First few pages
BETTER THE DEVIL YOU KNOW
Chapter 1
‘Wow, that was some story,’ thought Joan as she placed the paperback onto the coffee
table. The novel, Chic Lit, was not really intended for her age group, mid sixties, but she’d thoroughly enjoyed it, ‘and why not? The elderly were just teenagers in old skin’.
Joan sat back on the shiny, leather sofa and sipped her coffee. Sparked off by the contents of the book, she reflected on the fifty years she deemed wasted on two dead leg husbands.
‘Jese, that’s half a century!’
The first, fat, flawed and futile, the second and current one, undercut, unavoidable and ugly, ‘He’d make a good model for door knockers or gargoyles for the local medieval church. Worse than that, he’s an egotist, a narcissist!’
She drew heavily on the cigarette and made her mind up there and then that she was going to get a life, not just any old life, a young life, a sort of Chic Lit life, a life she’d missed out on all those years ago. ‘Three kids before ones twenty first birthday had been far from a good starting point.’
This had been Joan’s experience, her young fun-life cut short with nappies, bottles, prams and a man-child for a so called husband. An even worse mother-in-law, the type you wish dead on the first meeting. ‘The type you could gladly drop into an acid bath so all trace had gone, well except for dentures.’
She glanced at the calendar and pondered on a date from when her new life would begin.
‘But where to begin? Botox, crystal-blast, face-lift? I need something. It’s ok thinking chic but when your skin thinks hen…. there’s more lines on it than a Rhode Island road map.
Dvorak’s Humoresque belted out from the phone and penetrated Joan’s thoughts. ‘Help the aged,’ she answered. ‘Jules! I was going to ring you but I thought you’d still be zedding it. How’d it go?’
‘You’re not going to like this Joan. Are you sitting comfortably?’
‘Go on, what happened?’
‘She’s blonde, tubby and wait for it, about twenty five years old.’
Joan was silent for a moment. ‘Get her address?’
‘Yeah, nice district. Look I’ll come across and we can chat at length. Ok?’
Joan replaced the receiver and went to the drinks cabinet. ‘At least she’s fat.’ She mused.
Selecting the most expensive red, she uncorked it and poured a large, no, a very large glass. Her friend liked red too, as she always said, ‘at our age it’s good for the old arteries.’
Jules arrived in her brand new Smart car; it had made a good disguise the previous evening for tracking Peter, Joan’s husband. She had suspected some time ago that he was playing around although, really couldn’t imagine who would desire a clapped out eighty two year old. He’d recently invested in some new Y-fronts too. ‘Who the hell wears Y-fronts!’ but more to the point, ‘what sort of bitch shags a man who wears Y-fronts.’
The second bottle of red was having a pleasant couldn’t-care-less attitude on Joan’s grey matter. She giggled along with Jules imagining Pete getting his leg over.
‘Perhaps he makes a better sugar-granddaddy than a sugar-daddy,’ she laughed.
For all the mirth, Jules could see a deep sadness behind her friend’s eyes. Pals from school days they’d stuck together over the years. They’d become more like sisters than their own sisters.
This wasn’t the first woman Pete had shagged whilst married to her but this time Joan wanted facts, she’d had enough. Besides, this new sex-on-legs-cow had, had a profound effect on Pete’s persona.
Basically a kind person, in recent years he’d become retaliative, sarcastic and decidedly cold in his manner towards her. In the early years of the marriage her ‘fiery’ nature had turned him on and he’d even admitted that to this end he sometimes goaded her purposely. He loved the way she flounced out of the room, her long dark hair swinging as she moved. Later ‘fiery’ was to become ‘aggression’ and later still ‘you need anger therapy,’ but the long dark hair had now become short and silver and that was unbefitting for a narcissist
Long gone were the theatre visits, romantic dinners and expensive holidays and she were buggered if she was going to let a young bint steal not just her life-style but in addition the bungalow in which they lived.
Pete had come to her thirty five years back with nothing. All his accumulated wealth and property had been awarded to his wife and daughter. ‘Jese, he didn’t even have looks. He had charm though and a good sense of humour.’ She reflected.
‘Joan, you’re getting morose, have another glass.’ Jules uncorked another bottle.
‘The only saving grace in all this is that he’s fifteen years older then you.’
‘And?’
‘Well, odds are that he’ll die before you.’
Joan held her head back and laughed, it was a long drawn out belly-laugh.
‘Don’t make me laugh; he’s like a f**king robot. Do you know the only thing wrong with him is that he’s got a corn?’ She laughed out loud again then gulped her wine. She became morose again. ‘Do you know what the experts say? They say if one is fit by the age of eighty, there’s no reason, in the scientific world, as to why one won’t reach ninety.’ She began to sob. ‘I can’t go another shite decade with him’
‘The booze is making you miserable Joan. You know, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, being a widow. Ones income’s halved for starters.’
‘You’re right, I’m always bloody moaning, aren’t I? The only thing is, in ten years time, I don’t want to be sitting here wishing I’d got a life, and just crocheting antimacassars. Anyway what do you think of this idea?’ Joan lit yet another fag.
‘Let’s have a bite to eat and a nice black coffee first, don’t forget I have to drive home.’
‘Good idea.’ She glanced at the clock, ‘Pete’ll be at least another hour yet.’
Whilst they both tucked in to ham sandwiches and sipped black coffee, Joan explained a few ideas she’d come up with to enhance both hers and Jules’ lives. Her friend listened intently, eyes widening from time to time.
‘I’ll get back home now and I promise that I’ll have a good think about what we’ve discussed.’
The two women bade their goodbyes and Jules drove off, back to her bungalow a few miles away.
Joan tidied up the lounge then washed the dishes. She heard Pete coming in after his visit to his daughter’s, well, after his night of passion rather.
‘Hi,’ she greeted him all smiles.
‘Hi,’ was his response.
‘Have a nice evening?’ She continued dusting the furniture, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.
‘Oh, it was ok, she wasn’t well enough to make us a meal so I went out for a take-away.’
‘Oh, yeah, a blonde-tubby-about-twenty-five-year-old one,’ she wanted to say but desisted.
‘When she feels better, she wants me to take her to her old school friends for a weekend, she lives in Newcastle.’
‘That’ll be nice for you both,’ said with just a tad of sarcasm.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Pete side glanced at Joan and waited for her reaction.
‘Who? Me? I’ve never restricted your movements, of course I don’t mind.’
‘Great stuff,’ she thought, ‘now my plans can come into being, how could he moan about me travelling now? Ha.’ She laughed to herself, ‘some men are so stupid.’
Pete went off into his study, no doubt reliving the night of passion he’d had with his lover and dreaming about the forthcoming weekend with the slag. Joan continued with the housework whilst plotting her new life, well, he was being economical with the truth and ‘what’s good enough for the goose is good enough for the gander, but in this case surely that should be what’s good enough for the gander is good enough for the goose. Who wrote these proverbs?’
Dvorak’s Humoresque rang out. ‘Orphaned widows,’ she answered.
It was her youngest, crying down the phone, should she get a divorce from her lying, cheating husband. ‘Jese, that’s all I need. Why can’t others deal with their own nightmares? I’ve got plenty of my own to be going on with thanks.’
She’d found a packet of condoms again in the pocket of his best suit.
‘Think yourself lucky he’s got the sense to use ‘em,’ she wanted to say but thought it too cruel.
The son-in-law in question was six feet four, drop-dead-gorgeous and had women just drooling and dropping at his feet. Joan had wondered how long it’d be before he strayed when he took Deborah to the registrars…. well, it was her third marriage, (church was out of the question) but at least the ceremonies had been that close together, Joan had been able to wear the same outfit for each one.
‘Best not to worry Deb, why don’t you go out and go mad with his credit card.? That’s good therapy.’
‘You’re right mum, I’ve seen a gorgeous leather coat and boots I like.’
‘Good, hurt his pocket. I’ll see you next week then.’
Joan replaced the receiver. ‘Women just can’t win. Here’s an ugly old fool shagging around and there’s a handsome young fool doing the very same. Or was it the women? Why do women shag others husbands?’
Sex with Pete that night was as boring as ever even though she suspected he was practicing various methods so he knew what was good when screwing his tart.
Besides Joan had other things on her mind, dinner to cook tomorrow for four friends….vegetarian friends. ‘What the hell can I make?’ Pete turned her over.
‘Perhaps a Soya spag bol could be the answer. Where to get Soya though?’ Pete’s hand was wandering. ‘I could get some humus and chipolatas, yes, that’d be nice as a starter.’
Pete was reaching his climax now. ‘Jese, planning dinner for four is damned harder than having sex.’
