Two months before their fortieth wedding anniversary he left. Jill was in shock and found she couldn’t focus on practical details. Her eldest son cancelled all the party arrangements and arranged an appointment with the solicitor.
She refused to attend. The reality of the situation was something she chose to ignore however much her children urged her to protect her own interests. She ignored phone calls from her husband, and flatly declined to discuss the situation with her friends or family. She snubbed the press, and likewise, increasingly frantic communications from the PM’s Office.
It was a frustrating time for all of them but every time they visited their mother, she was pottering around as usual in the garden or walking the dogs. She was not in the slightest bit curious to know where he was or what he was doing. After years of ignoring his various infidelities and petty cruelties she simply carried on as normal. Of course, she was on some level aware that her life would change in the future, but she wanted to face that in her own time, and at her own pace.
Gwen’s arrival changed all that. Sitting in the garden sharing a bottle of wine her oldest friend said. “Jill, he’s gone, but would you want the stupid arrogant lying bastard back?”
Jill acknowledged calmly she most certainly would not, but when Gwen left, her anger grew, exploding into a fearful rage. The years she had shielded him from the press, the sickening hypocrisy of the times she and the children had stood by his side, facing the photographers to save his political career. Late night sittings indeed, did he really think she was so naive? The expenses scandal had been bad enough but walking out to set up home with his latest ambitious young researcher was the final indignity.
The dogs slunk away looking worried, but she called them back, found their leads and took them for a brisk walk through the woods at the back of the house. Totally forgiving, they raced around, tongues hanging out with excitement but kept looking back to check she was still there. She kept thinking about Gwen’s question, her own instinctive response and the future.
In an absolute flurry of frenzied activity in the coming weeks, she changed the locks, instructed her solicitor to instigate divorce proceedings, met with her accountant and discussed the future with her relieved children. She had something to look forward to at last, after so many years of just suffering in silence. She buried all thoughts of the past and felt truly alive and even hopeful, for the first time in years.
Two days before the decree absolute was due, her eldest son phoned. “Mum, there’s been an accident, Dad’s in hospital, he’s asking for you”
Standing beside his hospital bed she looked at him, his eyes were open, he looked shocked and frightened. She took his hand and gripped it tightly. He couldn’t feel it, but his eyes shut with relief.
She visited him in hospital every day. Each time she went to his room, she was expecting to see the woman he had left her for, but it didn’t happen and she ceased to think about it after a while. The media, of course, had a field day; torrid tales of alcohol fuelled sexual gymnastics on concrete stairwells. Gwen was quite right; he really was incredibly stupid, considering his vertigo, advancing age and increasing girth.
At the meeting with the consultant, she listened carefully, but slightly impatiently. She was due at the airport and hadn’t even started packing. She had never been to New York, and she was looking forward to her trip. The dogs were settled at her daughter’s house, so just an evening to decide what to take, and then…..
“You do realise that your husband is a tetraplegic and there is little hope that this is a temporary state considering his injuries from the fall. The paralysis is permanent and we need to face this fact. We need to consider arrangements for helping you to cope with him at home.
He is vulnerable to pressure sores, osteoporosis and fractures, frozen joints, spasticity, respiratory complications and infections, autonomic dysreflexia, deep vein thrombosis, and cardiovascular disease. This can mean a loss or impairment in controlling bowel and bladder, sexual function, digestion, breathing and other autonomic functions. Your husband will……”
She interrupted him, “My ex-husband”, picked up her coat and left the room.
Boadicea's Chariot 
Thank you, Sheona and John. 🙂
Very topical, but very dark. Very, very good.
OZ
Thank you, OZ.
Yes, it is a bit grim, but I don’t blame her! I tried a different ending but it didn’t work out!
Gotta say it, even though off message. I’ve been following the Alan Johnson saga since the story broke. Much as I dislike his party and even his personal politics, I think he has been treated shabbily. He’s done nothing wrong himself, but even so has been forced to surrender his career because his wife bedded the security detail and who is now, and I quote, demanding a divorce plus, presumably, all the bawbies that go with it.
Perhaps it is time for the ground rules of equality to be rebalanced.
OZ
Having followed it too, I agree with you on the Alan Johnson saga, OZ.
Can’t be easy being married to a politician though.
No it wouldn’t!
Thank you, Boadicea, Bearsy and Claire.
I’m pleased you read it and “liked it”. 🙂
Normally it’s the trophy bimbo wife weeping to some chav magazine or newspaper (for a large fee) about her ‘celeb’ husband’s infidelities. This time it’s the other way around without the ‘celeb’ bit, but has Johnson’s feckless wife any personal worth for which sueing. I think not. Man loses again.
OZ
No, I stayed with my first instincts, Boadicea!
Couldn’t cope with the opposite scenario; she would have been a total wimp! 😉
Wooo hoooo!
Thank you, Nym, I think!
OZ my dear, well why do men marry these trophy bimbos?
OK, sex on staircases and etc. 😉 Luckily they only get taken for a ride financially, but in this case…
Dunno, Araminta, but you’re approaching this from the wrong angle. Ask Bernie Ecclestone’s wife why she married the aged dwarf apart from the enourmous size of his ….. wallet.
And why is the seventy-something Eyetie billionaire politician still able to pull the totty. If he weren’t a seventy-something rural Eyetie pig breeder without the benefit of cosmetic surgery, none of the gold-diggers would give him a second glance.
OZ
Well frankly, OZ, yes, but why blame the women?
Surely in the cases you mention, then both parties know exactly what the score is. It seems to be a mutually acceptable arrangement and surely neither party is unaware of this?
Cheers, Toc! 🙂
I think Oz has a bit of green eye. :;)
A very good political thriller, Ara- well done indeed. In fact, my only complaint is that it is too short. There’s so much scope for development in the characters and the misdemeanours of the MP. Maybe you could experiment and expand the story on your own website. Don’t get me wrong, though, I still think it’s a great story.
I know you’re like me in that you don’t really take these competitions seriously. It’s all just a bit of fun at the end of the day whereas writing a piece with 2,000 words is hard going. However, it does give us a forum to be creative and it keeps the place ticking over.
As for the ending- I like it and it works well. It is funny, though, the various choices you can take in a story and change it completely. The sympathetic Gwen could have skeletons in her closet. I’ve got my suspicions about Gwen.
JW, thank you!
Yes, you are absolutely right. I’m not entirely sure I have the skill, patience or time to expand the story, but that is indeed what should be done. I may well have a go. 🙂
Gwen, well yes, I think you are right to be suspicious. I did have ideas about expanding her role in the story. I rather fancied the idea of her being married to the PM, and tasked to break it gently to Jill that her husband had been “cut loose”.
Lots of possibilities, as you say, and so little time.
Must get my thinking cap on as I’m running out of time. (‘Woo hooo ‘ was meant as I like this…)
I gave you the benefit of the doubt, Nym and yes, there is still time. 🙂
Araminta – loved it! In his state he wouldn’t feel a kick in the nuts but it would have been a fine goodbye!
Thank you, CWJ.
Yes, it would, but she had a plane to catch. 😉
Your story reminded me a little of Jake…
Jake was dying.
His wife sat at the bedside.
He looked up and said weakly:
‘I have something I must confess.’
‘There’s no need to,’ his wife replied.
‘No,’ he insisted,
‘I want to die in peace.
I slept with your sister, your best friend,
Her best friend, and your mother!’
‘I know,’ she replied.
‘Now just rest and let the poison work.’
Thank you, CWJ.
Yes, I can quite see why it would have sprung to mind.
Wonderful!