Sheila

Sheila

“I am so bored!!” Sheila moaned. She took a huge swallow from her wine glass emptying it.  She waved it at the barman, “Refill please.” He brought the bottle over and topped up her glass.

“What about you?” The waiter said looking at her companion.

“I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself.”

Sheila tapped her platinum credit card on the reader. “He’s driving me mad, Janey. Married three years and already he’s turned into his dad.” She hiccuped. “Doesn’t want to go out, doesn’t want to dance, doesn’t want to see our friends, holidays in Marbella for fuck sake. D’you know what he suggested last night as an outing? The fucking RAF museum in Duxford!”

She was well on the way to being drunk. The barman strolled over, “Ma’am, could you keep your voice down please! And moderate your language.”

“Oh, fuck off!” She gulped the wine down, “Waste not want not.” She said and slid unsteadily from the bar stool. Janey grabbed her elbow to save her from falling.

“Come on let’s get you home.” she said.

Sheila struggled into her Burberry trench coat while Janey called an Uber. She guided Sheila towards the door, “Cab will be here in five, let’s get a breath of air, clear your head a bit.”

At the door Sheila pulled free from her friend and turned, she blew a loud raspberry and gave the barman the finger. She tossed her long blonde hair back and struggling to stay upright in her high heels tottered out of the wine bar and into the street.

Sheila leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder and grizzled and moaned all the way back to her Notting Hill main door flat. The lights were off. Janey waited until she was sure Sheila was through the door before telling the cabbie to take her home.

“Your friend all right?” the cabbie asked in heavily accented English.

The “Who the fuck cares.” reply killed any hope of further conversation.

Dawn didn’t so much break, as crash in through the living room window and smack her in the face, burning through her eyelids. She was sprawled on the couch. Jonathan, her husband, had pulled back the curtains. He said nothing, he was already dressed for work and left the room. She heard the front door slam, groaned and pulled a cushion over her face.

He was fast asleep when had she got home the previous evening, at least she thinks he was and she couldn’t remember if she had tried to waken him. Sheila rolled off the couch, her head complaining at the movement and staggered through to the bathroom.

The sight in the mirror was not an edifying one. Her hair was tangled, her make up smeared across her face and somewhere she had lost a false eyelash. She giggled reminded of Alex in A Clockwork Orange sending a shock-wave of pain through her head. She searched the cabinet above the sink for pain killers, swallowed two paracetamols with a large glass of water and brushed her teeth.

After a long hot shower, she stood in front of the full length mirror in her dressing room. The hair was long, blonde and in good condition, her face though, was still rather puffy under the glass green slightly bloodshot eyes. She dropped her towel, still pretty good she thought, stomach flat, waist defined, she turned to the side, buttocks firm and breasts full and undrooped. So, why did he not want to have sex with her anymore? It had been months.

Before, and for a while after they had got married, they went at it like rabbits, nothing especially exotic, but good, frequent and satisfying. After about a year or so that began to tail off, he blamed overwork.  And more recently nothing, he would just fall asleep without even saying goodnight, whether she was in the bed or not.

Maybe he’s having an affair, she thought, but then no! Who with? All he seemed to do was work, eat and sleep. She had visited his office in the City a couple of times and all the women were dowdy, no competition there. He had enjoyed a few nights out with the ‘lads’ now and then, but other than that she thought there was no opportunity for him to pursue anything illicit.

She put it to the back of her mind and got dressed. Her favourite Coco de Mer lingerie, a bright red Armani dress which accentuated her narrow waist and long tanned legs and red soled Louboutin shoes. She felt ready to face the world. If not her husband.

They had met and Cambridge, he was on his way to a first and she was dithering in second year not sure if she had chosen the right course. The end of the examinations party was wild and very drunken and she woke up in his room in a modern block of student accommodation of Wolfson College.

He was in the shower and she joined him to continue their activities of the previous night. And the rest as they say is history. He got his first and a ridiculously highly paid job in the city. She didn’t complete her degree and moved in with him. They bought the flat in Notting Hill, got married in the Caribbean in a small but very exclusive resort and settled down to enjoy life and his money.

She put the finishing touches to her makeup and called a cab, then called her best friend Janey. She first apologised for her antics of the previous evening and they agreed to meet for lunch. “La Gavroche, my treat” said Sheila. “one thirty.”

“La Gavroche?” it was clear Janey had her doubts.

“It’ll be fun.” Sheila encouraged.

“That’s not the word I would use, but okay then. Only one bottle of wine though, I’ve got work to do!”

“That’s settled then, see you there.”

The cab dropped her a Selfridges where she had a desultory browse, then she nipped into Seymour’s for a cocktail pick me up before walking down to the restaurant to meet Janey.

She and Janey had been friends as she would say, ‘since like forever’. They had both been boarders at The Princess Helena College in Hitchin. Not the top notch but good enough to get them both into Cambridge where Janey got a two one in fine arts. Janey now ran a small gallery in Knightsbridge which gave her plenty of time to indulge her many other passions. Though indulging her friend was becoming more of a chore than a pleasure.

Janey arrived at the restaurant before her friend. Sheila had booked a table in the middle of the room, all the better to be admired from Janey thought, typical. She took a seat at the table with its gleaming white cloth and ordered a bottle of Pinot Blanc. While she was waiting, she perused the menu.

Sheila arrived her customary fifteen minutes late, she glided between the tables, gently swaying her hips, fully aware that every man in the place had their eyes on her. ‘Still got it’ she thought with a small smile and took her seat.

Janey poured her some wine and Sheila took a sip being careful not to smudge her lipstick of course.

“You seem to have recovered easily enough.”

“Benefit of a private education, Janey. Now let’s order I’m starved.”

As usual the conversation over the meal was all about her. Sheila’s life her doings or today the lack of things done or things to do. Sheila huffed and complained. She had everything she wanted and nothing satisfied.

“It’s like an itch I can’t scratch, just out of reach. And him, my husband is no use at all, not even as a back scratcher.”

Janey was less than sympathetic, she just let her rabbit on. Janey sipped at her wine and a glass of water while Sheila drank most of the wine, barely appreciating its quality. The same with the food, Sheila barely tasted the exquisite stone bass and pastilla and was impatient for her sweet.

“Five stars for service? I don’t think so!”

When the waiter appeared, “I’ll just have a coffee, thanks” said Janey.

Sheila huffed, “The raspberries for me, and a cognac.”

“Haven’t you had enough?”

“No!” Said Sheila then she giggled, “I have really, but just one more.”

Sheila finally got home around 6pm laden with shopping her head clearing, but the lunch with Janey had given her an idea. Janey had said all she needed was a good shag, that would sort her out. So, she laid her plans. He was due in around 7:30, she would order in from the local bistro, the Italian he liked, get a good bottle of Barolo, dress up for him. She would seduce him, like she used to before they were married.

The text arrived too late for her to cancel the dinner order. She let the meal congeal on the table, drank the Barolo and cried herself to sleep on the couch.

*

“How close is she, Jonathan? I’m getting worried, if I have to spend another lunch time with her, I think I’ll kill her myself.”

“Oh Janey, just be patient, she’ll be gone soon enough. Then we can be together.”

“Why not just divorce her?”

“We’ve been through all this. I don’t want to lose the house. You know what will happen she’ll get the money and the house, and I’ll end up paying the mortgage. No, it has to be her fault we continue with the plan. I need to be the injured party. She needs to be blamed, the guilty one.”

“Or we could just kill her, after all she is insured.”

“Don’t joke about that!”

She laughed, “How do you know I’m joking?” she replied not quite lightheartedly enough.

“You can be pretty scary can’t you!” he smiled.

“Oh yes!” she said pulling him close then pushing him back onto the bed.  “Let me show just how much.”

*

Sheila woke early the next morning; he hadn’t come home. Her hangover was minor and after a quick shower and an espresso she felt she could face the world again. A touch of make up and dressed in jeans, trainers and a Calvin Klein hoodie she went out.

The Uber dropped her around the corner from Jonathan’s office. She knew she was there before his usual arrival time. There was a coffee shop opposite the entrance. She settled in near the window to wait.

Tucked away in a corner she could watch the entrance to the gleaming glass and steel tower that contained his office. His colleagues and others were arriving, some by taxi, some being dropped off and a few on expensive looking bicycles. They were all relatively young, mainly male and well groomed, just like Jonathan, they could have been clones for all the individuality she could see. Some popped into the coffee shop for takeout, she pulled the hood tight to make sure she wouldn’t be spotted.

She hung around for nearly an hour and was about to leave when she recognised a car pulling up outside the building.

“Bastard! Bitch!” She knew that car, saw Jonathan give the driver a long kiss before diving out though the recently started rain into the building. Janey, her best pal waved him off then drove away. She briefly considered going up and confronting him directly. But no, that was too easy, she wanted blood.

She went home to plan and by the evening she was ready. The flat was pristine and wine opened, the sweet smell of fresh flowers and home cooking pervaded the atmosphere. She was simply dressed, a low cut silk blouse and long split skirt which showed off her tanned legs and she had kept her makeup subtle but alluring.

He bustled in, late as usual, “God, I’m knackered what a fuckin’ day.” Jonathan dumped his briefcase and pecked her on the cheek.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Pulled an all nighter, bloody Japan in melt down. Australian banks pullin’ loans then, would you believe it! Mark dropped the ball. Ten million down the swany in thirty seconds. Idiot.” He stripped off his jacket and tie.

“I’m going for a shower.” He stomped through to the bedroom stripped and went into the the en-suite shower.

She could have been invisible for all the notice he took of her, she clenched her fists in frustration the sharp nails digging into her palms. She heard the pump starting up in the shower. That’s it, she thought I have been humiliated by him for the last time. In the kitchen she pulled the Messermeister chef’s knife from the block.

Sheila stripped her clothes and peeked into the en-suite, he was standing with her back to her in the big walk-in shower soaping his hair and whistling. She crept quietly in behind him and slipped her left hand around his hips and fondled his testicles. He leant his head back as if this was his due, he could feel her breasts pressing against him. She moved her hand up to his swelling penis and gently pulled. He took a deep breath, “Hmmm, that’s nice.”

She rubbed her breasts against his back. The knife slipped in easily just below his rib cage. She twisted it pulled it out and stabbed again. Driven by her anger the knife passed easily between his ribs. He screamed and fell to the ground. She stood over him and plunged the knife into his throat, once, twice, three times.

Sheila watched him thrash around until he died, the water washing his blood away taking all her troubles with it. She put her hand to her mouth, giggled and dropped the knife, she was suddenly free!

Now for the bitch!

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