The Girl at the Bus-Stop (21 page)

It was half past one by the time Harry’s Mercedes pulled up again. He opened the rear door for his one female passenger, who struggled to ease herself from the seat and clamber out. Rudge was surprised to see just his sister-in-law standing on the step as he opened the front door. Inside the kitchen, she sipped a bone china mug of tea as she propped herself on a stool at the breakfast bar.

Rudge was wracking his brains to try and remember her name and was torn between ‘Linda’ and ‘Lydia’. In conversation, his wife had always referred to her as ‘my sister’ at which point Rudge had usually switched off. Although his wife was three years older and three stones slimmer, they shared similar facial features and build and could easily have passed for twins.

‘So the next thing I know, she’s visiting him in his villa,’ she explained, ‘and I spent most of the holiday in and around the hotel on my own.’

‘I see,’ replied Rudge, ‘so who is this bloke?’

She was silent for a few moments as she tucked into one of the fresh cream chocolate éclairs Rudge had bought as part of the welcome home routine.

‘He’s an ex-pat who’s been living full time in Lanzarote for about ten years,’ she replied, ‘his name is Nigel someone or other. Apparently he made his money from selling his chain of
Muffin Man
cake shops, and retired at fifty. He’s quite well off and his villa is very well-appointed. It has a huge swimming pool, and he drives a BMW convertible.’

‘Incredible, who’d have thought she’d fall in love at her age,’ said Rudge shaking his head, ‘or was she smitten by his muffins?’

‘I took a taxi out to his place yesterday, to persuade her to come back to the hotel to pack for the flight home. She nearly bit my head off, and her exact words were, ‘I’m not going back to that bloody slum and carry on living with that useless bastard’.’

‘I suppose she has a point,’ said Rudge, ‘we haven’t exactly been getting on well lately, not for years really.’

‘This is the first time I’ve visited your house, Reuben, and I don’t know how she could turn her back on a magnificent place like this.’ she said looking around admiringly at the luxury kitchen fittings, ‘The way she used to moan about it, I’d always imagined it to be a dowdy old place with peeling paint, an overgrown garden and broken fence panels.’

‘She always wanted a bungalow like yours,’ said Rudge, ‘but on my modest income this was all we could afford.’

‘I’d swap you my bungalow any day, even if this place is only a semi,’ she replied, ‘and I must day you’re looking very fit as well, Reuben. I can’t understand what she sees in that Nigel fellow, he’s all moccasins, M&S casuals and socks with sandals.’

‘So what happens now do you think?’ said Rudge, ‘Is this Nigel character just a fling or what?’

‘Hardly, I’ve never seen her look so happy,’ she replied, ‘and the last thing she said to me before I left was, ‘tell Reuben to sell that fucking rat hole and pay my half into my savings account’. So it sounds pretty permanent to me.’

‘Okay, well I’d better get you home you must be tired after the flight.’

‘There’s no hurry, Reuben,’ she said, her tone suddenly sounding sultry, ‘why don’t you get the taxi driver to bring my cases in and pay him off. I’ll take my things upstairs and have a shower.’

‘What on earth for?’

‘Well now you’re a free agent, Reuben, there’s no sense in us both being alone.’

‘It makes perfect sense to me,’ he snapped.

Rudge resisted the temptation to point out that the reason she was on her own was because her extravagant tastes has driven her husband to the point of bankruptcy. After his premature death at thirty eight, she’d been provided for with a huge life insurance payout which she’d squandered on everything from Caribbean cruises to health spa weekends in Worthing.

Rudge’s bemused smile turned into a grimace, as his sister-in-law raise her eyebrows like a femme fatale in a bad ‘B’ movie.

‘I’m offering you something that my sister could never give you, Reuben.’

‘What’s that, a hernia?’ he whispered, under his breath.

‘What did you say?’ she said.

‘Nothing, but I hardly think shacking up with my sister-in-law will compensate me for the loss of my wife,’ he replied, ‘and besides, she wants me to sell the house.’

‘Perhaps I could stay for the weekend so we can get to know each other a bit better. You can take me out for a huge slap-up meal tonight, and perhaps later we could, you know....’

‘Throw up?’ suggested Rudge.

‘Reuben, I’m offering myself to you on a plate,’ she said, looking hurt, ‘I’ve never done that with any man.’

‘A pallet might be more appropriate,’ he replied.

‘I could always sell my new bungalow and buy out her share of this place.’ she suggested, ‘You won’t regret it, I’m an excellent cook and a real bitch in the bedroom.’

‘Just in the bedroom?’ said Rudge.

Rudge forced a polite smile as she looked at him longingly, the tip of her tongue caressing her top lip tantalisingly.

‘Don’t be like that, Reuben, perhaps this is fate throwing us together.’

 
‘I doubt that very much, I don’t think even I could be that unlucky,’ he said, ‘besides, I’ve got a new life, I mean, a new job now, in London. There’s no point staying here, so I’m going to move up there. If she wants her share of this place, I’ll need to get shot of it soon as possible.’

‘Please, Reuben, let me stay,’ she pleaded, ‘I’ll be here for you at the weekends. Then you can do with me what you want. If I fail to please you can punish me like the slut I am.’

‘No,’ he said angrily, ‘I’ve been married to your sister for almost twenty years, and it’s been the most miserable existence imaginable. Thanks to Nigel the muffin man, I’ve now been given my freedom so d’you really think I’d willingly to sacrifice it again?’

‘Please give me a chance, Rueben,’ she said tearfully, ‘just let me show you the kind of woman I really am.’

She started to undo her blouse and Rudge put his hand out to stop her.

 
‘I think I already know,’ he replied, ‘now I think you’d better leave before the Friday afternoon traffic builds up.’

She looked away from Rudge, and stared down at the box of cream cakes on the worktop.

‘If that’s how you feel,’ she said, tearfully.

‘Look, it’s nothing against you personally,’ he said, ‘but my wife has just left me for goodness sake. I’m hardly likely to want to shack up with anyone, least of all her sister.’

‘Do you mind if I have another one of those delicious cakes?’

‘Take the box with you,’ Rudge said kindly, ‘you can enjoy them on the journey home.’

His sister-in-law opened her vast handbag and tried to wedge the box of cakes in the top, and removed her book to make room. Rudge smiled as he saw the cover of
Disciplinary Attraction
near the top.

‘You’d better carry them separately or they’ll get crushed,’ said Rudge, ‘you don’t want cream squirting out all over everything.’

Rudge waved at the disappearing Mercedes and closed the front door. An involuntary shiver ran down his neck, as thoughts of his sister-in-law sprawled naked on his bed briefly entered his mind.

He went out to his shed for a cigarette, and thought about his wife and her new man in Lanzarote. After all these years he should have been feeling something, but instead he just felt an overwhelming sense of relief. He hoped that Linda or Lydia or whatever his sister-in-law’s name was, hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d described his wife’s affair with Nigel as true love. It would be bloody awful if she turned up in a week’s time with her tail between her legs. With this in mind, he quickly dialled directory enquiries on his mobile and asked for the number of a local estate agent.

Mr Jude came round to value Rudge’s house within the hour, and seemed astounded that anyone would want to sell such a high quality residence. He was more than happy to include Rudge’s house on his ever growing list of properties for sale, and suggested making a feature of it in the local property glossy magazine which came out once a month.
 

‘Are you leaving the televisions, Mr Rudge?’ asked Mr Jude, ‘they look brand new.’

‘Yes, they’re staying along with everything else, and it’s all brand new.’

‘They’re state-of-the-art, and must have cost an absolute fortune.’

‘Yes, it’s just a shame that technology is becoming so advanced and the programmes so retarded.’ replied Rudge, ‘Most of the drivel on offer is like some Orwellian nightmare.’

‘Quite agree,’ said Mr Jude, ‘but thank goodness for
Strictly
and
The X-Factor
.’

Rudge looked at him disdainfully, shaking his head slowly. Mr Jude gazed out of the rear window
tutting
as he noticed the wooden eyesore in an otherwise immaculate garden.

 
‘What about that old shed, Mr Rudge,’ he said, ‘will that be staying?’

‘No, definitely not,’ said Rudge, ‘I’m having it moved up to London.’

‘Good,’ Jude replied, ‘the garden will look absolutely perfect then.’

After demonstrating the new alarm system to the estate agent, Rudge handed over a spare set of keys to the house for viewings. Mr Jude left, rubbing his hands together and Rudge retreated into the shed again.

He tried ‘phoning Becky, but her mobile was switched off. He sent a text explaining that he’d be returning to London later that evening, as his wife had left him for a bloke called Nigel in Lanzarote.

Rudge spent the rest of the afternoon sorting through his personal effects’ He bagged up his clothes, shoes and ties into rubbish sacks for the charity shop. He left his wife’s garments untouched in one of the brand new fitted wardrobes. The rest had been filled with countless pairs of shoes, handbags and a hat for every wedding and funeral she’d ever attended.

He found their framed wedding photograph in amongst some tacky ornaments in a large cardboard box. The glass had a crack in it running diagonally from corner to corner, looking like a sheet of forked lightning. In the photograph he was smiling, in hope more than anything, whilst his wife had her trademark expression of someone who’d been sucking lemons soaked in vinegar.

‘What a waste of time,’ he said, throwing the picture back in the box, ‘I must have been off my chump. I paid the mortgage and all the bills all those years, and for what? So I could spend almost all of my married life inside a fucking shed.’

When Harry returned, Rudge was already waiting on the doorstep surrounded by half a dozen plastic bin bags, and holding a small suitcase and his smart new laptop bag. They loaded the items into the boot of the car, and Rudge locked the front door of his house. As the Mercedes drove slowly along the road, Rudge noticed Mr Potter on the roof of his bungalow changing his red roof tiles for black ones.