Home to the Missus

by

Ztan Zmith

 

It had been a fantastic start to the day.

Eric flushed with pleasure as he recalled just how perfect it had been.   

He’d met Tommy at lunchtime.   They’d had a swift half, but, instead of going on to the betting shop for the customary fiver on the nose, they’d actually gone down to the Race Track in time for the two thirty.

Eric had placed a bet on Lucky Dog and it had romped home at 5 to 1.   In the next race he predicted the 3 to 1 winner and so it went on all afternoon.  He just couldn’t loose!    Tommy, however, wasn’t so lucky, but Eric was coining it.   Nothing like winning on the horses to make a guy feel good.     Talk about finally snatching Victory out of the jaws of defeat!   The Bookies had had their money’s worth over the last few years and now it was his turn.      

It was getting on a bit when they arrived back in town, but, being weighed down with all that lovely cash, Eric decided to treat them both to a curry.

Curry over but, feeling just a little bit unsteady, Eric clung to his best mate and Tommy clung to Eric.    But they were both all right.   Never felt better.

In the town square there was plenty of light and colour and lots of noise and excitement. .   The annual charter fair was in full swing.  

“Come on, mate,” urged Eric outside one of the tented stalls.   “I’ve always been a pretty good shot with a rifle.   Perhaps I can win something for the Missus and young Sandra.   That’ll keep ‘em sweet.”

Leaving the Market Place and some gut churning fairground rides behind them, the two friends wandered into the Dragon for a pint or two and then, afterwards, called in at the chippy for a bag of mixed and a hot meat pie each.    In no time at all it seemed, they had to be thinking of getting home to face the music – and the Missus!

But it had been a great day, Eric thought as he watched Tommy stagger off to catch his last bus home.   And it felt so good.    Wasn’t he Eric the Victorious, the punter who could beat the system?   And he still had a few quid left in his pocket.  

Now he had to get home without waking the Missus and young Sandra who’d be fast asleep in their beds.   With a bit of luck he could sneak home, creep into bed and no-one would be any the wiser.  

 It must have been getting on for midnight when, hands full, he struggled up the stone steps to his own front door.   As well as an overcoat and a huge box, he was also carrying an enormous Teddy Bear.

He’d won the giant bear, which was at least five feet tall, at the fair and it was a present for young Sandra.     It was wrapped in see-through polythene and was tied at the neck with a broad blue ribbon.   But, now he was beginning to wish that he had never won the thing in the first place.    It had given him nothing but trouble all the way home and it was preventing him from reaching into his jacket for the keys to his flat.  The more he struggled, the more his pocket swung out of reach!   Eric sighed in desperation.   Now he would have to put everything down.

The big box was laid on the stone step with the overcoat folded neatly on the top.   Then, balancing the teddy carefully between himself and the wall, Eric’s hands were finally free.   Now for the wretched keys.

They weren’t there!   Search as he might, he couldn’t find them. 

He checked his jacket pockets again, slowly and methodically at first and then more frantically as he panicked.    
    He’d lost them!
       His brown hair fell damply across his forehead and red patches of frustration showed on his face.   Where were the damn things?   He had them earlier

Think, Eric told himself.  Think, but cool it, man.   

When the taxi had swung into the housing estate, he clearly remembered noticing that all the buildings looked much the same – street after street of identical houses and flats.    He’d got his keys then.   At the time he was hot and uncomfortable and the keys were digging into him.   He’d taken his overcoat off…   And now he remembered where the keys were.

Dropping to his knees onto the hard, cold doorstep, Eric lifted the overcoat and could already hear the keys jingling.    He smiled, puffing out his breath with relief.   Great!

            He scrambled to his feet and inserted the key into the lock.   It wouldn’t turn!     Now what?     He tried forcing it until the metal began to bend, but still the key wouldn’t turn!

Shaking his head in disbelief, he turned the handle and pushed gently.    The door swung open smoothly and easily

“Well, I’ll be...” Eric spluttered.  “It wasn’t even locked.   What the devil’s going on?”

Something was very wrong and his flesh began to creep.   Picking up his things, he quietly entered the flat and began to climb the stairs leading to the living area on the first floor.

It was pitch dark here and he wished now that he had switched the light on at the foot of the stairs, but ladened as he was he would have had to put everything down again.
       He was also becoming very alarmed.   His Missus never left the door unlocked.   Someone must have broken in.   Whoever it was might have murdered them all in their beds and could still be there!

Breathing heavily, Eric reached the top of the stairs.   Piling his things into a corner of the landing he took a heavy walking stick from the hallstand.   Now for it.   He was ready for anything.

Taking a deep breath he cautiously opened the door in front of him that divided the hall from the rest of the flat.   The passageway, dimly lit by a street lamp shining through a window, was completely empty.

He crept over to the kitchen and gently slid open the door - there was nothing there but shadows.     He tried each door off the hall in turn, the bedrooms, the toilet and the bathroom.   Nothing!   No one there.

Only one door remained now - the door to the lounge.    Eric’s mouth went dry and clutching the walking stick more firmly he raised it shoulder high.     At first he stood with his ear to the door listening, but here wasn’t a sound.   He could however see a strip of light shining under the door.   There was someone there all right!    Gently Eric turned the handle with his free hand.

            As the door swung open Eric saw the unfamiliar furniture in the room and an old man’s startled upturned face.

“What the devil are you doing in my flat?” demanded Mr Green, Eric’s next-door neighbour.

As Eric bundled himself and his things back out into the street, Mr Green’s door slammed behind him and high above him a bedroom window opened.    No way was he going to slip into bed unobserved tonight and he cringed as he heard a voice calling down to him.

“Is that you, Eric?” came the strident tones of his Missus.  “What’s the matter?” 

This was going to take some explaining.

.

 

ends