This is the twenty-third part of a fiction serial, in 760 words.
My thanks to Sue Judd for the use of her photo. https://suejudd.com/

The man from the garage told me that the tyres on my car had been let down without being damaged. They put air in them and returned the car to work for me. There was still going to be a hefty bill for the low-loader though, charged to the company account. If Gregg was trying to get me to notice him, he was doing a good job, as well as making me very angry with him.

That Friday, we held the very last of our auctions for the items from the Hall. It was common knowledge that work was starting on the Country Park the first of next month, and the builders planning to convert the place into luxury flats had already screened off the building and the land that would be used for the golf course. Perhaps because it was the last sale interest was high, and it did much better than we had expected. After sandwiches and coffee at work before we closed up, I was looking forward to getting home and relaxing.

On my driveway, I locked the car and dropped the keys. As I bent down to pick them up, a hand grabbed my head from behind, and pushed it into the side of the car with great force. Before I could scream or do anything, it happened again.

Three more times.

Sitting on the gravel with blood streaming from my nose and tears rolling down my cheeks, I managed to find the keys and get into the house in a half-crawl. I reached the phone and dialled 999 for the police, telling them I had been attacked, and was bleeding. Then I rang Norma, who said she would be right over.

For the rest of that evening, I felt I was in a dream. The ambulance arrived ten minutes before the police car, and they patched me up, suggesting I go to hospital. When the police came, I blurted out that my estranged husband had attacked me, and gave them his name and a description. I didn’t know his address of course, but told them he was living in Gloucester, and might be driving an old battered Fiat. When Norma arrived, I sent the ambulance away, telling them if I needed the hospital, Norma would take me.

Norma’s face was like stone. “This time, you are going to prosectute. Did he say anything? Did you see him leave? What was he wearing?” She fired questions at me so fast I didn’t have time to answer one before the next one was asked. Eventually, I just broke down in tears and said nothing. It was a good hour before I could make sense and explain to Norma that I hadn’t seen who attacked me as it had happened so quickly and nothing had been said. She helped me get properly washed and cleaned up, shaking her head at how swollen my nose was. But despite her suggesting I should, I didn’t want to go to hospital. The police had said they would try to find Gregg and let me know what happens next.

It was almost midnight when someone from the police rang. They had found Gregg, which implied they must have had dealings with him at the new address. Trouble was, he had a cast iron alibi, backed up by two men who also rented rooms in the house. They all told the police that they had been drinking in Gregg’s room since just after six, and none of them had left Gloucester. The officers confirmed that all three men were very drunk. One of them was also the registered owner of a 1971 Fiat.

As I had not seen my attacker, and Gregg had his solid alibi, it was decided not to arrest him. The woman on the phone was sympathetic, but also realistic. “He would never be charged, Mrs White. It’s your word against his, and he has witnesses, which you sadly don’t. Are you even certain it was him? To be honest, it could have been anybody”.

When I told Norma what the police had said, she nodded. “Just as I suspected. Even if you had lied and said you had seen him attack you, that alibi would have meant no charges. But this has got to stop, it really has”. I was crying again, and told her I didn’t think it would ever end. She put her arm around me, and replied in a measured tone.

“Leave it to me, I have an idea”.

This is the twenty-second part of a fiction serial, in 775 words.
My thanks to Sue Judd for the use of her photo. https://suejudd.com/

I could smell the alcohol on him even as he approached me from behind. Instinctively, I got into the driver’s seat and locked the door from the inside. Gregg pressed his palms against the window, leaning forward and shouting.

“Just talk to me, I only want to talk! I’ve got a job, starting next Monday. It’s in a warehouse in Gloucester, good money”.

Without replying, I turned the key and started the car. He walked round to the front of it and folded his arms, almost daring me to run over him. Of course, he had forgotten that only the house where I had been was at the end of that lane, and I had to reverse out. Reversing as fast as I safely could, it took him a few moments to realise, and then he started to chase the car. But he had left it too late, and I was able to swing out onto the village main street before he caught up. As I drove away at speed, I noticed an old battered Fiat haphazardly parked at the junction.

My heart was racing as I headed for home. He must have borrowed that Fiat from someone and followed me, but I hadn’t noticed it on the way there. Why would I? He was banned from driving, and had no car. The last thing I had been worried about was Gregg following me.

With the chance that he would drive to the house, I went to Norma’s instead. Fortunately there were no police cars around, as I was driving well over the speed limit all the way. I told Norma what had happened, and she calmed me down with a cup of strong tea.

“He is taking chances to get to you now, Alicia. Driving a car when he is banned and has been drinking, he would get in real trouble for that if he gets stopped. You are going to have to seriously consider reporting him to the police, or at the very least see your solicitor and get an injunction against Gregg to prevent him from harassing you”.

She was talking sense as always, but I really didn’t want it to go that far. If he had a new job, he might get his life back on track. Even though I had given up on our marriage, I didn’t want to be the one to ruin his life by reporting him. He was doing a good enough job of ruining it on his own. It sounds silly now, telling you this, but I suppose I was still soft hearted at the time.

Despite Norma’s offer to stop over, I was determined to go home. If I saw the Fiat anywhere near the house, I would phone the police and to hell with it. I could not allow Gregg’s behaviour to dictate where I went, or stop me from living in my own house. Norma told me to phone her once I was safe inside. “Lock everything, all the windows too”.

There was no Fiat, and I actually managed to get a good sleep, which surprised me. I looked outside before leaving the house though, just in case. Ready for work, I checked all the locks twice before leaving.

But I didn’t get very far.

All four tyres on my car were flat. They didn’t appear to be damaged, but had no air in them at all. It had to be Gregg, I knew that immediately. Back inside, I rang for a taxi, and also phoned the garage we used for all the auction house vehicles. They said they would pick up my car on a low-loader, inspect all the tyres, and let me know later by ringing me at work. By the time the taxi arrived, I was angry.

Using an unoccupied office at work, I spoke to our solicitor on the phone. I outlined the events of the night before, and the flat tyres. Reluctant to mention any violence, I did tell him about the slap during dinner. I told him I wanted to arrange an injunction to stop Gregg coming anywhere near me. His reply was less than encouraging.

“Did anyone else see him approach the car, Alicia? Are you even sure he drove the Fiat there? Witnesses would be essential, or he could deny everything. I doubt anyone saw him letting down tyres in the middle of the night, and as for the slapping, I’m afraid you should have reported it to the police. As things stand, there would be no possibility of an injunction on that evidence”.

This is the twenty-first part of a fiction serial, in 804 words.
My thanks to Sue Judd for the use of her photo. https://suejudd.com/

As I was feeling worse two days after being pushed against the bath, I took the rest of the week off as arranged. Norma checked up on me daily, and brought food three times, joining me for dinner. She kept me up with the news of what was happening at work, and confirmed my suspicions that my dad did think Gregg was involved. “He talked to me about involving the police, Alicia. I managed to convince him that wasn’t what you wanted, and you were unlikely to press charges. But I could tell he was very upset”.

Did I miss Gregg, she wanted to know. I had to be honest, telling her I missed the good Gregg. The cuddling up on the sofa watching a film Gregg. The just in from work and chatting over dinner Gregg. But I didn’t miss a Gregg who could slap my face, swear at me, insult my dad, and push me into a hard bath edge.

That Gregg, I didn’t miss at all.

It wasn’t until the weekend that I got the call I had been expecting. It was his mum, barely able to contain her anger.

“My boy did his best, ‘Licia, you must know that. Not his fault that it was so bad over in the Falklands, or that he came home to find some poncey Lord sniffing around his wife. You gotta cut him some slack, woman. Give him time to get over it. Now he’s living in a poxy bedsit with other drunks and junkies in the same building. That ain’t gonna change nuffink, is it? You need to grow up, realise you’re a wife, for better or worse. Do you think it’s all roses for me with his dad? I could tell you some stories that would make your hair stand on end about him. At least Gregg ain’t knocking off other women, he really loves you”.

I let her drone on. No point arguing with her. It might sound snobby to say this, but she just wasn’t intelligent enough to see both sides of any argument. It was her way or no other way, and she had been raised in the school of hard knocks. I got her off the phone by telling her that I meant Gregg no malice, but couldn’t live with someone who might hurt me, perhaps even kill me. Then I really upset her by telling her that if he came near me again, I would involve the police.

She slammed the phone down so hard, it made me jump. I was rattled enough to drink a Gin and Tonic, at two in the afternoon.

Norma had already mentioned getting advice about divorce. To get a mutually agreed divorce following one year of separation, I would have to wait a good few months, and then hope for no contest from Gregg. Alternatively, I could cite domestic violence, but for that I would need police and hospital reports. I checked with the solicitor our company used, and he said it was best to wait for the full year, then start proceedings based on irretrievable breakdown. I cried quite a bit after that phone call. It hadn’t been what I expected when we married on that Friday.

When I went back to work the following week, I still had a visible mark below my eye, but nobody mentioned it. I went straight in and spoke to dad, who had left me alone all the time I was off. I told him I would be looking for a divorce, and not allowing Gregg back into the house. He put his head in his hands. “It gives me no satisfaction knowing my fears were proved right, I want you to know that, my dear. All I ever wanted was to see you happy and prosperous, and maybe to be a grandfather before I died. Whatever you need from me, you only have to ask. Take any time off that you need, Norma has already shown willing to help out beyond her contracted hours. That lady is a real treasure to both of us”.

Late that afternoon, I went out to see a collection of modern paintings being sold off by someone who was moving abroad. They were nineteen-fifties abstracts by Patrick Heron of the St Ives movement. Not my personal choice, but carrying a good value when sold, anything from two grand to ten grand at the time. The seller lived in Tetbury, around twenty miles away. He wanted to haggle over the commission rate, and it was getting dark by the time I left and walked back up the lane to my car. As I opened the door, a voice behind me made me jump.

“‘Licia, it’s me. Don’t be scared”.

This is the twentieth part of a fiction serial, in 800 words.
My thanks to Sue Judd for the use of her photo. https://suejudd.com/

Norma convinced me that I had to end it with Gregg. To save my dad getting really angry and making himself ill, I phoned him and told him I had fallen over while getting into the bath and would not be at work for the rest of the week. Norma could cover my paperwork, and he could ring me at her house if there were any queries.

He didn’t ask why I was at Norma’s. I had a feeling he wouldn’t go there.

When Norma got home from work, she came home with me for moral support. Even with her there, I actually felt afraid to enter my own house. When I saw Gregg smiling as if nothing had happened, I launched into him. Told him there was no way I was going to tolerate living with such temper and violence, and that he had to go. He looked genuinely surprised at the state of my face, and said he had no recollection of pushing me into the bathroom.

“So I had been drinking. So what? I wouldn’t have hurt you”.

I held up my hand to silence his apologies and told him he had to go. Pack his stuff, and leave. I said I would give him a thousand pounds transferred into his account to find himself somewhere to live, preferably in Essex. I would pay for a taxi anywhere he wanted to go that night, and enough money for a hotel. Norma quietly suggested that he sign on as unemployed as soon as he reached his destination. Meanwhile, he would have to learn to live on his pension.

She took charge, saying the things I couldn’t bring myself to say.

“If not, the police will be involved. It may be Alicia’s word against yours, but she has the visible injuries, and you have a proven track record of violence. If you refuse to go this evening, Alicia will come back to my house, and the police will be called about you. So decide quickly, I am not about to give you much time to do the right thing, Gregg”.

He saw the writing on the wall, and began packing his things into a holdall and a large suitcase. All the time he was doing that he said nothing, and his jaw was set in a non-humourous grin. In one way, I was relieved. But my commonsense told me that it was far from over. Norma stood over him, unflinching. I realised just how much I owed her for her support. After less than an hour, we had called a taxi, and he left without so much as a glance at me.

At the time, I was convinced that was because he knew what he had done.

Norma stayed over in the spare room that night, but we didn’t get to sleep until almost first light. I finished off a whole bottle of Chablis, while Norma stuck to cups of tea. She tolerated my regrets, my what-ifs, and eventually my drunken crying. If I had wished my mother was still alive, I could not have hoped for a better one in Norma. She went into work the next morning, exhausted. Then she covered my job unselfishly, and came back to my house that night with the makings of a tasty dinner.

Undoubtedly, I loved her like the mother I had lost. That was how it felt, anyway.

My face was black and blue the next morning. Norma agreed to stick to my story, and left very early to go to her place and get changed before she went into the auction house later. My dad left me alone all day, which convinced me he knew the truth.

After managing a light lunch, I set about cleaning the house. I wondered if I was trying to erase all traces of Gregg, but halfway through, I found myself crying because I missed him. It came to me that he might be the only man I ever truly loved, and I was upset thinking about what that said about my personality.

When I had been shopping and made myself a light dinner that evening, I was not really surprised when the house phone rang just after eight.

“Hi, it’s me. I have found a room in Gloucester. It’s not much, but okay for me. I have signed on as unemployed, and they are trying to find me a job, so they say. I promise you I will do better, Alicia. I love you, and never want to hurt you. I won’t be going back to Essex and my family, so you can expect to hear from me soon”.

That night, I double-locked the door. Even though he had given me his keys.

This is the nineteenth part of a fiction serial, in 780 words.
My thanks to Sue Judd for the use of her photo. https://suejudd.com/

The move to the new house went off easily. All we had to take were our clothes and a few personal items, and we had waited until everything else was delivered and in place. It meant paying an extra month’s rent on the cottage to only use nine days of that, but I didn’t care. I had been hoping it would give us a fresh start, and indeed it did. For the first few months we were like any happily-married couple. It was going really well, even better that I had hoped.

Then Gregg lost his job.

He was vague about the reason for being sacked, but I suspected a temper outburst, perhaps even violence. I told him not to worry as I was earning enough to cover us, and he had his Army pension to get by on. I even suggested he invite his parents to visit us to see the new house, but he shook his head.

“Didn’t go well when I was staying with them last time. Dad nagged me like an old woman, my sister kept coming round moaning at me, and only my mum stuck up for me. I told my old man he should have seen some action in the Falklands, then he could talk. After that, he shut up, and I was pleased to come back to you”.

When I went supermarket shopping on Saturdays, he began asking to come with me. I soon found out that was so he could buy beer and vodka. He paid for it out of his own money, but I was worried that he was going to start drinking when I was at work. As the nearest pub to where we lived was four miles away, I doubted he would be happy walking there and back.

Sure enough, I returned from work one evening and found him on the bathroom floor. He had been sick in the toilet bowl, then presumably passed out. Luckily for him he landed on his side, as he might well have choked and died on his back. It took me ages to rouse him, and then he wanted to stay where he was. I tried pulling him up, but didn’t have the strength. I sat downstairs eating a microwave meal getting really annoyed. Okay he had a bad time in the war, but so did a lot of other men. They can’t all have been popping pills and getting drunk, surely?

Determined to go up and have a nice soak in the bath, I found him still snoring on the floor. I managed to drag him out of the way by grabbing his ankles and sliding him on the bathmat. Then I left him on the landing, and ran my bath. As I was getting undressed in the bedroom, he suddenly lurched in and flung himself onto the bed. I asked him if he wanted anything to eat, and he swore at me. I walked past him in my dressing gown and got to the bathroom door when I was shocked to feel a huge impact against my back. That flung me forward and I stumbled, hitting my face against the edge of the bath.

Gregg was standing behind me, shouting. Most of it was impossible to understand as he was so drunk, but he made reference to Julian Branscombe, said some horrible things about my dad, and finished off by calling me a spoiled little rich girl. I didn’t reply, just stayed where I was, kneeling on the bathroom floor. My face really hurt around my right cheek and eye, and I could feel tears rolling down my face too. It was a relief when he stopped shouting and walked back into the bedroom. I waited until I could hear him snoring before I moved.

With some changes of clothes and my make-up stuffed into an overnight bag, I got re-dressed in what I had just taken off, and left the house. My reflection in the car’s interior mirror shocked me. The side of my face was already changing colour, and my nose had swollen to twice its normal size. As I reversed out of the driveway, I already knew where I was going.

To Norma.

She was terribly shocked by my appearance, and poured me a stiff Gin and Tonic. I refused her pleas to let her take me to hospital, and asked to stay the night in her spare room. She was as kind as always.

“Stay as long as you like, but please promise me you will end it with Gregg. The next time he might kill you”.

This is the eighteenth part of a fiction serial, in 762 words.
My thanks to Sue Judd for the use of her photo. https://suejudd.com/

Not contacting Gregg was deliberate on my part. I wanted him to think about why I had asked him for time away, and I was hoping time with his family would make him see sense. When he rang me he was apologetic, and admitted that his mum had given him a serious talking to. He said he could still work for the building company, and wanted to come home. I should have said no, made a clean break. But I still didn’t want to admit defeat in my marriage, and said he could. So he asked me to pick him up at the station on Sunday afternoon.

He looked good as he walked to the car. Happy and smiling, carrying some flowers that he had probably bought in Essex and had not survived the train journey that well. He spoke very little about his time at home, but was keen to tell me that he was back at work the next day, and being picked up by the van at seven. I had already preared a meal for us to eat that night, and as I warmed it up, he was affectionate and just like the time we first started dating.

The next morning, he was up and gone before I woke up. We had slept in the same bed, but other than a nice goodnight kiss, nothing else had happened.

When I got to the office, there was news of the sale of the Hall. Not to the rehab clinic as expected, but to a developer wanting to convert the building into luxury apartments, using some of the grounds for a nine-hole golf course. The bulk of the land was going to become a public Country Park, sold to the council at a reasonable price to speed up the whole process. We still had five auctions to complete, and Norma told me that even with no reserve on most items, it had greatly increased the profits of our company. We had taken in more money from selling the items from the hall than the business had earned in the four years previously.

All of us were guaranteed a very good bonus.

For the next few weeks, life became quite normal. I was mainly working at the office, and rarely had need to visit the Hall. Gregg came home at a regular time, ate dinner, watched TV with me, and we got back into a reasonable sex life. He was still on the Diazepam of course, with a regular prescription collected from our family doctor. He gave me cash every week from his wages, and that usually paid for our weekly shop at the supermarket. I was calm, relaxed, and made a decision based on my bonus and salary.

We would buy our own house, and stop renting the cottage.

Gregg thought it was a good idea, and offered to work overtime on Saturdays to help with the mortgage. We did some house-hunting, and found a nice property in the opposite direction, around an hour’s commute from work and the Hall. If anything, it was better for Gregg as his company were going out of their way to pick him up and drop him off every day. All it meant for me was a reasonably pleasant drive to work, and as I was not on any time clock, it didn’t matter if I showed up a bit later.

The three-bed house was a new build, but not on an estate. It had been built on the spare land behind an old house, accessed by its own driveway and a garage provided at the end. It meant buying everything of course, all the furniture and white goods. But we got a choice of flooring, bathroom, and kitchen units, and the mortgage was actually cheaper than the rent on the cottage, as I was able to offer up a large deposit. Dad wanted to help too, and gave me a cheque for three thousand pounds. I knew he wasn’t happy still, but he tried to be nice to me.

“Make it work, Alicia. Once his driving ban ends, I am happy to give him a second chance with a job at the company”.

That night, I told Gregg what dad had said, expecting him to be happy. But he wasn’t.

“Tell your old man he can stick his job up his arse. I wouldn’t work for him again if I was starving”.

Uanble to get to sleep later, I sat downstairs on the sofa.

This is the seventeenth part of a fiction serial, in 754 words.
My thanks to Sue Judd for the use of her photo.

Having made up my mind not to chase around trying to find out where Gregg had gone, I went into work. Yes, I had to deal with my husband at some stage, but meanwhile we still had to salvage what we could from the sale of the Hall. Lady Branscombe’s lawyers had told dad that they could sell everything with no reserve, so I headed in for a meeting with dad to discuss that insanity.

Dad shrugged. “I told them, Alicia. This decision could cost her well over a million pounds, not to mention the commission we would lose. But what does she care? They have already instructed a local estate agent to sell the Hall, and all the surrounding land. She has already inerited whatever was left to Julian, plus Julian’s Chelsea apartment that she intends to keep for visits to London. Besides, she has the house in France, and a huge sum of money left to her in her late husband’s will”.

As frustrating as it was to someone like me who really cared about Art, I knew dad was right. If we didn’t act on the instructions, she would just use an auction house from elsewhere, probably in London. We couldn’t hold her to a contract signed by Julian, not without a costly legal battle. We sat around for a couple of hours arranging dates for the forthcoming sales, with dad relying on me to arrange the items in suitable groups of the same period or style.

Local rumour had it that the tenant farmers on the Branscombe Estate were to be offered favourable terms to buy the land they already farmed. A group that ran private clinics was very interested in buying the building for use as a trendy alcohol and drug rehab centre for rich people, but they didn’t want to pay for any more of the land than that part immediately surrounding the building. That left a huge amount of non-farmed land with no apparent buyer. Builders were not interested, as planning permission for new homes would be hard to achieve in such a rural area.

All we could do was to arrange our auctions, and wait to see what else happened.

It was almost five in the afternoon when Gregg phoned the office at work. He had been in a fight in a pub in Gloucester last night, knocked unconscious, and taken to hospital. There was no lasting damage, but he had lost the day’s pay with the building company, and now needed collecting. At least he hadn’t been arrested, that was something. I told him to get a taxi home, and I would pay for it when he got there.

Then I slipped away without mentioning anything to my dad.

To say he was contrite was an understatement. But on that occasion, I stuck to my guns. I carefully explained to him that I could not live with his anger, his Diazepam addiction, or his constant alcohol binges. I made it clear that our brief marriage would end up in divorce if he continued. Yes, I appreciated what had happened to him in The Falklands, but he needed to get help, some proper counselling. I was happy to pay for that privately, but only if he agreed to attend every session. In the short term, I suggested he take time off from work and go and talk to his family in Essex. I was sure they had no idea what I had been going through, and I insisted that he tell them every detail.

Talking to you now, I appreciate you will be wondering why I gave him so many chances, I really do. But you have to take into account that at the time, I genuinely loved him and fancied him too. At least I was sure I did back then. And I felt sorry for him. Who wouldn’t? He had been through a terrible time in that war, and it had changed his personality. I couldn’t blame him, as it wasn’t his fault. I hoped his dad would make him see sense.

Gregg paid for his own train ticket, and I drove him to the station. I could hardly bring myself to kiss him goodbye, but I did. When he got back to Basildon, he rang me to say he was home safe and sound. I was quite cold on the phone, and ended the call quickly.

At the time, I wasn’t to know that I wouldn’t hear from him again for almost a month.

This is the sixteenth part of a fiction serial, in 730 words.
My thanks to Sue Judd for the use of her photo. https://suejudd.com/

Because of Julian’s death, things had to be put on hold at the Hall. Technically, we no longer had a contract, so dad suggested we should not spend time or money on continuing the project there until such time as it was confirmed we were still required to sell off the contents.

Meanwhile, I had to deal with Gregg.

Once he had appeared in court and was officially banned from driving, I managed to sell his car back to the dealer in Gloucester. Taking a hit of almost nine hundred pounds on what I had paid for it a few weeks earlier, I just wanted it gone, and couldn’t be bothered to advertise it privately. He was very quiet around the house, and while I was out at work he started to do a lot of gardening around the cottage. I wanted to mention that there was little point in a rented property, but it kept him busy and tired him out.

He actually expressed condolences about Julian dying, but in a way only he could.

“I hated the sight of the ponce, but wouldn’t have wished him dead”.

Suspicion was going both ways. He was quite obviously still convinced I had been having sex with Julian, and I feared that he may have tampered with the sports car. It was a couple of weeks before we found out the circumstances, when dad was contacted by the lawyers for the Branscombe family.

Julian’s car had been going in excess of one hundred miles an hour when it drove into the back of a slow-moving heavy truck along the old A4 road. A post mortem concluded that he had died instantly, sustaining multiple injuries from the impact. More importantly, the toxicology discovered significant amounts of barbituates in his bloodstream, alongside cocaine. So the young Lord had been speeding, in every way possible. A police inspection of his car found no signs of mechanical faults or tampering.

That meant I had been wrong about Gregg being involved. It was just Julian living the carefree highlife that had killed him.

With no legitimate children, and no living relatives, the ownership of Branscombe Hall reverted to Julian’s step-mother, who was the widow of his father, and the only remaining heir. She was very happy in her home in the south of France, apparently being entertained by a succession of young gigolos that she was pleased to fund. The lawyers told dad that she had instructed her agent to sell everything as soon as possible without delay, including the Hall and surrounding land. She had no intention of ever returning to Gloucestershire.

For me, that was tragic. We would have to get everything on the market before the end of the summer, and sell most of it well below true market price as she refused to wait for the excitement to build. We had already raised over one million pounds, including the sales in London, but the rest of the items would go cheaply once the market was aware of her haste.

In the middle of all this, Gregg found himself a job.

Some guy he had met on one of his pub crawls offered him a job with a firm of builders. They would pick him up in a van every day before seven, and drop him off at the end of the working day. They paid cash in hand, weekly. After losing his licence, Gregg had used taxis to take him to and from pubs around Gloucester, spending his pension money and never asking me for a penny. Most nights, he didn’t come home for dinner, but I always prepared him something to warm up.

Now the new job seemed to have given him some purpose. He bought work clothes, and after his first week he gave me eighty pounds. “For my keep, there will be more”. I was pleased to see him taking some responsibility, and even started to share a bed with him again. He began to act like the old Gregg. Fit, happy, friendly, and very interested in sex. I confess I was concerned that he was taking too much Diazepam to calm his moods. But selfishly, I was pleased that it made our life together so much more bearable.

Then one night, he didn’t come home after work.