Peter steps out of the lift, level one of the car park. He is smiling to himself. He stops in his tracks. Wendy, his wife, is standing by his car and her blouse seems soaked. Peter quizzically looks beyond the stone columns and sees he is correct, it is a sunny day, no rain at all. They have been married for twelve years so Peter can read Wendy’s body language easily enough, she is pissed off.

“Wendy, what are you doing here? Has something happened?”

Wendy slaps him hard in the face.

“You bastard!”

Peter staggers back. Wendy pummels and flails at him with her fists. He grabs her arms.

“Stop, just stop! What the hell is wrong with you?”

Wendy gazes into her husband’s eyes, she is crying.

“I know about her!”

Peter feels the fight drain out of his wife.

“Her who? You are making no sense.”

Wendy frees herself from his grasp.

“Your slut of a secretary!”

“Nadine? She is on holiday in the Algarve.”

“No, she isn’t! She is floating face down in our bath.”

“Have you lost your mind? You have started drinking again, you promised you would stop!”

“Typical love cheat! Blame the wife, it’s always her fault, she wasn’t paying me enough attention so your zipper had to be loosened elsewhere. Exactly how am I to blame if you stick your cock inside another woman?”

“Please tell me this is one of your episodes because you are drunk? You know the term ‘ugly drunk’? That’s you down to a tee!”

Wendy shows Peter her phone. There is a photo on it. Peter retches.

“Oh my God, what have you done?”

“Twelve years. TWELVE! I deserved better than this! How old is she? Half your age? You sad pathetic twat!”

Peter is not listening. He is dialling his phone.

“Hello?! I need an ambulance sent to 46 Forest Green Avenue. Possible drowning in a bath.”

Peter hangs up.

“Wendy, you are ill, you need help…”

“Fuck you! You’re the one that needs help!”

Wendy pulls out a kitchen knife and Peter starts to run…


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