The day was his he decided, his to do as he liked, without bothering with her, without the strain of thinking up new transgressions, new excuses for her punishments. By the time Brenda was wrestling with the Asda app at Gatwick airport he was showered and had changed his clothes. He microwaved a steak and ale pie and mash and settled in front of the television with his cigarettes and a lager. She didn’t come when he called for another, or the next time. Nor did she come to empty his ashtray or bring him a cup of tea and some biscuits. She didn’t come, so he found his phone, plugged it in to charge and sent another abusive message, with many more to follow. Drunk and angry he told himself, “stupid fuckin’ cow’s gonna cop it. Bitch.” It never occured to him that Brenda might have gone for good. He told the television once again what he would do to her when she came back. The television said “he’s the man hoping to strike it, he’s having a word with his captain” and Luke spat back. “I’ll bloody strike it, no word with no captain”. And lost in the game for a few minutes he hears the television say “touch from Lampard was of an accurate nature” and says back “… be more than a fucking touch, the cunt”. Luke watches and the television draws him in and he forgets about Brenda. But when the game is over and they’re chatting about who did what and something about maintaining a position and through a drunken animation he saw Brenda when he first met her. She’d brought her old banger to the garage for its MOT and Luke saw straightaway that passive anxiety, her innate fear of everything and her fascination as she watched him roll out from under the car, lying there looking up at her both of them wide eyed, but only one of them thinking, this might be the one. He wanted a wife. He was bored of all the girls wanting him, wanting him different, wanting more, wanting. He wanted an old-fashioned woman, a woman who would look after him, not expect too much, not believe that there was anything real behind those oh so male shoulders, the bulging thighs and his musky scents.

Brenda had been flattered, amazed that this gorgeous man, a man with a known reputation as a flirt in the village had shown even the slightest bit of interest in her. He had started politely, offering to drop the car to her once it was ready. “If you could give me a lift back, that would be nice”, as he flashed a smile and ran his hand through his shining black hair. It was probably the only time in his life that he would ever use the word nice in a sentence addressed to Brenda.

A couple of dates in the local pub, collecting her from work at the local council, and he knew he was almost there with this young girl. Her parents were dead and she lived with her Aunty and Uncle neither of whom ever smiled. He didn’t know if they liked him or not. It was hard to tell. Brenda never smiled either, except when she talked about the bloody civil service exam. That was the only worry for Luke, that she would go ahead and follow that path. It was a path that lead to too much power. Money for a start, she’d be earning but much as this tempted him it was easy enough to persuade her that all he wanted was to have her at home, to know that she would be there when he came home from work, to know that they would be together every evening, all weekends and that they could go on holidays together. “You know you’re the one for me, you do know that don’t you Brenda?” It had been in the Spread Eagle, his favourite pub because of its high ceilings and cheap sometimes flat beer. Brenda had remarked on the sticky carpets and Luke had nearly lost it but hid his anger with a slurp of beer and a glance at the dartboard. “Fancy a game of darts?” He had said, and although Brenda was rubbish at the game he couldn’t help but be impressed how fast she was at scoring, from the 501 start to the finishing triple 19, every shot was scored in a second. He liked that the other blokes playing were also impressed, at least at first he liked it. But then a muttered “You don’t wanna show off like that darlin’, no, you don’t do you?” And Brenda looked wide eyed back at her hero, who had won four games straight, and said “no, no of course not.” She took her time with the arithmetic that evening and always, whenever they were in the pub and she was watching Luke play darts with his mates.