Burning Desires Part Two

He drove home in a fury of emotions, parked his car on the roadside-he would go to the club later- and walked up the garden path to his house.  He went to put the key in the lock of the front door and saw that the door was not shut properly.  He pushed it gently and watched it swing silently open.  Then he heard muffled sounds from upstairs.  His body tensed, I'm being burgled he thought.  Don't tangle with them, I'll chop their legs off.  In a rage he rummaged frantically in his tool bag looking for a suitable weapon and came up with nothing heavier than a four inch paint brush.  He searched further and unearthed his burning torch.  With trembling hands he took out his lighter and lit it, the butane flame leapt out.  He quietly pushed the door fully open with his left hand and silently ascended the stairs.  His heart pounding, Frank eased the bedroom door open and then stood amazed.  He was facing the naked, hindquarters of his wife’s lover. Over the man’s shoulder he could see Jeans face.  Her eyes were shut.  Her arms were round her lover.

Like one of the undead, Frank crossed the room towards the bed, his eyes fixed on his wife's face. Suddenly he was startled into awareness by a screech of pain, 'Aaaargh!!'

Jean's lover leapt from the bed.  There was an acrid smell of burning.  Jean's eyes opened and she too started screaming.

Frank realised what he had done.  His trailing right hand had brought the burner flame into contact with the man's buttocks and testicles.  Jean was in shock.  Frank moved towards her.  She screamed louder.  'Turn that thing off,' she cried cowering away.

Frank hastily killed the butane flame and tossed the gun on the bed.  'Calm down,' he said, 'You

 will have the neighbours round.'

Jean scrambled off the bed hastily donning her dressing gown.  'Why do you turn my life into a joke Frank?'

'Well,' Frank started to explain, 'I went to the Malinsons.'

'Shut up!' Jean screamed.  'Look at you,' she gestured hopelessly. 'If you are going to confront your wife with her lover shouldn’t you take your overalls and your cap off.  Ye gods, You've still got a pencil stuck behind your ear.'  She ran her hands through her hair distractedly, then she caught sight of her lover.

'Nigel!  What's the matter?'

Frank turned to look.  Nigel was on the other side of the bed, semi crouched like a petrified jockey. He was now emitting whimpers of pain.

'What have you done to him?' Jean cried.  She ran round the bed in panic and saw the damage.

'Oh my God,' she groaned, 'look at that.  Look at what you have done.'

Frank looked and winced, blisters everywhere.  The situation seemed unreal.  Had he done that, knowingly, surely not and yet.....

Nigel suddenly went pale and his teeth started to chatter.  'He's in shock,' Jean said.  'Sit down Nigel and put this blanket round you.'

'I can't sit down,' Nigel hissed, 'call an ambulance.'

'Please try to sit on the bed,' Jean pleaded.

Nigel gingerly placed his hand on the bed preparatory to an attempt to move and screamed again. Too late Frank realised that he had thrown the butane gun on the bed and that Nigel's hand had alighted on the hot ferrule. Jean noted the singed duvet and bit her lip, it was brand new.  Nigel was now in tears.  'Please call an ambulance,' he pleaded, 'I'm in such pain.'

'Why don't you get dressed and then we can get your wife to come and collect you,' Frank suggested.

'Don't you speak to me,' Nigel retorted, 'I'll kill you for this.'

Frank shrugged, 'You want to be careful pal, I'm fitter than the average painter and decorator.'

Jean said, 'Shut up the pair of you.'  She walked up and down the room tormentedly.  Finally she said, 'We  can't call an ambulance Nigel, the crew would know us.  You are a not very popular Hospital administrator and I have my position to think of.  If this gets out we will be a laughing stock.  It would be all over Tilsden Hospital in minutes.  You will have to go to another hospital by taxi,... unless,' she glanced at Frank.

'Not a cat in hells chance,' Frank said adamantly.

'I can't move I tell you, I need a stretcher,' Nigel protested.

'I'll leave you two to it,' Frank said.  'I'll just pack my things and then I will be off.' He felt himself to be strangely calm as if some long held worry at the back of his mind had been laid bare.

Jean turned her attention to Nigel. 'Look, get dressed.  We have to think of a plausible explanation for this, something to tell them at the hospital.'

'What can I possibly tell them,' Nigel groaned.

Jean grabbed his trousers and kneeling, made him step into them.  Nigel did so with difficulty but then screamed with pain when she tried to pull them up over his hips.  'Oh for Gods sake Nigel,' she exclaimed.  Then Jean ran down the stairs, rummaged frantically through her medicine chest and found a roll of cotton wool and some tape.  On her way back to the bedroom she saw Frank taking down his pictures of Mohamed Ali and Spike. Seeing her he said, 'These are all I want. You can have the rest.'

'Whatever Jean replied.'  She rang for a taxi and then returned to the bedroom.  'Stuff this cotton wool down your pants,' she instructed.  Under protest Nigel allowed her to do it. Then she bandaged his hand.  'Come on,' she urged, 'I've ordered a taxi.'  She helped him on with his jacket and grasping him by the lapels, she dragged him shuffling slowly out of the room onto the landing, however, when he tried to descend the stairs the pain was too much.  'I can't do it.' he protested.

'You must!'

'No!'

Jean brushed past him and ran down the stairs.  Frank was just going through the front door with his suitcase.  'I'll be off then,' he said.

Jean replied, 'He can't get down the stairs.'

'Just push him down,' Frank advised.  'After all that's the only thing we haven't done to him.'

'Will you carry him down on your back?'

'Me carry him down.' Frank was incredulous. 'I have to say Jean, you have some nerve.’

He shrugged, the situation was getting more surreal by the minute, 'O.K.'

As he was staggering down the stairs with Nigel on his back, the taxi arrived.  The taxi driver stood in the hall and eyed the scene suspiciously. He was having second thoughts.  'Why is he walking like that, he hasn't shat himself has he?  Why is his hand bandaged?'  Concerned he watched Nigel's receding figure shuffling down the garden path holding Jean's hand before going on, 'Is he wearing a nappy?'

'It's just minor injuries, He's O.K.  Nothing to worry about,' Frank said reassuringly.

They watched Jean load Nigel into the back seat of the taxi.  The taxi driver turned to Frank again. 'Why can't the poor bugger sit down?  Why is he on his hands and knees, kneeling doggy fashion in the back of my cab?  And look at that, he is wearing a nappy.  I don't like this at all mate.'

Jean rejoined them.  'Take him to a hospital of his choice but not Tilsden General,' she instructed.

'No,' the taxi driver replied.  'He's had a heart attack or something.  He could die on me.  Get him out of my cab.'

Jean burst into tears, 'Oh please, please Take him,' she begged.

Frank said, 'He's not had a heart attack, it's just,'.....Frank thought desperately,....'It's bedroom stuff.'

Jeans eyes widened in horror.

Frank plunged on, 'We were enjoying this-three in the bed stuff and things just got a bit out of hand.'

'What, sado stuff?' The taxi driver was incredulous.  Frank nodded.

'At this time in the morning?'

Frank nodded again, 'We are morning people.'

The taxi driver eyed Frank suspiciously, 'Dressed like that?'

Frank smiled,  for some reason he was enjoying it.  'Under these overalls I'm wearing fishnet tights and a basque.'

.He heard a suppressed scream from Jean.

'You are joking.' the taxi driver said.

'No.’ Frank shook his head.

'You are wearing hob nailed boots.'

'It adds to the thing,... sort of androgynous.'

The taxi driver shook his head, 'I thought I knew everything that went on in this town,' he said.  Then suddenly he smiled broadly and with glittering eyes he moved closer to Frank.'I'm intrigued he murmured.'

Frank acted quickly 'Only joking mate,' he said stepping smartly away.  'Actually, he was stood on a chair in the kitchen, changing a light bulb and he lost his balance and fell back onto a lighted hob.'

'That's it,' Jean exclaimed.  She ran off down the path.

The taxi driver turned truculent.  'Why didn't you say that in the first place.  Are you taking the piss.'

Jean ran round to the passenger side of the car and wrenched open the back door.  A passing motorist had to swerve violently and blared his horn.

Jean said, 'I've got the explanation Nigel.  You were stood on a chair in the kitchen, changing a light bulb and you lost your balance and fell back onto a lighted hob.  There you go, you can go to Tilsden General Hospital now.'

Nigel leaned forward, 'For Gods sake Jean, when am I going to see you?'

Jean replied, 'Oh I think we had better let things cool off.....take the heat out of the situation.'  She saw the pained expression on Nigel's face, realised what she had said and mortified, slammed the car door.  It hit the kneeling Nigel in the face.  She saw his nose squashed against the window, blood already trickling down the glass.

The taxi driver arrived, Frank had persuaded him to accept the commission.  'Is that door properly closed?' He asked, bending down to check for himself.  'I don't believe this,' he said, straightening up, 'You've bust the poor bugger's nose now.  Jesus what are you pair like.'  Shaking his head he jumped into the driving seat and the taxi sped away.

Left to themselves Jean said, 'I'm sorry Frank, you don't deserve any of this.'

Frank shrugged, 'Things happen,' he said.

'Where will you go?'

'That old chap I do work for, Mr. Mandelson.  He has loads of rental properties,  He will fix me up.'

'We will have to talk,' Jean said.

'Ring me on the mobile,' Frank suggested.  He picked up his cases and left.  She watched him throw his gear into the back of the estate, raise his arm somewhat wearily in farewell, jump in the car and drive away.

Left alone Jean entered the house shaking with emotion, guilt, shame, regret and yet...an overarching exultation.   It's over, she thought.

 

Frank rang Mr. Mandelson who offered to show him a house that afternoon.  To pass the time he. decided to visit Norman Seabrook in hospital.

  Norman was glad to see him.  'You are the only visitor I've had,' he said 'and guess what's happened.  Our Sharon has got married.  My only daughter and nobody bothered to tell me.  Can you believe that?'

'Yes I can,' Frank said before going on, 'What's happening to you?'

Norman brightened, 'I'm having a pacemaker fitted on Saturday morning and I can start work on Tuesday.'

'That's a bit soon isn’t it.  You died you know.'

Norman shook his head, 'No I will be fine.  I have got to get out of this place.  They want you to stop drinking and smoking all at the same time.  This little Arab consultant moidering on about self inflicted damage.'  Norman grinned, 'If it wasn't for the fact that he saved my life and is fitting me with a pacemaker, I'd batter him.  I'm out of here Monday night and rewiring a bungalow on Tuesday.  I've worked all my life.  If I'm not entitled to treatment who is.  They don't understand our culture.  How can a Seabrook give up drinking, it's what we do. My life is the club.'

Frank nodded sympathetically.  'Me and Jean have split up,' he said.

'Well there you go,' Norman replied.  'Jean changed.  We weren't good enough for her.'

'She didn't change,' Frank replied, 'She was always different.  She just wanted other things.'

Suddenly Normans mood seemed to change.  He spoke angrily, 'It's all over for the white working class English man.  An immigrant will do our work for half the price and they have contempt for us for giving our country away.  Even our wives bale out on us.  We are a laughing stock.  The bloody politicians got us into this mess.'

'You don't vote,' Frank pointed out.'

'Well I'll bloody vote next time,' Norman retorted Angrily.  'Just you bloody watch me.  I wish I'd never clapped eyes on an East European.'

 'Come on Norm,'  Frank grinned, 'What do you want to do, ban lap dancers.'

'Are you laughing at me.'  Norman sat straight up in bed.  'I'll tell you something, that Open University is one big shagging match and Jean's been screwing her backside off ever since she went there.  We all new but nobody wanted to hurt your feelings because you hang on her every word like a little lad.'

Frank stood up,  'Good luck with the operation,' he said, then left.