Picture This

I need more than this. Not a complete change, a diversion. Too familiar with my surroundings. But need to get more familiar with someone.

I remember a time when I liked people. When I enjoyed stuff. When I didn't feel like I was paying for a past sin. Being punished whenever I laughed. I might be Catholic, but this goes way beyond guilt. More a three piece suit than a hairshirt.

Sometimes when I sit there freshly bored, listening to Andrew try to present his failing motorcycle business as full of hope, I drift back to before all this happened. Or rather how I can forget it's happened. Kid myself about the kid.

I loved someone back then and they never knew. I never told them. They never guessed. It was too well hidden among the pride. I keep wondering more and more, what if they had known? Would it still be like this? Would I cry more with laughter than regret? Do they still exist?

The searches took ages and showed nothing. A few vague hints but too little for hope. Too much for lunch breaks. But I got real skinny. Just for him. Wherever he was. Whatever he'd become since. The one that mattered more and more while the one I was with just became background noise. Pleasant enough, but all I wanted was silence. I was concentrating. He'd soon be in my sights from one of those sites.

When I found what I wanted the music stopped. But I couldn't send the text. I wrote it more times than I'd shagged him, but less times than I'd dreamt of repeating it. That was 25 years ago and I was no Dickens.

It was fantasy time when he replied straightaway after I sent it from under the desk at work. That leery Manager thought I was replying to another of his desperate and premature sounding texts so just sat there smirking as my dreams became SMS reality.

I didn't believe it was him. So many freaks out there and I'd found his name on some sort of freelance design site. Creative stuff. Which is what I wanted to be with him. Any which way I could. But easy girl, it's been a while. At least with him, if not the others. Including her. The car scratching bitch.

Two questions and I was in heaven. It was him and I never even had to ask about if he remembered the Vimto I spat it out into that time. I haven't drunk any since. The Vimto that is. He wanted me to call him. What lies should I say? Or what should I avoid saying? The usual, I don't want to discuss circumstances.

Next thing I know he's calling saying he can jump on a train, say he's going to the match and can he stay at mine? This is not in the script. And I'm not in control. Which is where I have to be. Too accelerated. Beyond the fast lane. Slow him down. Enjoy it. Stop answering so quickly. In fact, stop answering full stop. Always works.

I don't even know what I want and someone must get the blame for that. I'm bored of it being the hubby and he's as immune to it as I am to him. Strictly holidays and Xmas for the ceasefire now. Hardly a victory when it's a victim. I always regret it being the kids. Any of them, not just her. Work is a minefield anyway, so unless I make a special effort to be nasty, it's pretty much the expected norm. I did enjoy giving that lanky one with the piercings some slices of pizza from the bin after he started being snidey about that time in the car. Told everyone I was shaven. Hardly a secret in these parts. She used to like it. Never got out of the habit, even when I swung back to men. I missed the control I have over them.

I haven't answered his texts for 2 days now. There's been nine already. The trick is judging when he's gonna give up. Think there's a message in the not answering rather than a plan. I'm off tomorrow, so I'll call and say I was busy. Now I've admitted I've got kids, I can say they were ill. Seems to have stopped him threatening to get on the train every other day. I'll run out of excuses before I ever get to understand why I'll never meet him. But there's no way he can ever know that. Or much more.

I'm like a domestic goddess tonight at home now I've got it all planned out. Slowly slowly catchee monkey. Or bored ex-boyfriend. It's amazing what you can get away with when you leave a carrot dangling. Or send a few revealing pics, taken for her originally, to make sure the blinkers stay on. He doesn't seem to have much to distract him from what he says, the kids came along and brought the joy, but took the fun. I know the feeling when the nights stop being something to look forward to. A time to come together. Sex toys replaced by soft toys. Reckons it's separate rooms, which is why I get so many late night texts. I love them, I'm usually up with her anyway, so they help me get through that twilight zone, not that I'd tell him. Or even reply half the time. Treat em mean keep em keen and all that. Then sulk when they do it back.

'Soz been busy kids ill. U ok? Missed ya. Made any plans? Xx'
It takes less than a minute to find out.
'Booked hotel for 28. Can't wait. Hope u up for it. Xxxxxxxxx
Oh fuck. That's out of the blue. Before I can light a fag and think what to do there's another buzzing text arrives.
'Nmbr of kisses is nmbr of days till I see you. Xxxxxxxxx
I repeat myself to a now silent house. I should go and look at the diary in the kitchen and see if there's a clash. But it won't matter cos I won't go. I'll make him think I will though. Starting now.
'What a fntstic surprise. What u mean am I up 4 it? U get big bed? Xx

I hear two more arrive on my way to my combat exercise class the next day. I don't answer cos I'm too busy thinking about Rachel the teacher. One at once, Im not some kind of slag and old habits die hard. I think my husband preferred it when it was women as well. Less threatening. Time to work up a sweat. Which I reckon he's doing now I've not answered.

'Course I am. Tell u all about that when I c u. Xx'
I answered all 3 texts with that line. All he wanted was reassurance I was gonna be there. A lot of reassurance.

We're down to 5 kisses when I answer him again after the weekend. It's this Friday. I'm starting to feel a bit guilty now. No I'm not. It's his own fault. I get it all the time, like today at Kwikfit. I wanted a puncture fixed and I'm getting offered champagne if I go out for a drink with sommeone in a blue overall. Not wearing a ring doesn't help, but since her, and Mr Pathetic Husband's non reaction, I haven't wanted to. I put the guy down by asking if I drunk more than one bottle, could he afford it? I think he knew I was classy then.

I always felt it when we used to sneak to Canal Street, or anal treet as the boys called it. I was like a visiting Queen (not in that way) being shown off. I loved being eaten by so many eyes. Served up on a plate for plating. She always wanted to bring a couple back and swop but like I said, I have my limits. And a resprayed car for knowing them. I still use the story to get the boys in the office going. Just like I did with the current victim. Which reminds me, he needs a little treat. Or tempter. If only he knew I had so many of the pictures he thinks I'm taking for him on my phone. You never know when they'll come in useful. Well you do, whenever you want to play someone along. Or progress something a little faster. Refocus someones interest. Which is exactly what this one of me in a red thong will do now. I love the thought of his wife finding it. But not that he might spot all the faults I do whenever I look at tit. Scrap that, he won't see anything beyond the knickers. I hit send after adding two kisses and go back in the house, regretting smelling of smoke near the kids. I've just turned the tap on when I feel the buzzing in my pocket that means he's replied to let me know it’s done its job.

Can't w8 2 c it 4 real on fri. Xxxx

Gulp. Four kisses now. Poor lamb to the slaughter. I'm sure that's a biblical saying. Whatever it is, it's appropriate. Unlike what he's suggesting in the next message I've just opened. Jesus, what if my kids had seen that? What does he think I am to suggest that? Somehow, he's got the wrong idea about me. I really don't know how.

I've calmed down a bit when he texts the next day, asking for the usual reassurances that Fridays still on, followed by xxx. I give a little hint that I'm having doubts and spend the afternoon with what feels like a vibrator in my pocket. Wouldn't be the first time and I'm not complaining, but listening to desperate pleas doesn't deliver quite as much pleasure, even though I know I'll be having the last laugh.

It's xx day now and I've gone off air. Totally. Phone turned off. There's no way he can contact me. He knows where I work, but I always use a withheld number, my maiden, but not my married name and I'm off today anyway, after all those Saturdays I've sacrificed. He doesn't even know where I live. I feel free and in charge. a few hours for me while shes at school.

I gave in late last night and sent another picture. The one that lets you know I’m hairless. Used to be her favourite. I hope in a way she still has a copy that makes her weep with regret whenever she looks at it. I got a reply this morning, ended with a single kiss. It’s D-day tomorrow then. When shall i tell him? Lunch. I’m busy this morning showing that cute new guy the ropes. Glad I’ve got my boots on.

Im sorry i can't face a call , i can't make it fri, look im sorry things happen when u have kids, u shud know that, don't msg me back jst leave it.

I loved sending that. The power as I hit send. The joy of the misery and confusion I’ll cause with it. Oh to see the look on his face now. I really liked him. But liked the thought of the damage better. I have to have a fag to savour it. The new guy comes along but I can’t tell him what’s making me so happy, so he assumes it’s him. And I let him. For Now.

What is weird is he hasn’t replied. I wanted to feel the misery I’ve caused first hand. Not just imagine it, get the real thing. I’m disappointed. Unless he’s took it really to heart and. Well, just and.

It’s dull today, the end of another story. But a new ones beginning. The new lad is taking me to the pub at lunch. Or at least he’s asked me to go and I’ve said maybe, knowing full well I’ll be there with freshly applied make up and more leg than is good for me showing. A few drinks and winks will get me going again. And him. He’s bound to ask about where my ring is and I’ll give the usual reply, same place as yours, always gets a laugh.

It did and I’m flying through the afternoon, knowing I’ve got a new and willing victim. Even Mr Piercing seems to know it and keeps his distance. I make a big show of saying I’ll see the new guy tomorrow and head off home. The phone buzzes as I’m driving and I have to pull over to answer it.

On train. Phone crashed and wiped. Hope u ok. Cnt wait 2 c u. b there jst b4 8. xx

Oh fuck. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ve already moved on to pastures new. Think.

u not get txt? Chng plan. cnt cum. y u stll cmng?

Ping. What chge plan? U sed all ok. on train. what txt?

Oh God. He’s on his way, probably with a hard on already. I have this affect on people. It’s a gift.

cnt stay @ hotel. meet u at metro stn but hve 2 go hme. kid not well.

I’m hoping this will disappoint him so much he’ll head back home. I’m also hoping he’ll get the hint and give up. No chance.

dnt get it? u say no? cn be at stn by 8.30. u b there?

I guess I have to be. Or he’ll be phoning all night. And I’m not totally heartless. Or at least I’m not convinced he won’t show up at home. A repeat of the last time with her. I tell him to text me when hes twenty minutes away and head home thinking of excuses for nipping out, deciding I’ll make that extra effort to look good so he knows what I’ve decided he’s missing.

I’m just finished in front of the mirror after giving some lame tale to my lame husband about going to see Jackie for an hour. Ever reliable alibi Jackie. No saint herself and a bit of a looker in her day. Before she devoted her life to Eastenders. I seem to remember he used to fancy her a bit back then. The thought makes me get my face even more immaculate than usual. The phone buzzes, so I head out the door.

He calls just after I pull into the car park. He’s here at last. But I’m not meant to feel like this. I tell him just a minute and take a last look in the mirror. I look fantastic. I lock up and head down the slope to the platform, my heart pounding. A few people are hanging around, but it doesn’t seem like a tram’s been in recently. I look through the broken glass into the waiting room, but there’s just a couple of teenagers necking. Like we used to. Where is he? I get worried he’s gonna jump out, so call him while stood under a light.

“I’m in London you nasty manipulative tart. Didn’t expect that did you? Cat got your tongue? Now fuck off back to your small town boredom and leave me alone. But before you do that, get some dignity.”

I can’t speak and know he can hear me gasping for breath. I try to stop but can’t. It’s like my asthma has come on bad. I keep saying ‘but’ and I know the couple in the waiting room are watching. I’m gonna cry. I eventually hang up and hear a text arrive, at the same time as the first tear. I head to the car, hiding my face to read it, my face stinging but my chest relaxing a bit. I get in and lock the doors, click open on the phone.

'It isn't worth making the journey for a butterfly collector. The swinger with mood swings. I really couldn't remember you having mental issues, are they recent? All I can remember is you spitting cum into a glass of Vimto. Just about sums you up. Dirty Harry rather than Debbie Harry. Best of luck with whoever you stalk and send your pictures to next. They're getting a bit dated though, do you not realise? I'll enjoy writing and publishing the story. NOW just leave it. Don't text back. Unless its Jackie’s number. Xx'