It Meant Nothing

"YOU CHEATING SLUT! YOU WHORE!"

He burst in as she put her arms around my neck and stood on tip toes to kiss me, a wide smile on her face. The door crashed back, and knocked into a small table which sent a vase of flowers and a small pile of mail flying; the vase smashed into a thousand wet pieces with its own forlorn floral tribute scattered around it. The envelopes fluttered down like birds coming to drink at the new little pond. 

She jumped away from me, a look of shock replacing her smile, and we turned to face him. The smell of her perfume lingered in my nose. The envelope in her hand slipped from her fingers to join its fellows on the floor. In her late twenties, she was not beautiful. Definitely pretty brown eyes, stylish short brown hair and a trim little figure but not beautiful. Her black dress clung to her body in all the right places and was short enough to show a pair of shapely legs. I’d thought she was attractive from the moment I first saw her. 

He was taller than me, maybe six feet, heavier set and younger, maybe thirty. His face contorted with rage and turned puce as his volcanic emotions sought escape. A dark grey suit with what looked like a pale silk shirt and red tie suggested a business man of some type; although from the sight and sound of him, he wasn't feeling business like - or civilised. 

"Barry!" she exclaimed, holding her hands up defensively. "You've got it wrong. It meant nothing."

"Don't give me that crap Heather. I know what I saw. I've only been out of the house for half an hour and you're locking lips with this old creep," he said stabbing his finger in my direction. 

I rather resented the description; I didn't think fifty-four was all that old. Discretion is the better part of valour though and I began to edge away, rather hoping there would be an opportunity to slip out. Barry was moving further into the hallway, in full flow now. 

"If I hadn't had to come back for the damn files, you'd probably be on your way to the bedroom by now," he turned his gaze back to me. I'd made it half way to the door. "As for you, arsehole....." 

He lurched towards me and I rushed to escape. I felt him shove me hard in the back propelling me out of the open doorway. Barely managing to keep my balance on the steps, I staggered several paces down the path. Glancing behind me, I saw him turn back into the house and I backed slowly away, relieved he wasn't pursuing me. 

He continued shouting at his wife. I could only hear one side of the argument as he didn't seem to be giving her many opportunities to speak. 

"You faithless bitch! Don't you tell me you love me,” he bellowed, followed by, “What? It's exactly what I think.” And then, “Shut up! I don't want to hear anything else from you.” 

“Are you mentally retarded, you stupid cow? I said I won't listen to your pathetic excuses. Get out! Go on, go and join your wimp of a lover, he obviously didn't want to fight for you."

He reappeared at the door, dragging Heather by her arm, her expression suggested his grip was painful. I was afraid of what he might do to her and decided to linger long enough to try and ensure her safety. 

"Wait there slut, you can take your stuff and you'll never need to come back," he snapped and stomped up the stairs. As soon as he disappeared, she returned to the hall to pick up the envelope she dropped and a shoulder bag, then returned to the path, shaking with silent sobs.

A window opened and a large pink suitcase came flying out to land on the immaculate lawn, followed by armfuls of clothing, then toiletries and make up. Eventually Barry appeared at the window. 

"Go on bitch. Get your crap off my lawn. If there's anything I missed, tell my solicitor."

"Please Barry,” his wife looked more bemused than upset. “I don't want this. Please talk to me, I love you. I'm sorry if I've upset you."

"I've already told you, I don't talk to cheating whores. You'll forgive me if I don't believe that shit about loving me," his face was still flushed with anger. 

Heather had stopped crying now. “I really do love you,” she insisted. 

"I don't love you, harlot,” he snarled.

“I promise you, I'm not having an affair,” she said, shaking her head, making her brown hair fly up, “One kiss – a kiss that meant nothing – doesn’t make me unfaithful." 

He laughed sardonically. “The only reason it was just one kiss is because I caught you before you could go any further.”

"That's not true. If you'd only talk to me you'd see how silly this is," she began to sound irritated. 

His upper lip curled, giving him the appearance of a snarling tiger. "What kind of a mega-wimp do you think I am?” he spat. “There isn't a cat in hell's chance I'd talk to you now. You should have read those stories I tried to show you on the web. A Real Man doesn't put up with any shit from his wife. If she messes about she's out and no excuses. At least I learned that much from those guys; there's nothing to be gained from going soft on a bitch wife. Now go." 

This was becoming surreal, Barry hanging out of the bedroom window, his crimson tie flapping, and Heather on the path looking up; a sort of back to front, black comedy of the Romeo and Juliet balcony scene. 

Heather was getting angry. "Barry, this is your last chance to be reasonable. Get down here now and talk to me. Don’t do something you’ll regret."

"God all bloody mighty…” Barry seemed lost for words. “Are you brain damaged? You're threatening me? And just what do you think I’ll regret? You seem to have forgotten the prenup' we signed. I keep the house and the car, and everything we bought with my salary, 'cos you weren't working. In fact you get nothing. I'm going to tell my solicitor to enforce every clause."

"So you get nothing of mine either," she shouted back at him.

"Big deal. You've got bugger all. You're so stupid I'm well rid of you. Now you and your lover can get lost." 

He slammed the window shut and a few seconds later the front door. Heather began picking up her possessions from the lawn.

"Can I help?" I asked, bending down to pick up an attractive green blouse.

"Thank you," Her voice sounded resigned. She carefully unhooked a sexy black lace bra from a rosebush. 

We gathered up the clothes and toiletries which she put into the case. I offered her a lift; she accepted and sat in the passenger seat whilst I put the case in the back. She took out a small mirror and began repairing her make up. We drove in silence for a few minutes before I spoke again. 

"What will you do now?"

"Go to my mother's,” she sighed. “She'll give me a hard time - she told me not to marry him."

"Will you try and patch it up with Barry?" 

She sighed. "There doesn't seem much point any more. He was always a little bit jealous, and at first it used to be quite sweet, almost endearing. Then he started reading the comments on that web site and actually believing them. I'd credited him with more intelligence but I was wrong,” she smiled for the first time since she kissed me. For a few minutes she was quietly thoughtful then she added with a wry laugh, “Thank God he didn't make me do any of the kinky stuff."

I dropped her at the station. She said she'd be OK as there were regular trains to her home town. Ever the gentleman, I carried her suitcase to the ticket office and she walked beside me, her black stiletto heels clicking on the shiny floor. 

“Thank you,” she said as we parted. “I shall never forget you.” 

After a last kiss on the cheek she turned away and I watched, admiring her trim figure and stocking clad legs as she walked towards the platform. I knew I would probably never meet her again. 

When I got home I recounted the story to my wife who thought it most amusing.

"You might at least show some concern at the risk to my safety,” I said indignantly. “He could have done me serious bodily harm."

"Well you shouldn't let strange women kiss you," she smiled.

"But really, it meant nothing. I bet you'd even kiss a strange man if he'd just given you a cheque for a one and a half million pound lottery win."

- THE END -