Chapter 3: Preparations before battle

When I opened my eyes next morning the sun was streaming into the bedroom. After the calming vision of Dawn on Still Waters I had slept like a log; a long unbroken sleep with no more bad dreams. Although still nowhere near top form I felt much better than I had for days.

Maggie entered the room dressed to go out. She sat on the bed and gave me a mouth full of her toothpaste flavoured tongue. "You've had a lovely long sleep, though at first you tossed and turned and cried out. Were you having nightmares?"

I nodded glumly. "Yes, it took me hours before I got into a deep sleep. I'm sorry I kept you awake."

She smiled. "No love, you didn't. When I crash out after a bout of the sort of rumpty pumpty I got last night it takes an earthquake to rouse me. What were you dreaming about to make you so restless?"

I gave her a brief synopsis of my nightmares.

"You men are so childish to get so concerned about the size of your willies," she said, giving a disdainful sniff. "Short of having a new one fitted what can you do but make the best of what you've been given? If it makes you feel any better, what I've found when it comes to size of willies is the bigger the prick a man has the bigger dick head he is, and I've had more cock than the Dagenham Girl Pipers so I know what I'm talking about."

She kissed me briskly, and turned to go. "And as for your prick, well, you gave me a marvelous shagging last night so there's certainly nothing wrong in the size department. Your wife must be stupid to want to shag anyone else but you. I certainly don't."

With that somewhat worrying thought put into my mind she left.

I got out of bed, had a quick wash and a bite to eat, and then sat down to plan my next moves. Divorce Miriam, sort out Martin Hodge, and put the house in Kitchener Road up for sale would all be on my agenda, but not necessarily in that order. First thing was to get back into shape. My right leg needed strengthening, and it would take a lot of effort to get back to peak condition after my spell in hospital. I knew there was fitness gym, run by Clapton Football Club, only a five minute walk from 23 Kitchener Road, and it would make more sense for me to spend some nights at the house instead of traipsing back and forth every day between the Crown and the gym.

Were Miriam and Hodge living fulltime at the house or only Miriam? I needed to find out the status of their affair now I was back on the scene. After what I had walked in on I didn't think Miriam would have the audacity to carry on living with me as if nothing had happened.

By the time I reached the gym after walking from the Crown I was knackered, and in no state to start any training.The tasty looking receptionist tried to sign me up for a year membership, but I stuck out for the month's introductory freebie, and probably struck out of getting into her knickers, which appeared to be on offer if I took the full membership.

The fitness room contained a number of shaven headed young men, bulging with muscles and steroids, showing off their body development and tats to each other on the usual equipment of rowing machines, treadmills and the many pumping iron apparatus. There were also some boxing training aids, which would probably suit me better than the body building appliances. I could use skipping rope work to strengthen and exercise my leg, the punch bag to build up my shoulders, and possibly a bit of sparring to sharpen my reflexes.

In fact the boxing part of the gym was for people serious about getting fit, and not for the phonies who merely posed in front of each other, showing off with their designer labeled training kit and overpriced energy drinks.

After being shown around the facilities by a personal fitness trainer bloke, who bounced around like a jack-in-a-box on speed, I rang my mum's house. I got no answer so figured Miriam to be at work and Hodge not to be a permanent fixture.

I walked to the house, and once inside leafed through Yellow Pages to find a local locksmith. I planned spending several nights a week at #23 and didn't intend to be rudely awakened by Miriam and /or Hodge turning up unannounced.

A local home security firm sent one of their teams to the house within ten minutes of my call, and while the locksmith did his thing I went through the house emptying drawers and cupboards, and throwing Miriam's stuff ... clothes, books, CD's, Tampons, make up, the whole fucking lot ... into black bags which I dumped out on the pavement. I saw the next door neighbours, the Oldcastles, peering through their curtains, but they didn't come out to see what I was doing ... maybe they guessed.

By the time the locksmith finished his work at 3 pm every external door lock had been changed, with mortise locks fitted, and every window had locks.

Phase One of Retribution initiated.

I went for a pie and a pint at the nearest pub, and spent the next hour reading the local paper, then made my back to Kitchener Road and took up an observation point in the little park across the road from the house. Miriam finished work at 5pm so I reckoned she would be home by 5.15.

A large SUV, or Chelsea Tractor, as they are known hereabouts, cruised to a stop outside #23 shortly after 5.30. The vehicle would be more suited doing the Dakar Sahara rally than tooling around the streets of London, but it was a typical poser's car, and it didn't surprise me to see Martin Hodge get from the driver's seat. He walked up to the front door of #23 and tried the door handle. Stooping down he picked up the spare key under the flowerpot. He held it up, and I guessed he was showing Miriam, still in the car, the house must be empty as the key was under the flowerpot. She got out of the car and trotted up the path as Hodge put the spare key in the lock and tried to open the door.

No chance ... the spare key fitted the old lock, and the new lock was a five lever mortise. Hodge swore, and Miriam tried her key, with the same result.

They held a brief conversation, then Miriam went down the side of the house to try the back door. Tough shit ... that also had a new lock. She came back to the front of the house and then became aware of the the black bags piled on the pavement. She opened one, and started crying when she saw her knickers and brassieres, and lipsticks and powder compacts, and all her other stuff I had swept up and chucked in the bag.

Hodge swore again, and tried to open a front window, which of course I had locked from the inside. He next pulled out some lock picking tool from his coat, which was the signal for me to ring 999 from the telephone kiosk at the park entrance. The local paper had been full of the new crime reduction initiative being mounted by the neighbourhood Plod. Extra police had been drafted into the borough, and quick response cars stood ready to investigate any suspected burglary in progress.

Fair play to the local gendarmerie, it was no more than ten minutes after me reporting an attempted break-in at 23 Kitchener Road I heard sirens approaching. Hodge also heard them, and gave up on his lock picking and dashed for his car. Miriam shouted for him to pick up the black bags, but he grabbed her hand and dragged her into the car, which then sped off in an easterly direction as a police patrol car approached from a westerly direction.

I pissed myself laughing.

I got back to the Crown half an hour before closing time. I ordered a pint and sat drinking it in a corner while thinking of the day's events. Maggie was serving behind the saloon bar and waved hello. Later she came round collecting glasses, and gave me a smacking kiss; Alfie by contrast gave me a venomous glare from behind the bar.

"You look as if you've had a good day," she said.

"Bloody good," I replied. "I'll tell you up stairs."

"Oooh," she giggled, "I'm looking forward to that already." I could see her nipples thrusting against her blouse, her large, suckable, nipples, and I felt my prick stir.

"What's in the bag?" She pointed to a carrier bag under the table.

"Evidence," I said with a smile.

When clearing out Miriam's things I picked up the cum stained sheets between which the incestuous pair had been rolling. The bedsheets would be loaded with their DNA ... Gotcha.