The Perfect Marriage

by Debbie Viggiano

  ‘Sure.’ Rosie reached for two mugs from the cupboard. She was finding herself ridiculously at home, already knowing where everything was kept. Don’t get too comfortable, Rosie. As soon as this loan shark business is sorted out, it’s back to North London for you. Although she supposed she’d sell Dave’s house once normal life was resumed. There was nothing to keep her there. Apart from Karen. If she moved, Rosie would miss her lovely neighbour. Matt interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘The Money Lending Team is up to speed with everything. I spoke to a chap called Phil Warner. He has Mr Shark’s number and is going to run some checks on it. He works with an informant, and it might be that the informant recognises the mobile number. Phil Warner is currently assisting another gambling victim who lives close to your London address. Apparently he owes a similar amount of money to Dave. This chap has told Phil he was playing high stakes at an illegal club. It was known as ‘Pete’s Poker Parlour’. Seemingly the club was busted, and Pete has gone to ground. Phil has a description of this Pete chap. Phil is also going to talk to this other victim and see if he recognises your husband’s name. If so, it starts to dramatically narrow things down. Meanwhile, Phil’s team have put together an identity sketch which has been passed on to the police. It would be very neat if this turns out to be the same guy who has been hassling you.’

  Rosie looked thoughtful as she placed two coffees on the kitchen table. ‘Did you tell Phil Warner I want to pay Mr Shark off?’

  ‘Yes, and he said absolutely no way do you even consider doing such a thing. The guy was illegally operating – no licence. He also reiterated that gambling debts ceased on Dave’s death.’

  ‘And what about Mr Shark wanting Luke? I can’t just sit back and risk my son being abducted.’

  ‘The advice is to do nothing, and just sit tight. After all, Mr Shark doesn’t know where you are right now. You’re not at work, and you’re not in North London. You’ve gone to ground – just like him.’

  Rosie took a sip of her coffee. ‘I’ll feel a lot better when this man is caught.’

  ‘And he will be – soon.’ Matt swallowed his coffee down. ‘I’m going to have to get to work. Will you be all right?’

  ‘Yes. I have a list of things to do, starting with telephoning the undertaker. I suppose I also,’ Rosie heaved a sigh, ‘better give my mother an update.’

  ‘Ah. Good luck with that,’ Matt smiled. ‘Send Hester my best wishes.’

  ‘Hmm. I think not. She’d probably have a coronary, and then I’d be arranging two funerals.’

  Matt rubbed his hands together mischievously. ‘Ooh, buy one, get one free.’

  ‘Very droll.’

  ‘Made you smile though, didn’t it!’

  Rosie’s grin broadened, and Matt thought how lovely she looked. A man could get lost in that smile. Pack it in, Matt, and go and find your briefcase.

  Luke began to grizzle. Rosie put her coffee down, and scooped up the little boy.

  ‘Are you popping another tooth?’ She jiggled him on her hip. ‘Let’s see Matt off and then we’ll give you some pain relief for those naughty gums.’ Rosie followed Matt out to the apartment’s hallway.

  ‘You’ll be safe here.’ Matt picked up his briefcase. ‘Just make yourself at home. Stay in, and relax.’ He pulled open the front door. Warm sunlight spilled into the hallway.

  ‘It looks like a beautiful day,’ said Rosie. ‘I might take Luke out later, and have a stroll around the grounds.’

  ‘Some fresh air will do the pair of you good. The whole place is walled and there are electric gates. Anybody coming in and out needs the code.’

  Rosie nodded. ‘We’ll be fine.’

  Matt nodded and stepped out into the sunshine. He had a ridiculous urge to kiss Rosie good-bye, like a husband would with his wife. He smiled at Luke, and blew him a kiss instead.

  ‘See you later.’

  Rosie took Luke’s hand and waggled it up and down. ‘Bye-bye, say bye-bye, Luke.’ Oh to have had that kiss directed at her. She made Luke’s hand do a final wave and then closed the door. Right, to work. Luke’s grizzling turned into a full scale howl. Okay, liquid Paracetamol first, and then to work.

  Two hours later and Rosie was feeling slightly frazzled. Luke had been very fractious and it had taken a while for the sugary pain relief to kick in. She’d pushed his buggy around forty acres of communal gardens and not come across a single human being. Clearly many of the apartment conversions here were lock-up-and-leaves. Rosie let herself back into Matt’s apartment, grateful it was on the ground floor and that she didn’t have to cart the pushchair up a flight of stairs. Luke had finally quietened down and looked ready for a nap. Good. She’d be able to ring the undertaker without a baby shrieking his head off.

  Walking into their bedroom, she lay Luke down in his cot. The room was south facing and had the full blast of the beautiful Spring sunshine. Rosie drew the curtains, but decided to open the window and let in some fresh air. When she turned around, Luke was fast asleep. Exhaling with relief, she tiptoed from the room.

  Picking up the phone, Rosie wandered into the lounge. Both calls turned out to be relatively straightforward. It transpired that while she’d been running away from loan sharks, the wheels of administration had been silently turning in the background. The death had been registered, paperwork completed, and Dave’s body had been released by the police to the funeral parlour. There were no suspicious circumstances. His demise was an accident. Half an hour later, she put the phone down with a slightly shaking hand. Sighing with relief, she sank down into the depths of one of Matt’s sofas. Regarding the life policy, she simply needed to provide a copy of the death certificate. As far as the funeral fees were concerned, the director was happy to invoice her and await payment following release of the life policy funds. Thank God for that. The funeral was scheduled for Friday. Rosie thought she’d better speak to Hester. She made herself pause, and took some deep breaths. Forcing herself not to hyperventilate, she distracted herself by letting her eyes travel around Matt’s tasteful lounge, briefly admiring the vast ornamental mirror hanging over the fireplace. Feeling calmer, she picked up the phone.

  ‘Hello, Mum?’

  ‘Oh,’ Hester sniffed, ‘it’s you.’

  ‘How are you?’ Rosie gritted her teeth. Surely it should be her mother enquiring after her?

  ‘Doing my best to bear up under the circumstances. Are you still with that awful man?’

  Rosie could feel her hackles going up. ‘Listen, Mum, that awful man has been an absolute rock. I don’t know what Luke or I would have done without him. Not only has he helped me get a decent job, he’s sorted out some really unsavoury mess that Dave left behind. And thanks to him, your grandson and I are currently living in a safe haven.’

  ‘A safe haven!’ Hester snorted. ‘Is that what you call your love nest? I haven’t told the gels what you’ve been up to. Goodness knows what it could do to Gertrude. Probably cause her to have a stroke. And it would play havoc with Catherine’s angina.’

  ‘Mum, for the last time I’m not having an affair with–’

  ‘I refuse to discuss it,’ Hester interrupted. ‘So, what’s this wonderful new job?’

  ‘I’m working as a product tester at–’

  ‘A product tester!’ Hester gasped. ‘That actually sounds very respectable. Better than being a charlady anyway. I suppose you’re testing cosmetics.’

  ‘No, actually, it’s–’

  ‘Perfume. That’s fine, Rosie. Nothing to be ashamed of. And I expect you’ll get free samples and massive discounts.’

  ‘Only if you’re a dog.’

  ‘Well really, Rosie, there’s no need to be rude. Although Marjory Jones at the local WI is a total and utter bitch, and most definitely off my Christmas card list. Did I tell you about the time we all made jam, and she said mine was okay if you liked syrup?’

  ‘Yes, many times over, Mum. Can we just get back on track for a minute? I need to talk to you about Dave’s funeral
.’

  At the mention of Dave’s name, Hester let out a squawk of distress. ‘Oh, Dave! Poor, poor, Dave. I cannot believe my lovely son-in-law is sitting in a mortuary.’

  ‘He’s not. He’s lying in a Chapel of Rest. The funeral is this Friday.’

  ‘So soon?’

  ‘There was a cancellation.’ Rosie had got slightly giggly when the funeral director had told her that. “Was the client not dead after all? Ah ha ha ha!” There had been a stunned pause before the director had replied, “I believe the family of the deceased chose a more convenient location.” Rosie cringed at the memory. Recently she’d caught herself laughing a few times at things that weren’t remotely funny. She assumed it was stress.

  ‘Well I hope you’ve booked a car for me to travel in.’

  ‘You can travel with me, Mum.’

  ‘And the gels. They’ll want to come. Gertrude and Catherine thought Dave was marvellous.’

  Rosie couldn’t remember a time when Gertrude or Catherine had ever properly even met Dave. Unless you counted the time Dave had lurched home, blotto, walked into the bathroom where the gels had been dabbing lavender water behind their ears, and proceeded to drunkenly relieve himself in front of them both. He’d then zipped up, staggered out of the bathroom and passed out on the landing. Hester hadn’t been remotely fazed. “Dear Dave has been working so hard, he’s absolutely exhausted.”

  ‘Now what about flowers? I think roses. Red of course. So graceful.’

  ‘The funeral parlour works in partnership with a florist. It’s all in hand.’

  ‘And make sure there is a really super high tea afterwards, Rosie. Remember, for people like myself and the gels, this is a day out.’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’ Rosie gritted her teeth and let her eyes return to the vast ornamental mirror hanging over the fireplace. ‘Right, much to do, so I must go.’

  ‘Me too. All this talk about funerals has made me feel most depressed. I’m going to have to lie down.’

  ‘Good-bye, Mum.’ Rosie disconnected the call. She wondered whether to watch a bit of television. Jeremy Kyle was probably on. There was always somebody in a television studio worse off than yourself. Spotting the remote control at her feet, she leant forward and picked it up. Rosie pointed it at the television, but nothing happened. Ah, hang on. Perhaps you had to press the button on top of the telly first? She stood up to walk over to the television, but was distracted by a reflection in the ornamental mirror. But instead of seeing just herself, there was a second person standing in the doorway behind her. A swarthy looking man. And he was holding Luke.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Terry glanced at his wristwatch. Eleven in the morning. He was usually behind his London desk before seven. By now he was typically working on adrenalin, the morning rushing by in a blur as he used his investment bank’s funds to take bets on which way he thought the price of a product was going. Terry had all sorts of futures contracts lined up. In fast-changing markets, profits could be wiped out in seconds. It was a stressful job. One wrong move and your reputation could be destroyed, and your job gone. Sometimes the back office had thought a position too risky and told Terry to close it, but generally his calculations paid off. He’d made millions all round, and picked up vast bonuses on top of his half-a-million-pounds a-year salary. Terry had always had Lady Luck on his side. He’d considered Tracey to be his Lady Luck. Except now his luck had run out.

  Terry hadn’t gone to work today. He’d spent yesterday evening talking to a colleague about taking over his desk for today. There was no way he could have gone to the bank and carried on like nothing had happened. His concentration was shot to pieces. Losing his fiancée was a blow. But having his beloved Tracey exposed was like being blasted in the solar plexus. He just hadn’t been ready for it!

  Heaving a sigh, Terry made his way up to the loft room. He could hear Tracey calling to him. Pushing open the door, he went into the room. Tracey’s room.

  ‘Are we going out today?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

  ‘I know what’s happened, Terry.’

  ‘There’s no hiding anything from you, is there, my darling!’

  ‘And if you want my opinion–’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Well I’m going to give it to you anyway. I’m glad Lucy knows.’

  ‘I’ve lost my fiancée.’

  ‘Sure. But you’ve also gained freedom.’

  ‘How do you work that out?’

  ‘Because she’ll blabber. Lucy will confide in so-and-so who will tell what’s-her-name, and she’ll tell her best friend who will tell her mother who will tell her neighbour–’

  ‘Yes, I get the picture,’ Terry snapped.

  ‘Let gossip take its course,’ said Tracey gently, ‘although you can be discreet in whom you privately tell. But personally I don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of.’

  ‘Tracey,’ Terry sighed heavily, ‘there’s such a word as discretion.’

  ‘Pah!’ Tracey snorted. ‘What century are you living in? People are “coming out” all the time. Olympic divers. Female actresses.’

  ‘Yeah – gay guys and girls, not bloody trannies. I can’t exactly waltz you into work with a handbag on my arm, can I?’

  Tracey winced. ‘I’m not asking you to do that.’

  ‘Well what are you suggesting then? Because I’m fresh out of ideas!’

  ‘Just be yourself. Terry Chandler. A man who just happens to be in touch with his feminine side.’

  Terry sank down on the floor and put his head in his hands. ‘I don’t know what to do. I can’t give you up.’

  ‘Then don’t. You’ve invested so much emotional energy in me…dressing me up…acting me out. And then there’s the sexual side–’

  ‘Which is simply masturbating,’ Terry cut in angrily.

  ‘Actually it’s more than that, Terry, and you know it. You don’t have the inconvenience of dealing with a real woman who might provide you with a failure, or some disconfirmation of your masculine identity.’

  ‘Whoa, now you’re talking gobbledegook to me.’

  ‘I read about it on-line somewhere.’

  ‘Right.’ Terry rubbed his hands over his face, as if to rub away the conversation going on in his head.

  ‘It was fun doing the play acting with the texting between us.’

  ‘Now that was a risk,’ Terry sighed. ‘It’s obvious it was Lucy who sent that text message. She must have found my other mobile phone. Ah well. The secret’s out now, eh? But, actually, I’m starting not to care. After all, I’m not a criminal. What I’m doing isn’t hurting anybody.’

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘In fact,’ Terry hauled himself up and squared his shoulders, ‘sod ‘em! Sod the lot of them!’

  ‘Yay! Amen to all that.’

  ‘Let’s celebrate.’

  ‘Absolutely!’

  ‘Shall we go out?’

  ‘I thought you’d never ask!’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  When Matt walked into Gregory’s office, he had a rehearsed pep talk outlining all the reasons why Gregory should close the Leeds factory. He was anticipating his client being in despair over the suggestion. Instead Gregory was sitting at his desk with a stupid grin on his face.

  ‘Matthew! Come in, come in. Sit down,’ Gregory indicated the chair by his desk. ‘What a weekend, eh! Have you recovered from yours?’

  ‘It’s been a bit of a stinker, what with Rosie’s husband meeting his maker and leaving her with one unholy mess to clear up. It’s not really my place to elaborate, but that girl has a lot on her plate at the moment.’

  ‘Well she doesn’t have to worry about the job. It will still be here waiting for her.’

  ‘That’s very good of you, Gregory.’

  ‘And it’s very good of you,’ Gregory opened his eyes wide, feigning innocence, ‘to take Rosie under your protective wing.’

  Matt gave Gregory an even look. �
��She’s got problems. I’m simply helping out.’

  ‘Of course you are.’

  ‘A bit like you, eh?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes. I gather you’re giving Lucy a pair of broad shoulders to weep all over.’

  ‘Her relationship breakdown is nothing to do with me,’ said Gregory looking indignant.

  ‘You’re a very likeable chap, Gregory, but at the end of the day you’ve lured away the fiancée of one of my best mates.’

  ‘Nonsense! The guy had this thing going on with Tracey.’

  ‘Oh that!’ Matt gave a dismissive wave of the hand. ‘It was a dalliance. He promised me he was going to see her one more time – presumably to tell her it was all over – and then he’d be giving her up for good.’

  Gregory gave Matt an odd look. ‘You knew about Tracey?’

  ‘Well, not properly. Lucy had a bee in her bonnet about another woman being on the scene, and I said I’d have a discreet word with Terry. It was probably just pre-wedding nerves. A final fling.’

  ‘A fling? I’d be more inclined to call it a fetish. What a weirdo.’

  Matt paused and looked at Gregory. ‘What’s weird about it? Lots of guys do it. Especially before they get married.’

  Gregory made a pfft noise. ‘I’ve been married twice before, mate. Trust me, prior to my weddings I never took to shoving my size tens into a pair of Louboutins and driving around in a frilly dress.’

  Matt stared incredulously at Gregory. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Tracey! She was – and still is – Terry’s alter ego.’

  ‘Alter–?’

  ‘He’s a transvestite. Tracey the Tranny!’

  Matt stared at Gregory, gobsmacked. In his mind he found himself flipping back through pages of memory, to the soirée at Terry’s house. Of promising Lucy he would have a discreet word with Terry about a woman called Tracey. And of Terry paling and looking mortified. “Were you at Knole Park? Is that how you found out?” And Matt touching his friend’s arm and telling him not to distress himself. “I feel so embarrassed. And ashamed. But it’s like an addiction, Matt. A drug.”