Writing for Fun
May 2016
Judgement - Jan Osborne
I wearily elbowed the front door shut behind me, dropped my holdall against the wall and threw my keys onto the hall table. I shouted 'I'm home,' to a cold chill house then felt foolish. Of course my wife, Sarah was not there to welcome me back. She had texted me earlier as I was leaving the airport. 'Won't be home when you return. Going to Annabelle's. Be gone about a week. Sarah.'
We hardly ever saw each other these days. I was busy travelling, installing and servicing computer network systems that our company custom built for our clients and she had carved out a niche for herself chairing God knows how many charities and trusts to fill her life.
Sighing I picked up the post and headed for my sanctuary – my study. I poured a large whiskey and settled down to peruse the post.
Bills, postcard from Mum in Antigua, letters for Sarah, assorted junk mail items and a large, heavy manila envelope addressed to me and marked confidential. This, I guessed, was a report from Bill Evans, a private eye I had hired two months ago to track the movements of Harry my best friend and co director of our jointly owned computer networking company.
Before I left for Hong Kong to visit one of our clients, Babs, Harry's wife had confided in me that she suspected Harry of having an affair. Although, like me he travelled extensively making initial sales calls, she had noticed that he was spending longer away from home and becoming very vague as to his whereabouts when questioned. That and other things had made her suspicious. I scoffed at the idea and tried to put her mind at rest but in the end I had to know the truth and hired Bill.
Rifling through the contents of Bill's report for a mind numbing third time cold rage shook my body. This followed the shock that had nearly stopped my heart. Flinging the contents of the report onto my desk one photograph slid out to continue to torment me. Yes Harry was having an affair – I could live with that although desperately sorry for sweet Babs – but the woman in the photo looking up at Harry with adoration was Sarah. My Sarah.
I paced the room and drank a lot of whiskey ranting at them both for betraying me. The four of us, Harry, Sarah, Babs and I had been inseparable; Harry and I had been roommates at university and dreamed the big dream of pooling our talents and setting up a company. In the years that followed we had made our dream come true. I was the computer, technical and financial whiz kid and had become the Financial and Technical Director whilst Harry, who had a way with people, made a first rate Managing and Sales Director. The company had grown and was now worth millions.
Bubbly vivacious Babs had been my girl but then Harry had found Sarah. From that moment on Babs' charms had paled into insignificance. I vied with Harry to win the affections of the stunning Sarah and eventually won. We married. Two years later Harry, still smarting at being rejected, turned to Babs for comfort. Two years later they married.
Now the tables had turned but I could not see the irony or the poetic justice. All I could see was my loss. This affair was, to my mind, the ultimate betrayal; my judgement of Harry and Sarah was severe. In my pain and sorrow I vowed that they would pay dearly but first I had to break the news to sweet Babs.
Her fury and outrage matched mine. In my whiskey fuelled rage I told her to pack a bag and I would collect her in a couple of hours. I was going to take her to Dover where we could spend a few days hatching our revenge on my motor launch.
Arriving late that evening we drank a lot and reinforced our determination to take them down by inventing wilder and wilder schemes until eventually the alcohol won and we passed out where we sat.
Next morning, hung over and deflated, we started to review the grand revenge we planned the night before: of me stripping the company of its assets, our grand houses and Mercedes'; secreting all company monies into secret accounts abroad and then living the life of riley under assumed identities. Whilst back in England Sarah and Harry would be left broke, homeless and jobless . . . except now it did not seem so satisfying. The punishment did not fit the crime.
Babs handed out the paracetamol and suggested we forget how to deal with the couple for today or at least until we could think more coherently. We spent the day lazing on the launch's mini sundeck reading and listening to music and drinking 'the hair of the dog.' Later in the cool of the evening we strolled into town and ate by candle light. I had forgotten how attractive Babs was or how closely attuned we were in our sense of humour and taste. Once back on the launch it was inevitable; we spent the night together.
As the golden days flew by thoughts of Harry and Sarah became less and less frequent until the only time we thought about them was how soon we could divorce them and marry each other.