It was the mechanic’s wife who broke the news of his father’s death to him. A sweet, quiet, dutiful girl of eighteen who couldn’t even resemble his mother were she to don her skin like a costume, Alice should have been the perfect partner, but he felt nothing for her. He loved her well enough, the way a man loves a faithful house pet that is always there to fetch his slippers or warm his lap, but in every other way that mattered she left him cold. He knew when he decided to leave the woodland behind him for a time that he would need to find a wife – domesticity would provide the perfect cover for his little hobby, his little obsession. That was what kept him smiling at the prospect of coming home to her doughy, pleasant face every night for the rest of his life. For two years, he had waited patiently for a sign that he should return, and this was it. Alice didn’t protest when he told her they were moving; he was her family now, and he knew best.
It was inevitable that his mother would get the house; for all intents and purposes, it had always been hers, but he fought his brother for the garage. Jack had left it to both of them, hoping they would continue to run it as a family business, but The Mechanic knew John would run it into the ground. Living rent free in the apartment above the garage he had been working in since he left, The Mechanic had managed to save a considerable amount – more than enough to buy his brother out and run the garage the way their father had. John’s business acumen was such that he readily accepted the first offer made to him, and was on his way to Majorca as soon as the cheque cleared.
Seeing his former bachelor nest transformed into a chintz laden cottage for two tugged at his heartstrings just a little; it had almost been the backdrop for what could have been the greatest night of his life, but he would need to dispense with sentimentality if he was ever going to feel that way again. The urge to take things up where he left them was stronger now than ever, and every time it threatened to overwhelm him, he quelled it by taking his manly initiative with his wife. He was her first and only lover, so it didn’t occur to her to question whether or not she should get something out of their encounters, and that was fine with him. She was a vessel made to contain his desires when it was impractical to unload them elsewhere – he didn’t even see her face until it was over.
Once this false life was firmly established, he decided to resume the real one. He didn’t require permission from his wife to leave the house two nights a week, but it would still be prudent to come up with a convincing excuse, should the unthinkable happen and necessitate one.
‘Some old school chums want me to play cards with them every Friday and Saturday night. Keep my dinner warm; I should be home by one.’
It was true that his friends had struck up a regular poker game, but The Mechanic had never been a gambler. He explained his need for the ruse to his best mate in a way that only he could understand.
‘I’ve got this bit on the side, and I need Alice to think I’m coming here.’
The mate, himself a fornicator of biblical proportions, agreed wholeheartedly, and just as he and the other plungers sat at the dinner table to drink lager and smoke cigars, The Mechanic was extending a hand to offer a girl who had sampled one too many ‘cheeky halves’ a lift home. At a quarter past ten, the boys were dealt their cards, and so was the dolly in the yellow dress.
‘Where the bloody hell are we?’
‘I did you a favour, darling, now it’s your turn.’
The dolly rolled her eyes as if this was all part and parcel of being a single girl in the modern age, and took off her dress. She sat back and held out her arms.
‘Go on then.’
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