Honeytrap (Part One)

“Can you pass me that cloth, please Paula?”

Sally reached down into the passenger side footwell and retrieved the rag of chamois leather.

“Who’s Paula?” she asked, casting a sideways glance at Dave.

He paused, as though quickly recalculating, before replying.

 “Oh, she’s just an old dear.  A friend of my mum’s I gave a lift to this morning.”

He wiped the condensation from the inside of the window.

“That’s kind,” said Sally, busy reapplying her coral lipstick in the mirror of the sun visor.

Dave smiled warmly, zipped up his flies and turned the key in the ignition.

“Can I drop you at the station?” he asked. “I’ve got to sort out my tax return this evening and can’t stay out late.”

Sally tried to hide her annoyance by gazing out of the window, but it was made worse by the irritating tickle in her esophagus.

“Have you got any water?  I’ve got a pube stuck in my throat.”

“No, but I can stop at a garage and get you a bottle,” said Dave laughing.

While he was in the petrol station, Sally scanned the car for signs of female occupation: a discarded hair clip, lipstick blots on a scrunched up tissue, something frivolous and girly.  She found nothing.
…………………………………

Dave was late home again, for the third time that week.  Paula sat twitching on the sofa, her mobile phone perched expectantly on her knee, but this time he hadn’t even called to say he was delayed.  On Monday he’d had to work late, to try to get a gardening job finished.  His client had a 40th birthday party planned for the weekend and wanted to get the decking sorted out by then.  “That’s just like Dave,” Paula had thought, “putting himself out for others.”  Again, on Tuesday, “just a bit of finishing off to do."  Not to worry, he’d get some fish and chips on the way home.  Tonight though, there was nothing, not even a text message.

Paula tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.  She’d known his reputation when she started seeing him, but she thought perhaps he flitted from woman to woman because he hadn’t met the right one.  However, there were always little things that piqued her and refused to be smoothed away.  Like the spate of strange phone calls when they’d first moved in together.  Paula would pick up the phone and catch the gasp of a female voice, not a word, but a sharp intake of breath, just before the receiver on the other end was replaced.  Of course, Paula found this odd, but what could she do?  There was nothing solid to confront Dave with.  The number was withheld and it wasn’t proof of anything on its own… and so, she said nothing.

Then there was his phone, which he guarded like Golum with his precious.  Sometimes she’d walk into the room and he’d put it down next to him a little too suddenly.  She resisted the urge to read his messages, but sometimes she’d catch sight of a name, or a sentence, while he was texting next to her on the sofa, that would feed her suspicions.  How did he find time to take Sally, Maria or Shelley for coffee, when he was supposed to be working?  Did all gardeners take their clients to Starbucks to discuss their quotes?

It was no good, the tension was getting too much for her and so she dialled Dave’s number.  It went straight to answer phone.  Either his phone was switched off or there was no reception.  The thought that he’d had an accident fleetingly played in her mind, but she brushed it away, with a twinge of guilt and fear.  His behaviour had been pointing to something underhand since he first started working for Sally.  Paula could tell by the way he spoke about her, a sort of childish enthusiasm tinged his voice and he smiled whenever he said her name. “Sally, Sally, Sally…”

Paula felt the anger she needed to spur her into action.  “What would Dave expect her to do?”  He wouldn’t expect her to do anything.  He’d expect her to be docile and anxious, waiting at home for him.  Sure, there'd be an inquisition when he stepped through the door, but he knew he’d be able to brush off any awkward questions with practised ease.  Did he lie to her face, she wondered?  It was more than she could stand. 

She picked up the phone and called Alison.
…………………
“I don’t know why you’re so surprised, Paula.” Alison said with barely concealed exasperation.

“I hate to say this, but he flirts something rotten with me, when your back’s turned.  That time he came round to cut my lawn - he was all over me like a rash.”

“You never said!”

“Well, I am now and I think it’s time Dave got his comeuppance.”

“Me too, but how?  I can’t prove he’s doing anything.”

“I’ll be your honeypot.”

“I think you mean honeytrap!  What?  Have sex with him you mean?!”

“No, I wouldn’t have to stupid.  I’ll just get him over here on false pretences and you can see for yourself what he’s really like.  Come round tomorrow and we can hatch our plan!”