The Perfect Marriage

by Debbie Viggiano

  ‘I thought you were something to do with Mr Shark. Reinforcements perhaps.’

  ‘Reinforcements?’

  ‘Yes. You know, another member of his horrible gang.’

  ‘I think he’s a sole operator, Rosie. Sorry if I frightened you. I was trying to be clever and take him by surprise, hence coming through the window rather than the front door. I just made a total hash of it. Where’s Luke?’

  ‘He’s in his playpen, in the kitchen. He’s safe. I shut the door so that he didn’t have to look at Mr Shark’s body. And I’ve given him a whole box of rusks to keep him quiet. Luke, that is, not Mr Shark. Because he missed his dinner. Luke again, not Mr Shark. But Mr Shark couldn’t have dinner anyway, because he’s dead. He made us watch Only Fools and Horses you see – when he was alive obviously, he couldn’t watch it dead after all,’ Rosie gave a shrill laugh, ‘and Luke was hungry, so–’

  ‘Rosie, stop! You’re talking gibberish. Where’s the shark gone?’

  ‘Nowhere. He’s in the lounge.’

  ‘In the lounge?’ Matt repeated, confused.

  ‘Yes. I keep trying to tell you. He’s in the lounge. Dead.’

  Matt gave the back of his head another rub before properly taking in Rosie’s sweating chalk-like pallor. For a moment there was silence while he digested what she’d said. Then he brushed past her and disappeared down the hallway. Rosie remained rooted to the spot, unsure what to do next. She supposed she’d better phone the police and turn herself in.

  ‘Get in here,’ Matt shouted.

  Rosie scampered down the hallway and into the lounge. Matt was crouched over the shark.

  ‘He’s not dead, he’s just out cold.’

  Relief washed over Rosie. She grabbed the back of a sofa to steady herself. ‘Are you sure? There’s an awful lot of blood.’

  ‘It’s just broken skin. He’ll have a hell of a headache when he comes round – which could be any minute.’ Matt stood up and hastened over to the large picture windows. Hurriedly, he released the curtains from their decorative tie-backs. Palming the cords, he darted back to the unconscious man. Crouching down, he wrestled the shark’s arms behind his back, and indicated Rosie should assist. ‘Hold his hands together for me. Like this. That’s it.’ In no time at all the shark’s wrists and ankles were tightly bound. Matt leant back on his heels and surveyed his handiwork. ‘He won’t get out of that! He’s a strapping great bloke. How on earth did you knock him out?’

  ‘I just went berserk with the remote control.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Matt touched the back of his own head, ‘I had no idea you could pack such a wallop.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Rosie’s eyes welled. ‘I’ve had the most terrible afternoon. He was so intimidating, and threatening all sorts. By the way, he’s got a gun in his pocket. At one point he aimed it at me. And he said Luke had new parents waiting for him in America. I just took the first opportunity I had to take him out of action.’

  At that point the shark let out a loud moan and retched. ‘Oh, my chuffing head. You bitch. I’ll have you for this.’

  Matt leant over the shark. ‘Welcome back! This is Captain Marvel speaking, and that little lady over there is Wonder Woman. Take it from me, pal, what she wants to do right now is kick Supervillain butt, so if I were you I’d strongly desist from making threats.’

  Looking down at the helpless shark, Rosie suddenly felt empowered. She moved round to the shark’s head and bent down, so he could see her. ‘I would just like to say,’ she began sweetly, ‘that before the police arrive, I want to kick you in the balls one more time.’

  The shark paled. ‘No! Please! Why don’t we talk?’ he wheedled. ‘This whole thing is a major misunderstanding. Let’s be civilised and have a nice chat. One day we’ll probably all joke about this!’

  ‘Save your breath,’ Matt interrupted, ‘the only joke a superhero likes is the punch line.’

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Rosie’s eyes fluttered open. Luke was still asleep in his cot, thankfully untroubled by yesterday’s drama. Rosie let out a great, shuddering sigh of relief. She wondered what time it was. Judging by the pale grey light peeking through the curtains, it was still very early.

  Matt had fixed the curtain pole and the beautiful drapes were none the worse for wear. Despite the shark’s bloody injury, nothing had spilt on the lounge carpet. The apartment remained as gracefully dressed as it had been before the shark made his illegal entry. Calmness pervaded throughout the place, for which Rosie was very grateful. She stretched luxuriously, happy to know the shark – or Peter Manchester to now give him his correct name – was under arrest and languishing in a police cell.

  Phil Warner, from the Illegal Money Lending Team, had been tremendously busy behind the scenes. His informant had confirmed that the mobile number Rosie had been given by the shark, had been used before – when hassling another gambling victim who just happened to live close to the Perfect household. The victim had been interviewed. It transpired that he recognised Dave Perfect’s photograph from the several times Dave had also gambled at ‘Pete’s Poker Parlour’. From descriptions of the proprietor, it hadn’t taken Phil Warner long to link Rosie’s statement with that of the gambling victim and the informant. The police computer had brought up Peter Manchester’s details, which the informant had verified. The team had then raided the shark’s home late last night, arresting his wife, Lorna Manchester, in the process. They’d also seized nearly three-hundred-thousand pounds in cash from his home, as well as a knuckle duster and baseball bat that he’d used to threaten gambling patrons. They estimated that Peter Manchester had made at least two-and-a-half-million through his illegal businesses.

  Meanwhile the local police had arrested Peter Manchester in Matt’s apartment. The shark had been screaming blue murder, demanding a lawyer, threatening to sue Rosie for assault, and prosecute Matt for holding him against his will, not to mention taking action against the police for not honouring his ‘human rights’.

  ‘Shut up,’ one of the cops had barked. ‘As far as we’re concerned, the moment you hopped over the sill of that open window and invaded this home, you gave up your rights. And the fact that you threatened Mrs Perfect with a gun, and were all set to do some human trafficking with her baby, means you’re going down for a very long time.’

  A kindly policewoman had given Rosie a number to ring for counselling. Rosie had thanked her, somewhat mechanically, and pocketed the card. She’d recognised that she’d been in shock. Everything had suddenly seemed terribly surreal. All she’d actually wanted was for everybody to go away and leave her alone with her baby. At that point she’d felt as though she’d never be able to let Luke out of her sight again. Matt had been absolutely brilliant. In her eyes he was indeed Captain Marvel. Ultimately, he’d rescued her and Luke.

  Last night she’d expected sleep to evade her. Her eyes had kept pinging open and staring at the curtained window, half expecting a thug to appear. Matt had been very alive to her anxiety. He’d knocked on her bedroom door, and stepped into the room bearing hot milk laced with brandy.

  ‘Just relax,’ Matt had smiled. ‘Everything is fine. It’s all over.’

  Rosie had propped herself up against the pillows. Matt had handed her the drink and then perched on the edge of the bed. He’d gazed fondly at Luke slumbering in his cot. ‘The little fella seems to have taken it all in his stride.’

  ‘Thank God he’s too young to have memories of it.’

  Matt had taken her free hand and squeezed it. Rosie had had such a jolt of electricity she’d nearly dropped her mug of hot milk in her lap.

  ‘You’re still very jumpy,’ Matt had said, ‘but time will heal all this, Rosie. The awful memories will fade.’

  ‘I’m not sure they will. I keep seeing myself bludgeoning that guy until he stopped moving. I was convinced I’d killed him. You read about have-a-go victims having the law turn on them, so they inadvertently end up in the very jail with the criminals who
so casually break the law.’ Rosie’s voice had wobbled as she ploughed on. ‘All I kept thinking about was my baby – having Luke taken away from me. First by the shark, and then – if I’d committed murder – by Social Services.’

  ‘You were defending both yourself and your child.’

  ‘I couldn’t stop, Matt. It was awful. It was like somebody had hijacked my body and was working my arm with that remote control in it. I was just filled with this unbelievable surge of strength.’

  ‘Adrenalin. It’s the fight or flight thing.’

  ‘In that moment I reckon I would have taken Mike Tyson down.’

  ‘Who knows, maybe you could have done! You were a mother lion protecting her cub. Any parent will identify with your actions.’

  ‘But what if he’d died and–’

  ‘Ssh. Your mind is travelling in circles. Drink your milk.’

  So Rosie had drunk her milk and Matt had continued to hold her hand. Every now and again his fingers had reached up and stroked the underside of her wrist. She’d found it both comforting and faintly erotic. Feeling suddenly very self-conscious, she’d thrown the milk down her neck, banging her front tooth on the mug in the process. But Matt hadn’t let go of her hand. So she’d just lain there, propped up against the pillows, feeling faintly ridiculous as his fingers caressed her skin. And Rosie hadn’t known whether it was the brandy in the milk, the strangely intimate wrist stroking, or the tantalising closeness of Matt, but suddenly she’d felt a whoosh of desire shoot through her body.

  ‘Rosie?’ Matt had whispered huskily.

  Her stomach had promptly leapt into her mouth, suddenly making her tongue feel too big. She’d ended up poking it out between her teeth, to give it a bit of room.

  ‘Yeth?’

  A part of her brain had been thinking that if he didn’t stop the wrist stroking, she wouldn’t be accountable for her actions. Surely his fingers must have felt her galloping pulse rate? She’d had an overwhelming urge to whip her hand away from Matt and throw both her arms around his neck. Thank goodness Luke had been in the room, otherwise Matt would have been on the receiving end of not just her lips, but her tonsils too. Instead she’d done her damnedest to keep still, be patient and wait, for heaven’s sake, to see what this gorgeous Adonis had wanted to say.

  ‘Don’t think me presumptuous–’

  ‘I won’th, I won’th,’ she’d assured.

  ‘But you look incredibly–’

  ‘Yeth?’

  ‘Hot–’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘–and bothered. So I’ll leave you to get some sleep.’

  Disappointment had washed over her. ‘Yeth. Okay.’

  ‘Oh, and Rosie?’

  ‘Yeth?’

  ‘You’ve got a milk moustache.’

  And then, just when she was ready to die of embarrassment, he’d leant across her and dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead. Her skin had sizzled all night long.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Slinging back the covers, Rosie got out of bed. She’d drifted back to sleep and had some very strange dreams. Matt had been dressed up as Captain Marvel and she’d been hanging onto his cape and flying all over the universe. And then, he’d taken her to Venus where, bizarrely, he’d transformed into Dave.

  ‘Whatever are you doing here?’ she’d asked incredulously.

  ‘I’m your husband, Rosie,’ Dave had said piously. ‘Or have you forgotten that? Even though I’m on the other side of the veil, I’m still your spouse. And I don’t think much of your crush on Matt Palmer.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’ve only just finished sorting out the unspeakable mess you left me in. So how dare you come out with such–’

  ‘That’s it, Rosie! Get all pink in the face! You always blushed as red as a beetroot when you had something to hide. Fancy him do you? Does he turn you on?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘I must confess, Rosie, on Earth you never particularly turned me on. It must be something about the Venus air that is actually now making me feel quite romantic towards you.’

  ‘Oh, please,’ Rosie had seethed, ‘you wouldn’t know the meaning of the word.’

  ‘Of course I do,’ Dave had taken a step towards her, ‘let me think of something lovely to tell you,’ his brow had puckered in thought.

  Could you just–’ Rosie had made a shooing gesture.

  ‘Boobs.’

  ‘Is that meant to be romantic?’

  ‘Okay. Candlelight boobs.’

  ‘For God’s sake, just go away!’

  ‘Aw, come on, Rosie. After all, I’m trying my breast,’ Dave had snickered.

  Thankfully she’d woken up at that point. Having a beyond-the-grave grapple with her dead husband was not something Rosie wanted to dwell upon.

  Wrapping her dressing gown around her, she padded across the carpet and peered inside the cot. Luke beamed up at her.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ Rosie cooed. ‘Shall we get you some breakfast?’

  Five minutes later Rosie was warming a bottle of milk in the microwave, her mind a million miles away, when Matt came into the kitchen.

  ‘Morning!’

  Rosie nearly took off. ‘Sorry, you made me jump.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that. Well, it’s hardly surprising given yesterday’s events.’ Matt watched as Rosie took the bottle from the microwave, shook it gently and then tested the temperature on her wrist. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Clearly jittery,’ Rosie sighed. ‘I’m sure my nerves will settle down eventually.’ She lifted Luke out of his playpen and pulled out a chair. Sitting down, she settled the baby into the crook of one arm and let his chubby fingers hold the bottle with her. Thank goodness she was cradling her child, and not some strange woman on the other side of the world. Rosie took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Time would ease the anxieties. It was an old cliché, but nonetheless true.

  ‘While you’re seeing to Luke, shall I make you a cup of tea and some toast?’

  ‘Please.’

  Matt picked up the kettle and stuck it under the tap. He had the beginnings of an idea forming in his head. Snapping the lid down on the kettle, he flicked the switch and then turned to face Rosie. ‘Listen, I don’t have a busy day today. The work I have can be done from home. I need to check in with a couple of clients, but the rest of the day I can call my own. What about we go somewhere? I think it would do you and Luke good to get out of the apartment.’

  Rosie looked up and gave one of her mega-watt grins. Matt felt his stomach constrict. Even sitting there in a tatty old dressing gown, her face devoid of make-up, that smile just lit up the room and transformed her. Stop thinking like that. Get the bread into the toaster.

  ‘As long as we’re not putting you to any trouble, that would be perfect.’

  ‘In that case, I shall make sure Mrs and Master Perfect both have the perfect day.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Rosie inclined her head graciously. ‘Although less of the Mrs Perfect. From now on I want to be known as Ms Perfect. After all,’ she raised an eyebrow, ‘I was separated – albeit briefly – before being widowed.’ Rosie raised her eyes to the ceiling. And wherever you are, Dave, I hope you just took that on board. She frowned. Oh, Lord. I’m talking to a dead person. Perhaps I need some counselling. Maybe I should ring that number the policewoman gave me?

  ‘Why are you frowning?’

  Rosie’s features instantly cleared. ‘No reason.’

  ‘Good.’ Matt reached for some mugs and slopped some boiling water into them. A minute later the toast popped up. He set about buttering it while Rosie put Luke over her shoulder and gently rubbed the baby’s back. ‘Peanut butter or Marmite?’

  ‘Marmite please, and lashings of it.’

  ‘A lady after my own heart,’ Matt smiled as he dipped a knife into the jar. ‘My last girlfriend couldn’t stand the stuff.’

  Rosie’s curiosity was piqued. Despite knowing it was none of her business, nosiness got the better of her.
‘Why did you split up?’

  Matt turned his attention to the tea and slopped some milk into the mugs. ‘She wanted to get married, and I didn’t.’

  ‘Oh. Was she very upset?’

  ‘One could say she was…a little vocal,’ Matt nodded. He removed the teabags from the mugs and chucked them in the bin.

  ‘Why didn’t you want to marry her?’ Rosie knew she was asking incredibly personal questions now, but she couldn’t stop.

  ‘It would never have worked.’ Matt turned his attention back to the toast and cut the slices in half. ‘You see, she didn’t like Marmite.’

  ‘Ah!’ Rosie nodded, and then felt herself colouring up. Whereas she did like Marmite. Was there something unspoken going on here? Surely not! She suddenly felt flustered. ‘Why do you never hear a Marmite joke?’ she blurted.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Matt, setting the toast and tea before her, ‘why do you never hear a Marmite joke?’

  ‘Because they never get mould.’

  Matt shook his head sadly. ‘That’s not in the yeast bit funny.’

  Rosie grinned. That was better. Get some banter going. And tell your overactive imagination to settle down. ‘Okay, try this one. I made a shopping list once. It started out as butter, jam, and Marmite. That’s when I realised it had changed into a spreadsheet.’

  ‘A small improvement. You’ll be a comedienne yet, Ms Perfect. Enjoy your breakfast. I’m going to take mine off with me while I make some calls. Let me know when you and Luke are ready. It’s a lovely day out there, and I think a trip to Brighton might be nice.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Rosie, before sinking her teeth into the Marmite toast.

  Matt picked up his own breakfast plate and mug of tea and made to the kitchen door. He hesitated a moment, and then turned back to face Rosie. ‘There was another reason I couldn’t marry her,’ he added as an afterthought.

  Rosie looked startled. ‘Oh?’

  ‘I wasn’t in love.’

  There was a pause, and then Rosie said, ‘Have you ever been in love?’

  Suddenly there was a highly charged silence. Matt bit his lip. ‘Possibly,’ he finally said, ‘just the once.’