bitch! And she wasn’t just a bitch, she was a witch! A witch for putting a spell on him!

  Gregory withdrew a box of battered cod from the freezer and a packet of oven chips. Why was his love life like this? Why had his first two marriages failed? Wasn’t he a nice enough person? He thought so. His first wife, Heather, had disagreed.

  ‘You’re a total bore. All you can talk about is work,’ she’d complained. ‘What about me?’

  After they’d married, Gregory had hoped the babies would come along. It was what they had both wanted. However, Mother Nature had had other ideas. If Heather had popped a sprog or two, she’d have been up to her eyeballs in dirty nappies and broken nights, and not had time to complain about him being boring. After the last failed IVF attempt, she’d settled on having a chocolate Labrador instead. Barney had been beautiful but highly undisciplined. A stint at dog training classes had followed. And suddenly Heather had acute mentionitis about the dog trainer. All her sentences had begun with ‘Tom’. It had been Tom this and Tom that and Tom says. And then one day, ‘Tom loves me and I love him.’ Apparently Barney had loved him too, because he’d skipped off at Heather’s heels and Gregory had seen neither of them since.

  A couple of years had gone by and then Corinne had come along. Gregory had thought her shy and fragile, and she’d brought out the protective side of him. The ink was hardly dry on the marriage certificate before she’d turned into a Sergeant Major, instantly giving up her job so she could jack-boot full time all over him. The only thing she was interested in was spending his money. She would disappear off to the Caribbean with a gaggle of girlfriends, or take umpteen spa breaks. When Gregory had suggested they start a family, she’d looked at him like he’d sprouted two heads.

  ‘Children?’ she’d shrieked. ‘Never! I’m not ruining my figure. Not now. Not ever!’ And then, like Heather, she’d found somebody else. Except this guy was a Jamaican who wanted to set up a string of beach bars. And thanks to Corinne’s hefty divorce settlement, he’d no doubt managed to achieve that with his new girlfriend’s pay-off.

  Gregory placed two pieces of cod on a baking tray and shook out a few chips. He’d stop seeing Lucy. He wasn’t getting suckered into a messy love triangle. He’d had his first two wives do that to him, and he didn’t wish that on anybody. In fact, he was ashamed at his behaviour. Taking Lucy to his bed made him just as bad as Heather and Corinne! No, he wouldn’t see her again. He felt his stomach knot at the thought.

  ‘Stop it,’ he chastised himself. He shoved the baking tray into the oven. ‘It’s better to have a bit of pain now, than a whole heap of it later on. The woman is trouble. And a bitch,’ he reminded himself. ‘A witch bitch. And you don’t need the aggro.’

  Gregory slammed the oven door shut and straightened up. From now on he was done with women. They were nothing but trouble. He’d concentrate on the business only. Setting the timer on the oven, he wandered back into his study. He was just easing himself down in the Captain’s chair when the mobile phone, left on his desk, began to ring. Glancing at the caller display, he felt his heart twist.

  ‘Hello?’ he croaked.

  ‘Gregory,’ Lucy sobbed, ‘something has happened, and I need to see you. Right now.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Lucy couldn’t believe how the course of one’s life could change in a nanosecond. One minute she was the fiancée of Terry Chandler, a rich City trader with a glorious mansion, the next she was back to being a singleton.

  Lucy gripped the steering wheel and peered through the windscreen into the dark night. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Angrily, she rubbed them away. She tried to analyse her feelings. Was she really so devastated at losing Terry? Or was her sorrow simply because of the humiliation of why the relationship had so abruptly ended? Lucy shuddered at the raw memory of discovering who that woman – Tracey – really was. She couldn’t bear the thought of her family finding out and gasping with horror. Or her girlfriends’ reactions – their eyes like saucers as they covered gaping mouths with fluttering hands. A part of Lucy was cynical enough to suspect that behind those hands her girlfriends would be sniggering. She didn’t even feel able to confide in her best friend. Rosie would be incredulous. And Lucy didn’t want everybody whispering about her glorious wedding day turning to ashes. She sniffed. That was the crux of it all. Kissing good-bye to her meticulously planned nuptials. Not to mention her beautiful bridal gown. Oh, the pain! And then Lucy felt ashamed. What sort of dreadful woman was she to be heartbroken about a lost wedding? She should be mourning the loss of her fiancé for goodness sake!

  Approaching a roundabout, she slowed the vehicle, trying to get her bearings. A sign pointed the way to Sevenoaks. Signalling, she took the second exit at a roundabout and then put her foot on the accelerator. All she wanted now was Gregory. She’d known the guy for two minutes, so he was remote enough from her everyday life to confide in. As she hurtled along winding semi-rural roads, her mind replayed the moment she’d climbed the narrow staircase to the upper floor of Terry’s house.

  The landing had been in darkness thanks to the single lightbulb blowing. Terry had been right behind her and, as she’d put her hand on the door in front of her, for a moment she’d felt frightened. Panicked, she’d twisted the handle and almost fallen into the only room on this topmost floor. Fumbling blindly, she’d found the light switch. A harsh overhead light had instantly flooded the room and, for a moment, she’d squinted. Terry had pushed his way in behind her.

  ‘See?’ he’d cried. ‘There’s nobody here.’

  Lucy had cast a swift eye over the room. Terry was right. It was just the two of them in there. But then she’d looked again. What was that? A large wardrobe, like the forbidden entrance to Narnia, stood against one wall. The door was shut, but something had caught between the door jamb. And then her eyes had widened. She could see a sizeable chunk of long hair – brunette hair! And it was wavy! Dear God. Clearly the brunette she’d seen driving Terry’s car was now hiding in the wardrobe.

  She’d given Terry a contemptuous look before striding over to the wardrobe.

  ‘Lucy,’ he’d warned, ‘don’t open–’

  But Lucy hadn’t heeded Terry’s warning. Defiant and furious, she’d yanked the door open and promptly screamed as a mass of tumbling tresses had fallen at her feet.

  ‘What the–?’

  Bending down, she’d picked the wig up, frowning in puzzlement. A quick glance at Terry had revealed her fiancé with both hands covering his face, as if he didn’t want to acknowledge what Lucy was seeing. She’d turned her attention back to the wardrobe. It was full of female clothing. Pretty awful clothing at that. She’d reached an arm up and swished some of the hangers along the rail. There had been an abundance of lace, froth, frills, tiny buttons and bows. It was the sort of stuff her grandma would wear – if her grandma happened to be built like a tank. The garments were huge. On the floor of the wardrobe was a shoe rack containing a collection of fussy footwear. Somebody had enormous feet. And then Lucy spotted the make-up box next to the shoes. Crouching down, she released the catch and opened it up. Inside were tubes of bright lipsticks, garish eye shadows, a number of different foundation bottles – even false eyelashes. And then she spotted something else. Tucked into the side of the shoe rack was a carrier bag – with a bra peeping out. Grabbing the bag, she peered within. It was full of frothy lingerie. But that wasn’t all. Lucy had gasped. There, amongst billowing satin cups, were two sizeable silicon inserts. She’d rocked back on her heels in shock as the penny had slowly dropped. All these extra-large female garments didn’t belong to another woman. Realisation washed over her as she turned to look up at Terry. The contents of this wardrobe belonged to her fiancé!

  ‘You are Tracey?’ she’d croaked.

  Terry’s face had been grey. And slowly he’d nodded.

  ‘You’ve been
impersonating a female?’ Lucy had demanded. ‘Why? Are you gay?’

  ‘Of course I’m not gay,’ Terry had snapped.

  Slowly, Lucy had stood up. ‘So, if you’re not gay, what the hell are you?’

  ‘A transvestite.’ Terry had flushed the colour of beetroot. ‘But nobody knows,’ he’d assured, ‘apart from Matt and he promised–’

  ‘Matt? You mean Matt Palmer, the guy who has been welded to my friend Rosie of late?’

  ‘Yes, Matt Palmer, but “Discretion” is his middle name, and he won’t–’

  ‘Of course he’ll tell Rosie! And Rosie will tell everyone, and everyone will know my future husband is a cross-dresser.’

  ‘Is it really so bad?’ Terry had looked hurt. ‘I’m still me. I’m still a regular guy.’

  Lucy had lost her temper. ‘No you’re not!’ she’d shouted. ‘You’re a freak!’ And then she’d burst into tears and shoved past Terry, clattering across the tiny landing and down the stairs.

  And now Lucy gripped the steering wheel and let out a shaky sigh. She couldn’t marry a transvestite. She just couldn’t. Signalling, she turned into Gregory’s road. Thank God for Gregory.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Rosie and Matt were seated at Karen’s kitchen table. Mike had given the loan shark’s new message to Matt. In the lounge, baby Luke slept peacefully on, undisturbed by the recent drama of his father’s death or the one that was now unfolding in the kitchen. Matt spread the note flat on the table. This time it was handwritten.

  I thought I told you not to go to the police? You’ve really pissed me off. I hope you value your kneecaps, Mrs Perfect, because they are in grave danger right now. Stop fucking about and call me. And it’s worth remembering, the longer you leave it, the greater the debt becomes. By the way, Mrs Perfect, you have a cute little boy.