One Year At A Time - Year 1

ONE YEAR AT A TIME - YEAR 1

January

A quiet New Year, enlivened mid-month by news from Abigail’s school that she’d accidentally and inadvertently almost set fire to the laboratory during a Chemistry assignment. She’s only 14! Not sure whether to be proud or concerned. Authorities understandably not overly impressed. But it’s their fault for providing a wide number of chemicals for her to experiment with and allowing students to undertake research online.

As per, I ticked off the Christmas cards received against my list of those sent. There will be a number of deletions made before the end of the year. I don’t know why I bother to send a card to my sister. She never reciprocates. Ignorant cow.

February

‘Trixie the cat pongs awful’, shouted Reggie (3) to me whilst he was cleaning his teeth after celebrating Pancake Tuesday. He was right about the smell but, having inspected Trixie, I just couldn’t work out where it was coming from. It certainly wasn’t her. I checked very carefully. And before you ask, it wasn’t the pancakes either. Or Reggie, come to think of it.

Returning from a gender-neutral Pilates class a few days later, I noticed Trixie pawing at something on the ground under the bushes near the house. From the subsequent police investigation, it turned out to be part of the body of a neighbour no-one knew had disappeared. The blackened, part-gnawed toes I later found under the spare bed the cat uses as an indoor lair were eventually bagged and given to the authorities. Now we know what caused the odour problems!

No one knows where the rest of the body went though, or how it lay undiscovered for so long. It’s a very quiet estate. I think the foxes must have taken him, bit by bit. Call it their equivalent of McDonald’s, without all that packaging. Life for everyone else quickly returned to normal after this drama. A funeral was arranged for the neighbour. I wasn’t invited. Trixie didn’t appear concerned, but I increased her daily food allowance to compensate.

A ‘For Sale’ sign appeared in the garden of the deceased’s house soon after, confirming to me at least the neighbour may have kept himself to himself, but his relatives kept in touch.

March

My suspicions about Mr. Kenilworth at No. 14 were confirmed when he was arrested for attacking someone who knocked on his door to ask his views on Brexit. His eyebrows were too close to each other in my view. Untrustworthy. Another house likely to be up for sale on the estate soon.

I need to speak to my husband, Trevelyan, about marital responsibilities. Ever since he bought that X-Box I hardly ever see him! I have needs too; needs only he should resolve. If he doesn’t want to resolve them I shall have to take the appropriate steps myself. I’ve not made any decisions yet about what these steps should be. Under consideration are destruction of the X-Box in an ‘accident’, and an affair. He needs to appreciate there are more important things in life than shooting down helicopters and killing armed mercenaries. You’d think he was a teenager again, the amount of screaming and shouting he does whilst playing those stupid games.

April

Someone painted a rude sentence on the back lawn of my house in creosote. It read ‘Gavin is a c*nt’. It was all very annoying as Gavin lives by himself next door. When I told him about it he just laughed. The authorities weren’t interested. The grass will hopefully recover. No doubt it will then be scorched by a summer heatwave. Welcome to climate-change Britain!

Trevelyan’s X-Box fell off the table and got severely damaged. He was apoplectic when he found out. I blamed Trixie. It was easier than telling him the truth, which was I’d thrown it onto the floor in a fit of rage. He got it from one of his colleagues at work, so it wasn’t new and definitely wasn’t insured. After I suggested he would be sleeping in the spare bedroom if he even thought about replacing it, he began to realise the error of his ways. There’s been a brief chat about marital responsibilities. I haven’t pushed the matter too much as he’s still in shock from losing the X-Box. I’ll give him a couple of weeks.

May

The house belonging to the neighbour whose body was partially eaten by Trixie the cat and numerous foxes has been purchased by a Rastafarian family. They moved in towards the end of the month and celebrated by inviting all their new neighbours round for drinks, nibbles and, as it turned out, other stuff. It’s good to be able to widen one’s circle of understanding.

I am not in any way a prejudiced person, but must confess to being vaguely appalled by some of the things I saw and smelt at their open house event. There were weapons hanging from the walls; a glass flask steaming in the corner of the kitchen; raw meat being coated with unusual spices prior to being barbequed. Some of my new neighbours were dancing jerkily to horrible music in the lounge. Fortunately, I was able to bite my tongue.

Trevelyan is, generally speaking, a quiet person unless his X-Box has been destroyed in an accident. I think it’s a good trait in a man. However, by the end of the evening he was sat on the floor in a corner of the lounge, pointing at the ceiling and saying ‘the saucers are coming, the saucers are coming!’

Until that night he hadn’t smoked for 21 years, yet when he was offered something the new neighbours referred to as a ‘toot’, Trev accepted, far too readily in my opinion. My husband has always had an awful laugh. It’s not one of his finer features. Whatever the ‘toot’ contained seemed to exacerbate this, raising the volume substantially. And why was that flask in the kitchen proving so popular?

I eventually left him to it. He staggered in at 5am, complaining about having a headache and wearing only one shoe. His trousers were unfastened as well. At least he didn’t demand sex.

 

June

The police were very good when I told them Abigail had run off to join the circus. And just before her exams too! I blame the Greatest Showman.

The circus has now left the country. The police had to go public with the information they had as it was getting them nowhere. You may have seen her picture on the news. Interpol were allegedly involved. It hasn’t proved effective so far. Everyone seemed confident she would be quickly found due to the unusual home-made tattoos on her face. I don’t know why I believed them.

I’ve received plenty of text messages from her since the disappearance, none of them at all apologetic, but she’s still missing. The police believe she’s somewhere in Central Europe. I’m not so sure. The texts are standard, not WhatsApp.

I’ve not received the amount of support I expected from my family. My parents are dead, but I have a brother and a sister. Neither has got in touch to sympathise so far. Whilst this was to be expected from the sister, it’s very unexpected from the brother. He probably doesn’t know what has happened as he’s in the Antarctic checking how global warming is affecting the ice cap. As for Trevelyan, if his way of coping is to spend more time at No.14, then he’s coping well. He’s hardly ever at home these days.

July

The same policeman who helped when Abigail ran away has arrested Trevelyan for possession of cannabis with intent to supply. Hundreds of small wraps of the stuff were found in his car following an anonymous tip-off. I had been saying for a while he’d been spending far too much time with the new neighbours at No.14. No good would come of it. Once again I’ve been proved right. He should have concentrated on the bloody X-Box or his marital responsibilities.

Thank God for the Crimestoppers Anonymous hotline.

Trev was not happy, but at least it did stop him from making that terrible laugh. His solicitor was worried the sentence might be custodial even though it was a first offence. The government are keen to make examples of people who get caught. It turned out he was right. Which makes a change.

Abigail hasn’t returned. The tone of her text messages remains upbeat, so I’m confident she’s safe. Vinod and family at No.14 now seem to be avoiding me for some reason. Anyone would think I’ve offended them in some way. I can only surmise they were fond of Trevelyan’s awful braying laugh. It’s either that or his breath-taking gullibility.

August

Trev’s case was fast-tracked. He got 9 months. His defence that the drugs were for personal recreational use was not accepted, primarily as I gave evidence he didn’t smoke or take drugs. Anyway, the quantity of wraps in his possession when he got caught was ridiculous. The prosecution speculated Trev was a pawn in a bigger game. He was the conduit; someone else obtained the drugs. Who this person is has not been established yet. I have my suspicions.

The house has been quiet without Trevelyan and Abigail living there. There have been a number of text messages from Abigail, but they are relentlessly upbeat, telling me I shouldn’t worry because she’s safe and well. I can’t contact her to tell her everything at home is not so peachy now her Dad’s stupidity has cost him his freedom.

Reggie and I have independently become withdrawn and mildly depressed. In Reggie’s case it’s because his sister and Daddy have gone away without even saying goodbye to him. With me, it’s because the fortnight in St Lucia has had to be cancelled. I lay in my bed one night, shortly after Trevelyan was incarcerated at HMP Longrigg, and calculated it has been 222 days since I last made love with anyone; 275 days since that person had been Trevelyan. This revelation stunned me. Eventually, I turned off the Hitachi Wand and decided action needed to be taken.

I worry about Reggie. Having gone upstairs to check he was fast asleep one evening I found him on the floor in his bedroom playing with some of the paraphernalia I kept after stopping work to bring up the kids. He’d stolen them from a drawer in my bedroom and had no idea what they were. The colours were lurid and the shapes strange. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely so I didn’t tell him off for stealing things. I did retrieve the items later and placed them in a different, locked, cupboard.

September

Trevelyan phoned from HMP Longrigg to say that when he got out he would not be returning home and to expect divorce papers. I have to admit I’m not exactly upset by this news. I certainly won’t miss that awful laugh.

Still nothing about Abigail. How many travelling circuses are there in Europe at the moment? Not many in my view, so the attempts being made by police forces across that continent to locate and return my daughter would not appear to be particularly strenuous.

If I could find someone to write to and complain, I would do it instantly. The obvious person would be my MP, but I’d sooner stick pins in my eyes than ask that woman for help. She’s an arrogant bitch who only does anything to help constituents if there’s something in it for her; a photo-opportunity or good publicity. How do I know this to be true? She’s my sister!

Reggie seems better, probably as he is now 4 and has started at Nursery and discovered there are children of his age who are normal. Unlike those on the estate where he lives, who give feral a bad name.

Trixie is behaving and remains smell-free. I am starting to consider my options given I need a job and now have a certain amount of free time available each day. But what to do?

October

I discovered Trixie dead in the front garden with an arrow through her neck. Just like in a sick comedy there was a note attached to the arrow. It said: -

‘Gavin – you still ain’t taking me serious bro. Pay the money or you is next. Get the point?’

My first thought was… death by someone with poor grammar and a strange sense of humour. What an awful waste of a life. And also an education.

I attempted to console Reggie, who had been trying to take pictures of the dead cat with his mobile phone. Fortunately, he seemed unconcerned, saying what happened reminded him of an Itchy and Scratchy caper from a Simpsons cartoon he’d seen a few days ago - no doubt Trixie would be back to normal later. Anyway, Nursery was calling!

Gavin clearly knew more than he was letting on judging by the colour that drained from his face when I told him about Trixie, but he wasn’t prepared to elaborate. I buried the cat in the compost and started thinking.

When I was bringing in the bin a few days ago, I saw Vinod from No. 14. He tried to ignore me, but I was having none of it. “Why haven’t you spoken to me ever since Trevelyan was arrested?” I asked as I approached him.

It was clear Vinod was uncomfortable, but I wasn’t in any mood to give him an easy ride. As he tried to move away, I stepped across his path. “Could it have something to do with the fact you supplied him with the drugs the police found in the back of his vehicle?”

That got his attention properly. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said. “You must be crazy if you think I would ever do such a thing.”

“You hardly know me,” I replied, coolly. “If you did, you would understand that when I want to be, I can be very controlling. Trevelyan understood, and was very careful not to cross certain boundaries we had in our relationship. One of those involved drugs. Trevelyan was a user before I met him, but got clean. I knew about it and told him if he ever relapsed I would take appropriate action. He has been very good throughout our marriage, but has now relapsed with your help. I took appropriate action.”

“You contacted the police?” Vinod stood there, trying to work out what to do next.

“Trevelyan knew the score. He has only himself to blame.”

“Why have you said nothing to the police about me?” Vinod queried.

“So you are admitting it was you who gave him the wraps. Not that I needed to be a rocket scientist to work it out, of course. I didn’t tell the police because I didn’t want to. It’s nice to have a little extra ammunition should I need a favour one day. You deal drugs, so you know the world can be a dangerous place, especially for single mothers like me. I have no intention of telling anyone about our conversation today. At the same time, I need you to be aware my position may change depending on how the world treats me over the next few months or so.”

Vinod looked at me carefully. “You want protection?” he asked.

“Yes, Vinod, of a sort. I want your confirmation that if something or somebody tries to cause problems for me you will arrange for the matter to be resolved in my favour. In return for my ongoing silence about your activities you will act as a kind of knight in shining armour, ready to come to the aid of a damsel in distress. Will you do this?”

“Do I have a choice?” he replied.

“Yes, you do. You can agree or expect a visit from the constabulary. I was happy to drop Trevelyan in the shit. Doing the same to you would be even less concerning, believe me. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes, we do,” Vinod said. “Trev told me you could be a bit of a ball-breaker, but I didn’t believe him. Until now, anyway.” He walked off.

November

Gavin only used 5 of the rooms in the detached house next door - 1 bedroom, the en-suite, a downstairs office, the kitchen and the lounge. The other rooms were covered in dust. Clearly, fresh air was something that had rarely ventured there. I know this because after he left at great speed a few days ago he sent an agency person to bag up his things, and this person had been told I kept a spare key and the alarm code. I offered to help them when they rang my doorbell.

The house speedily went up for sale with a strap-line ‘quick sale needed so no reasonable offer refused’ printed across the board in the garden. Right Move is such an accessible site for the enquiring mind. I’ve no idea how they managed to get such good pictures of the house, but they certainly showed the place off very well. No dust was visible.

I did speak briefly to the estate agent involved. The agency was local, and they’d handled the sale of our house when Trev and I bought it many years ago. It was a point I made to the young man as we bumped into each other one morning as I was leaving for another Pilates class. He smiled, wearily I thought, no doubt having heard that line so many times before from other clients. I apologised for being so predictable with my comment, before saying if he needed anything looking after at Gavin’s house just say the word. Then I checked my watch to discover I was running late.

“Sorry, love, I’ve got to go. Pilates classes wait for no one, especially those run by mad Sheila. Drop a note through the door if I can help at all.”

As I drove away I started thinking about Gavin’s place. The vague target price worried me. It was possible other families not so familiar with the ways of the estate may be tempted to make an offer. Look at the young couple who bought Mr Kenilworth’s place - they have been there 3 months now and still haven’t introduced themselves. That’s ignorant behaviour in my book. The estate needs respectable people rather than common riff-raff.

The cause of Gavin’s rapid departure was the unexpected explosion of his lounge window in the middle of the night whilst he was asleep in bed. The noise woke all the neighbours on the small estate up. Police attended but were unable to provide any explanation as all the glass had shattered into thousands of pieces. One of the neighbours said she thought she heard a popping noise immediately before the window disintegrated. Was it a gun?

This person was only partially wrong; even though other neighbours were quick to point out we don’t live in the Wild West. Actually, it was an air rifle. Trev’s spring-powered, low recoil air rifle to be precise, that I’d found whilst cleaning out the garage a few days earlier. It does make a lovely popping noise when used, and the results were spectacular though I say so myself. Much better than I expected, with an almost immediate result.

When I returned from my hour of torture at Sheila’s hands, there was a note on the doormat. The young estate agent thanked me for my offer and said he would be in touch if something came up. Three days later, something did. We were kissing at the time, so it was not totally unexpected. We both enjoyed the experience immensely and decided to do it again. My needs are being attended to. Finally!

December

Generally, it’s been very quiet without my husband, daughter, and now Gavin. Not unpleasant though, and there have been some exciting moments. I have belatedly received an email from my brother in which he apologised for not getting in touch earlier. He’d only just heard about Abigail. He attached some photos of penguins for Reggie to look at. Still nothing from my sister; but this is hardly earth-shattering news.

I have offered to get Reggie a new cat. He said he would prefer an I-phone. Or a penguin. He’s only just 4. I blame TV advertising, especially at this time of the year.

The young estate agent’s name is Liam. As ‘friends with benefits’ arrangements go, it’s proved to be remarkably entertaining, but it’s taking a toll on me. I wish I had his energy, but I certainly appreciate being his focus when he decides to expend some of it. He’s wearing me out! It’s in a good way, of course, but I’m not sure I can carry on much longer. Trev and I had our moments in the past, but Liam is on a different level. I’ve got muscles aching in places I never appreciated muscles were situated. Liam is definitely more fun in bed than Trev ever was. The recently deceased Trixie was more fun there than Trev has been lately.

I’m 20 years older than Liam. When we’ve finished making love in one of the bedrooms in Gavin’s place I feel 50 years older. I can hardly move and I’m generally out of breath. That’s not to say I haven’t enjoyed it all – I have, but there are limits. Sex with Liam makes a Pilates class with mad Sheila seem like a walk in the park. He seems to enjoy it though.

It’s a new world now, and the changes have crept up on me without me realising. Long-term relationships still happen, but short-term sexual alliances are far more common now than they were when I was Liam’s age. In those days, you were normally in a relationship before you had sex. Nowadays, it’s something that happens between people who’ve met for the first time that evening. I’m not sure it’s necessarily such a good thing. Whatever happened to romance?

In the space of two weeks I’ve oscillated between the excitement of rediscovering the joys of fucking and looking forward to doing nothing but watch TV with a glass of wine. Sad to say, but on balance I think that because of the age difference I’m going to have to give Liam up. It’s either that or a life of aches, pains and strange sexual positions no woman of my age should have to endure.

I told Liam just before Christmas. We were recovering after another spectacular lovemaking session. I saw no reason to tell him beforehand.  He wasn’t at all upset and thanked me for my honesty. It was never anything more than a bit of fun for both of us. We both knew that at the start. We’ve agreed to keep in touch and if we both have availability and there’s a place nearby his company are selling, then maybe ….

Trevelyan is now out of prison, having served one-third of his sentence and therefore becoming eligible for parole. He seems to be living locally, according to the divorce papers I have received from his solicitors. I’m unfamiliar with the precise location, and in truth unconcerned too. Where he’s got the money from to rent a property at all and appoint a solicitor to represent him is of more interest to me.

Apparently my behaviour leading up to and after his arrest was unreasonable. Trevelyan will need reminding about a few things. He’ll be receiving copies of the incriminating photos and interesting legal documents in the New Year to jog his memory.

He’s looking for 50% of the value of the assets and free access to Reggie and Abigail, wherever she is. I have no problem with the latter (the kids living permanently with him would be acceptable), but he can whistle for the former. I love a challenge.

Despite the protection I have arranged with Vinod, it strikes me how vulnerable I am now I’m effectively a single mother living in a detached property in a better part of town (even if some of the new arrivals on the estate need to appreciate this aspect a little better). With this in mind, I am pleased to report I have finalised a new job. It involves working both at home and elsewhere at hours to suit my maternal responsibilities.

Reggie’s theft of stuff from my bedroom in August inadvertently galvanised me into action.  I’d forgotten I had the bright pink anal plug and lime green prostate massager he was playing with until then. It’s probably a good job he didn’t discover the cock rings. That would have been difficult to explain away. I have decided to go back to being a Dominatrix, something I was very good at before starting a family intervened. Breaking up with Liam was probably for the best, given I intend to put body and soul into making the revived career work. My clients will hopefully be the ones with aches and pains, and they will be paying handsomely for the privilege.

The internet is so much better for this type of thing now, and the money will be very useful. It’s much easier to organise now than it was before. People availing themselves are unlikely to talk about what they get up to and my discretion is assured. It’s how I met Trev in the first place. We even rigged up some rooms in the cellar to cater for his needs in this area, so there’s a purpose-built ‘office’ I can use!

Being self-employed is definitely the way forwards. No-one will need to know about the secret cameras unless they step out of line.