Week 25 - Rocket Man

During the first week in November I saw more and more of Heather. She had this knack of appearing every time I During the first week in November I saw more and more of Heather. She had this knack of appearing every time I was feeling down which was quite a lot lately. Heather's mum had not been well and this was the reason Heather gave for deciding to remain in England. I hadn't realised how ill her mum actually was and perhaps I had been too engrossed in my own problems to actually be listening to what Heather was saying. Heather always had a smile and hug for me and I loved to just look down into her brown eyes. For some reason, I was keeping this new special friend away from my family. It wasn't that I didn't want them to know that I was moving on from Becky; but I was happy to keep Heather just for me. Mind you the picture of us kissing that appeared in the Sunday paper did not help to keep the secret. For some reason my parents decided never to ask questions about Heather. Mind you I never asked questions about me and Heather either. It just felt really natural when we were together. I also decided not to tell Heather about Nan's Will and the fact that marrying Becky could make me one hundred thousand pounds.

Walsall Council Leisure Department invited me back in for a chat on the morning of Bonfire Night. I had left Heather asleep naked in my bed after we had both drunk too much wine last night to be able to drive Heather back. I liked having Heather in my bed, especially naked, but apart from often stroking each other nothing ever happened. I had thought about this quite a bit and was unsure if I felt I was being unfaithful to Becky or was just waiting too long for Heather to give me a sign. The dilemma was that I didn't want to get it wrong and ruin the only real friend I had left at the moment. Perhaps after being so badly let down by both Pete and Becky I was deliberately holding back from Heather. The problem was I had no idea how Heather felt about me and now her mum was very ill; it just didn't seem the right time. It would be really insensitive to make a move when she was just wanting a friend. Then there was her 'former' lover Jean Pierre. In all the films French men are great lovers. How was Jon an English Stadler going to compare?

Sitting opposite Tracey from Human Resources I just couldn't read her face to see what my fate was going to be. She tried to be comforting and put on a caring voice but avoided all eye contact. I tried to help by smiling at her to help the many uncomfortable moments. But this probably just made me look more like a madman. Tracey seemed to have quite a large folder on me that included some of my clippings from the newspaper. She repeatedly said that I had the full support of Walsall Council. Was she about to end my suspension?  I really couldn't tell, but decided that this was all too difficult to deal with.  Making probably another bad decision in my life, I decided that I didn't want to return to work and have to answer lots of questions about my private life - especially from 'bluenoses' in wheelchairs. I surprised Tracey by standing up, shaking her hand, offering my resignation and walking out of Walsall Council Leisure department for good. I could see the relief in her face and for once I just felt like not being the usual responsible Jon. For the first time in my life, I was going to be unemployed and really didn't care. I wasn't responsible to anybody and wouldn't even have to tell my mum for a few weeks.

As I walked back to my car I took my Walsall Council Identity Card and threw it high into the air and watched as it landed in a garden behind the Council car park. I was free from the most mundane job I had ever had. I could just go home now and maybe ravish Heather in my bed. Why should Pete be the only one who is allowed to be irresponsible with his life and bonk anyone he wants to? Just then Tracey from Human Resources came racing after me. Maybe she was going to declare her undying love for me?  No, she just wanted to ask for my Walsall Council Identity Card back. So a few minutes later I was knocking on the door to house number 272 to ask them if I could have my Identity Card back from in their garden. The old man who answered the door just looked at me as if I was mad before slamming the door in my face and mumbling "bloody council".

On my way home I stopped to buy a box of fireworks so things with me and Heather really could go with a bang. I was rather surprised at how expensive fireworks had become and even ended up paying twenty pounds for a rocket. It did promise to create an explosion of colour in the sky. It was a rather large rocket that only just fitted inside my sporty car. I was also concerned that it said “please stand fifty feet away after lighting”. I wasn't quite sure where I was going to light it but kept thinking how much Nan would have loved it. I also thought how normally I could delegate the job of lighting it to Pete. Why had he ruined our friendship?

Back at home I was pleased to see that the small figure of Heather was still asleep in my bed. I decided, after putting the rather large rocket and other fireworks in the wardrobe, to just strip off and get back into bed. I suppose now I was unemployed I would have to get used to this. Even though she was in a deep sleep, Heather had a radiant smile and wrapped herself around me. She seemed so special and I decided that I was going to admit my feelings for her under a very expensive firework tonight. The smell of Heather was becoming one of my favourite smells. Even when she wasn't wearing her expensive sounding French perfume she had a natural smell that seemed so homely. How had I got to this place? My married life with Becky had been so planned but now three months later I had lost my bride, my best friend, my Nan and now my job. The strange thing was that today I just didn't care; I just wanted some happiness.

              

After an hour of just lying there Heather woke up and just kissed me lightly on the lips. I decided to give this special lady breakfast in bed. I went to the kitchen to see how many days past its sell-by date the bacon was and if the stale bread would be ok if toasted. My search for edible breakfast ingredients was halted by the sound of the postman pushing some letters through my letterbox. I went to investigate and found three letters. Two were obviously bills but the third one was in a purple envelope and hand written. The writing on the purple envelope looked familiar and I opened it nervously. As I thought; it was from Becky and started 'Dear Jon...'

                                                        

Week 22 - Delight to Despair

It was great to see Heather again and I felt slightly guilty that I hadn’t given her more thought during the last week. She looked so sweet and innocent as she stood there in her pink hoodie. She greeted me with a very passionate kiss and even though I told her it would probably end up on tomorrow morning’s newspaper she indicated clearly that she didn’t care. For the first time that week I could actually feel myself smiling.
Heather had this habit of travelling light but this time she had a rather large lime green rucksack. Part of me hoped this meant she would be staying sometime although I hadn’t changed the bed sheets for over a month. From inside the rucksack Heather took out a neatly wrapped box and gave it to me. The label read “To make my Jon smile xxx”. I tried desperately to unwrap the present without destroying the pretty slightly girly paper or the pink bow. Finally I opened the box and found inside a whole range of goodies. There was a pack of seven of my favourite chocolate bars (twix), a framed newspaper cutting of me kissing Heather at the station, a beef and tomato Pot Noodle, a bottle of orange flavoured Hooch, a Villa Season Review 1995/96 video, a pair of Bart Simpson socks, a packet of butterscotch flavour Angel Delight and perhaps most significant of all a single chocolate rolo. Was I reading too much into the idea this was Heather’s last rolo? Maybe she had just had a whole packet but been peckish on the way here.
I cooked tea for Heather; we shared the beef and tomato Pot Noodle. Heather complimented me on how well I had boiled the water. We sat on the bed taking it in turns to feed each other a forkful of pot noodle. Heather obviously has quite a small mouth because the tomato sauce seemed to end up covering her very kissable lips. Things were just so easy between the two of us and I started to forget all my troubles. Heather managed to drop several noodles down her pink hoodie and went to wash this in the bathroom while I prepared desert. Sniffing the bottle of milk I decided it was probably ok despite the sell-by date. So I found one of Becky’s old hand-whisks and prepared two special butterscotch angel delights. As all the dishes were dirty I poured the whisked mixture into two large wine glasses. I made them special by adding a twix finger to each one. I then decided to return the romantic gesture and put the last rolo into Heather’s glass.
Carrying the two glasses of desert I return to the bedroom. To my surprise and delight Heather is now seated on the bed dressed just in her pale pink underwear. The mesh style underwear made me want this girl so much. I was slightly distracted by her lack of clothes and could not remember which of the deserts contained the rolo. As I dithered Heather took a glass from me. She suggestively pulled out the twix from her angel delight and slid it into her mouth whole whilst staring straight in my eyes . As I looked down at my desert I could see just below the surface was the last rolo. Oh well, I tried. Just then Heather pulled me towards her. We kissed passionately with the taste of butterscotch on our lips. The moment though was suddenly broken by a very loud knock on the door. We decided to leave it but the caller just wouldn’t go away. I then heard the familiar voice of my dad calling me. He seemed very anxious so I decided I needed to see him. Heather offered to stay hidden in the bedroom, but I asked her to put her clothes back on just in case as my parents can be nosey.
Both my parents had come because they were worried about me as I had not been answering the phone. Mum was wearing a very strange blue knitted top. She had knitted it herself but unfortunately knitting was not one of her strong points. Within seconds mum was yet again in tears. Dad was trying to calm her down but totally failing. The two seemed to be aware of my lack of food and had bought a flask of warm tea and a batch of corned beef sandwiches. It was quite comforting to see my old Rupert Bear flask again but I couldn’t help recalling how I had used that flask nearly twenty years ago as part of an experiment with my junior chemistry set. Also I regretted once telling my mum I liked corned beef sandwiches when really I detested them. I had only said it because I was sick of having fish paste every day at school. At least they didn’t go in the bedroom and find Heather. I didn’t really want to explain why there was a half dressed lady in my bedroom during this time of mourning.
For some reason there was no mention of missing Becky from my parents instead all the talk was of Nan. The funeral was to be at St. Chad’s on Thursday at 2pm and then back to my parent’s for a buffet. Mum said she would do some corned beef sandwiches just for me. Apparently Uncle Henry was going to read a poem about how we take after our mothers. Dad looked older than he had before. Maybe I was just looking closer at him than I had recently. I was very aware that he had moved up a generation. Until now in my life there have been grandparents and then my parents. Now there were no grandparents left so the oldest generation was my parents. My dad was now an orphan. As I was thinking about all this and not really listening to my mum I was suddenly startled when she asked a question I had not expected.

“Do you want Pete to come in the car with us? Your Nan did think the world of him”, mum just came out with.
Suddenly I had to think again about what Pete and Becky had done. I had put it to the back of my mind. In fact I had totally wiped Pete out of my mind. How could I so easily have forgotten about Pete and all the things we had shared together? I hadn’t seen him since he left me in the pub. I told my parents that we had had minor fallout, but didn’t want to go into any details. Saying that to my mum was like giving a dog a bone and telling them they couldn’t lick it. She wanted to know exactly why and was not going to give up. At that point Heather, fully clothed, walked in.
“Hello Mrs Stadler, how are you? I’ve just come back from France and Jon kindly let me grab some sleep”, Heather said to my parents with a hint of her sexy French accent.
“Oh sorry Heather we didn’t know Jonathan had company. If we had I would have bought more sandwiches and not just corned beef. I can’t stand them but they are Jonathan’s favourite”, mum was quite surprised to see I had company.
Dad quickly decided it was time to leave and started packing away the flask and Tupperware. Heather continued to try to score brownie points by complimenting mum on her imaginatively knitted blue top. Mum seemed quite pleased about this an offered to knit Heather one for Christmas.
As my parents left they asked if they could give Heather a lift anywhere. I could tell they suspected that we had been misbehaving. Unfortunately we hadn’t because of their unexpected arrival. As I waved my mum goodbye I could again hear the click of a camera. That was it my dad was off in pursuit of the photographer ready to grab his camera. I tried to call him back but he had gone. It seemed all his built up emotions from the last week were coming out in a rage that I had never seen before. My dad reached the rather surprised newspaper photographer and made a grab for his camera. My mum screamed in a horror film sort of way and Heather just grabbed hold of my arm. The photographer reacted angrily and pushed my dad away. But dad is now focused purely on getting the camera and to my total surprise kicks the photographer in the shin. Several neighbours in the courtyard are now at their doors and my dad really has lost it. Tears started to flow from his eyes and he just dropped down on his knees on the tarmac.

“I will see you in court”, the photographer shouts at my dad before limping away to his car still with camera in his hand.
Mum goes over to dad and holds him so tight. I have never seen my dad so out of control. He was hurting so much. Tears running all down his red face. I don’t know if I felt pity or pride for my dad at that point, but it made me start to cry as well. Then Heather started crying and I am sure even some of the neighbours joined in. If we were so emotional now how were we going to cope with the funeral on Thursday at the church where I was jilted?

Week 21 - Sad Times

It had now been three days since we heard about the death of Elsie Gloria Stadler and it really had hit us all hard. Nan had just always been there for both me and Karen especially at times when our parents had found it easier to bury their heads in the sand. Yes, in the end Nan was barking mad. Which probably explains why she was trying to climb down the drain pipe from her bedroom window in her slippers when she fell? It was easy to blame the Home for not having better locks on the windows but it was never possible to stop Nan doing anything she put her mind to. At least now she would be on her way to be reunited with my Granddad unless of course Jessie got to her first. No, she would be in Heaven with Granddad because I am sure that Saint Peter would never let Jessie in even if she did flash her petticoat at him.

The four of us Stadler family members sat with the vicar discussing the funeral arrangements. It all seemed far too serious and every time I gazed past the vicar I could just see Nan pointing and laughing at his hairstyle. This was the same vicar who Nan took quite a fancy to at my nearly wedding. The vicar that Becky and I sat down with to plan our wedding service. The vicar who had enjoyed a ride in my Best Man’s sports car. It is amazing what can happen in three months. My whole life has changed. Probably the three most important people in my life have now all left me for various reasons. If there is a God he has obviously got it in for Jon Sadler.

On the fireplace was a photograph that I hadn’t seen before of Nan and my Granddad eating ice creams at the seaside. My Granddad with trousers rolled up and knotted hanky on his head. My Nan with her long dress tucked into some rather big pants. She was wearing a sunhat that I am guessing was blue as it was a black and white picture. The two seemed so happy and content. It was only now that I realised how much the two just belonged together. I had somehow in seven years started to think as Nan as separate to ‘Nan and Granddad’, but now I could see how wrong this was. So much of my Granddad’s spirit had made my Nan who she was. For the first time since Dad had told us the news I started to cry. Uncontrollable tears ran down my face and everyone in the room could see my distress but decided to leave me to it. I felt completely alone even the image I had before of my Nan joking behind the vicar had gone. It really was just me now and my world felt so empty. I wanted to turn back the clock. I wanted to be a small boy sitting in my grandparent’s front parlour eating scotch pancakes with the smell of Camp coffee and watching the ‘Goldenshot’. I didn’t want to be planning my Nan’s funeral. I am just not grown up enough for this. As the vicar tried to explain to my mum that it was not traditional to have the coffin leave the Church to the ‘Birdie Song’ even if it was Nan’s favourite I quietly slipped out the house.


Waiting back at my flat parked outside was a police car. I really didn’t need this now so I tried to creep in without them noticing. It didn’t work and within seconds the two policemen were getting out of their panda and running towards my door. Surely the Starsky style leap over the bonnet by the younger one was a little over the top. I invited them in because I just wanted to sit down.

The two policemen were by now quite familiar to me, but still seemed to believe that I knew a lot more about Becky’s disappearance than I was letting on. Every time they came they asked the same questions. It always started with them asking if I had seen Becky before asking if I knew if anybody else had seen her. I decided, perhaps wrongly, to mention that Nan had claimed to see her. They looked puzzled but then the older one with surprisingly pointed ears nodded and said his old Nan was totally mad as well. They didn’t seem to believe me but finally agreed that they would go and ask Nan for a statement. For just a few moments I had forgotten that I no longer had a Nan. I was just giving the officers the address of the home when I started to cry again. The Mr. Spock lookalike actually was sympathetic and put his arm around me when I mumbled that my Nan had died. The other policeman just looked up from his notepad and said, “Convenient”.


For the next two days I just stayed in my flat and didn’t answer the phone or door to anybody. I just wanted the world to leave me alone. Occasionally I would see cameramen outside trying to take snaps of me. I didn’t shave, ate only a packet of plain biscuits and just felt more alone than I ever had before. Just as I was trying to decide whether I should ring my Dad to see if they had fixed a date for Nan’s funeral I heard a crash from just outside my door. I looked through the kitchen window to see a hooded youth taking something out of my dustbin. Without thinking I ran out to confront the young bloke. He was taking an empty plastic bottle of woodpecker cider from my bin. He was very surprised to see me!


“Sorry mister just wanted a souvenir. I mean you are quite a celebrity. You don’t get many murderers in Lichfield”, the youth offered me his hand to shake. I felt like thumping him but that is more Pete’s department so I just shook his hand. Then I heard the now familiar sound of clicking lenses. Yes, I can just see the photograph in the paper tomorrow of suspected bride killer shaking hand of a mysterious shaded hooded character on his doorstep.

Back inside I then decided it was time to open the last packet of slightly soft biscuits. Soon there was a knock at the door. So deciding that I couldn’t hide forever I opened the front door.

“Sorry mate. Have you got a pen? Thought you could sign this bottle”, the hooded chap had returned and I came so close to punching him. Quickly I slammed the door shut and just dropped down on the floor.

Again my quiet moment was broken by a knocking on the door. This time I had had enough and opened it to the hooded character. I was about to strike him when I realised he had shrunk and his hoodie top had changed from blue to pink.

“Well, aren’t you going to let your favourite girl in?” whispered a familiar sweet voice.

Next week : Who is this mystery girl?

Week 20 - Who's Uncle Henry

Nan was sitting almost on top of the communal telly drooling over Compo in ‘Last of the Summer Wine’ when I got there. Saying what she would do to the scruffy chap if she was Nora Batty. It had been nearly three hours since our telephone conversation, but I quickly realised that it could have been three decades ago. Nan was in the kind of mood when she couldn’t remember anything of the last few years. I asked a lot of questions, but she started to get frustrated and couldn’t even recall that I had been jilted let alone who Becky was. I think she thought I was my dad. Then when I tried to tell her that I was Jon not my dad, she then assumed I was her son! One of the Care Assistants then came over and told me that they were very sorry and they didn’t usually let their residents drink a whole bottle of brandy. As I turned back to face nan she was throwing her walking stick like a javelin at a rather fraille old lady with a blue rinse. With the help of the Care Assistant I managed to sit nan back down.


“He’s not your dad you know”, nan suddenly informed me.

Now I was confused. I mean, first of all, who did nan actually believe I was and secondly did she even know what she was saying? I don’t think I wanted to hear this. It was bad enough being suspected of doing in my missing bride without my parentage being questioned.

“You are my son Henry. Aren’t you?” Nan was certainly confused. She thought I was my Uncle Henry, dad’s younger brother. He was nearly thirty years older than me! Maybe the traumas of the last few months were catching up with me and making me look a lot older. I decided that I would play along with this and asked why granddad was not my father?

“Now, it was during the second world war when your dad was with the Home Guard protecting the Town Hall”, Nan was ready to reveal all. At least as it was about Uncle Henry, who I had never really liked, it could be quite juicy gossip. “Your Uncle Clive came round. He was quite a looker in those days. Not like he is now”, I decided not to mention the fact that he died twelve years ago. So my Great Uncle Clive was really my dad’s brother’s father? That would explain why my granddad and Uncle Clive never seemed to get on. Oh, but hold on, a dreadful thought then hit me. I wasn’t totally up to date on the Family Tree but was pretty sure that Uncle Clive was actually my nan’s brother not my granddad’s. Oh no, this was something I didn’t want to hear. It was getting quite like a ‘Brookside’ plot.
“Yes, I can still remember what happened as if it was yesterday”, nan prepared to tell me all the details of this incestuous relationship. It might explain Uncle Henry’s very strange nose. “Your Uncle Clive showed me something truly amazing when he opened up his trench coat”, nan was beaming as she told the story. “There it was; a tiny pink thing, A beautiful baby boy”, tears started to roll down nan’s cheeks. I was just so relieved that I wasn’t descended from a family who interbred. “That poor baby was left with no parents or family thanks to a jerry bomb, but your uncle Clive knew that me and your dad would give that baby a special home and treat it like one of our own”. I was quite touched and if it was possible it made me love my nan even more. “So Henry you are a very special boy and you have two parents that love you lots. Although not the original ones who were blown to pieces”. Nan held my hand as she told me this before suddenly slapping me across the face. “Jon! Why are you pretending to be your Uncle Henry? That’s a horrible trick to play on an old lady!”
Several times in the next hour I really thought nan’s memory was coming back but still she couldn’t recall my wedding and certainly had no knowledge of the headlines in the Sunday papers. When she dosed off for the fourth time I decided it was time to leave. I thought it was best if I kept the information about my Uncle Henry to myself partly because my nan always did have quite a good imagination. I was just creeping out when nan opened her left eye; “Next time we must talk about what you are going to do about Becky bonking hunky Pete”, nan said before her head dropped and she started snoring.

Back at home I was desperately trying to take in the events of the last day. I had half expected to return to the flat to find the word ‘murderer’ painted in red paint across my front door, but instead all was quiet. So did Nan really know about Becky and at what point would she have found her marbles enough to talk about it? My head was so full of everything and I was starting to dread going to work tomorrow at Walsall Council. Surely wheelchair Dave and lovely legs Hasmitta would have seen some of the newspaper articles. Hopefully they will be on my side.


I decided to try and be the first to arrive at the Council Leisure office on the Monday, but I was met by Tracey from Human Resources who was wearing tweed. “Sorry Jon, but I think it is best if you go on leave until this is sorted out. Of course, if they find the body we will support you through the trial, although, we would obviously suspend you and fire you when you are found guilty. Sorry if you are found guilty”, Tracey blurted out without looking me in the eye. She handed me a brown envelope before very quickly disappearing.


Just as I was leaving the building ready for my unexpected holiday I was greeted by a familiar face.

“You don’t hang around do you Stadler?”, it was ‘Bluenose’ Dave in his state-of-the-art wheelchair. “I mean they haven’t even found your missing bride and you are caught snogging the lips off another beauty.” Dave handed me today’s copy of ‘The Sun’ and on the front page was me kissing Heather at the station. The headline read ‘JILTED JON’S NEXT VICTIM?’ This was turning into a really bad year!

Dave was finding this all quite funny but you could tell he knew that I was not capable of murder. He suggested we pop into the Council Canteen for a coffee and a chat before I headed home. To my surprise Doreen behind the till refused to serve me and snarled as Dave paid for the drinks instead. The atmosphere was not good with several people who I usually exchanged pleasantries with now sitting as far away as possible.

“You’ve got to find her”, Dave said whilst spilling coffee down my trousers. I told Dave about nan and he said that I had to go back and try and find out more. I decided not to tell Dave about Pete as I didn’t really trust him that much. Dave always looked after number one and I suspected that it wouldn’t take too much money for him to tell the gutter press all he knew. “She is a cracking bird though”, Dave commented on the picture of Heather.

I decided on my way home that I should really pop around and see my parents as all this must be very difficult for them. When I got there I noticed that there was a red Skoda parked outside but decided to go in anyway. Despite having a key it didn’t seem right this time to use it so I decided to ring the bell. My mum answered dressed in a very long flowing hippie-style purple and gold thing and she just burst into tears and hugged me so tight that breathing would have to be delayed until later.

“Oh Jon how are you? I have been so worried about you. Come in, come in. Oh, your Uncle Henry is here”, my mum said through the many tears.

Inside my dad was looking at some photographs of Uncle Henry’s son Michael at his graduation.

“Look Jon, doesn’t Michael resemble your Granddad?”, my dad asked while pushing a photograph in my hand. There was, of course, no resemblance, but then I suddenly realised how totally different the two brothers standing in front of me looked from each other. “Your Uncle’s on his way to see your Nan and just wanted to ask us what he should say about your little trouble”, Dad had a habit for understating things. Here was I on the front of every newspaper with suggestions I had murdered my bride and he called it my ‘little trouble’. Should I stop Henry going to see nan because she might tell him what she told me. But then does he have a right to know?
Just then the phone rang and my dad disappeared into the hall to answer it. My parents still had a telephone on a small table in the hall and even though the call was nearly always for my mum it was my dad’s duty to answer it.


“So what did happen to Becky then?” Uncle Henry enquired. “I don’t think I ever got to meet her. Pity she wasn’t at the wedding. Oh, that reminds me, can you send the silver cutlery set back quite soon that was our wedding gift to you. We have got another wedding to go to next month and it would save us buying another present”. Perhaps now would be a good time to tell him his parents were blown up!


My dad walked back into the room looking totally stunned. Something was wrong I have never seen him look so pale.

“What is it love?” Asked my mum.

“I can’t believe it, she’s dead” replied dad.

Week 19 - Doorstep Sleeper

Chapter Nine – Doorstep Sleeper

Sitting in a packed end of Villa supporters at Highfield Road it was significant that the only empty seat was the one to my right. I don’t know if I had wanted Pete to turn up or not, but I had decided that as I had don’t nothing wrong I wasn’t going to miss this game. The game went well for the Villa with us winning by two goals to one, but my head was just not really there. I was very cross and for the first time since I was eleven I really wanted to hit someone. That just wasn’t me and I was angry that my ‘former’ friend Pete had made me feel like this.

Despite the Villa winning I didn’t watch ‘Match of the Day’ that Saturday night and just sat on my bed trying to make sense of the Pete-Becky news. I thought we had an unwritten rule that we never went after the same girls. Mind you I didn’t usually get the type of girls Pete fell for. I especially didn’t get the Tracey Taylor thing even if they did share a passion for Gary Numan. For Pete there were always two types of women. Firstly, the one you just bonked and then didn’t see again, or secondly the ones you worshipped and ended up making a complete fool over. This was the Tracey Taylor case. So how did I really feel about Pete now? Had Pete been the ‘best man’ for both me and Becky? No, I didn’t want to think about any of this. The thought of them together is something my brain could not cope with.

To the left of my bed was my birthday present off Pete. It was the brilliant matchstick model of the old Villa Trinity Road stand. All Pete’s own handy work. He probably built it to help him to deal with his own guilt over screwing his best mate’s fiancée. I was feeling so full of rage and hatred. The easy thing to do was to smash the model into hundreds of pieces. Inside my wardrobe was my prized cricket bat signed by Ian Botham and Bob Willis at that famous Headingly 1981 test match. So I picked the bat up with both hands and raised it above the wooden model. All it would take was one blow and I could destroy weeks of Pete’s hard work. No, I couldn’t do it. This just wasn’t me and how could I even think of causing damage to the sacred Trinity Road stand even if it was only a model. I decided to go for a midnight stroll.

As I was walking I began to think about a fact that I had overlooked all day. I had been focusing too much on not thinking about Becky and Pete together that I had forgotten that Becky was still missing. Where could she be? Maybe Pete has seen her since the wedding fiasco. I certainly wasn’t ready to confront Pete though. So I just walked and walked knowing that there would be nobody worrying about me.

It was nearly half past three in morning when I actually arrived back at home. I was shocked to see a pretty young lady sleeping on my door-step. She was covered by her coat to keep her warm and for a few seconds I thought it was Becky but then realised it was the delightful Heather. I decided not to wake her and unlocked the door before lifting the sleeping beauty up in my arms and carrying her inside. Still she didn’t wake so I took her to the bedroom and placed her on the bed. I was tempted to undress her and stroke her back again but it didn’t seem appropriate. As I was thinking about covering her up Heather half-woke up and just quietly told me she had been worried about me. This was sweet and then she surprised me even more by saying that Pete had rung her and told her the two of us had had a big falling out. Now this really shocked me. Firstly that Pete had been so concerned about me that he had rung Heather, or was he just trying to get inside her knickers as well. No, that was unfair. Secondly, that he had described it as ‘a big fallout’. I mean he had just told me something and then left the pub. Heather then closed her eyes and within seconds was snoring and grunting like a little pig.

I spent the next four hours just sitting on the bed with Heather’s sleeping head on my lap. Things actually felt right and the position seemed comfortable and natural. The world didn’t seem quite as scary with Heather smiling in her sleep. I did kiss her forehead several times and stroked her lips with my middle fingers.

At quarter to eight Heather woke with a jolt and announced she had to catch the train to London at ten o’clock as she was heading back to Paris to meet Jean Pierre. This surprised and disappointed me but I decided not to question it. So I just offered to drive Heather to the station in my new Golf convertible car. Well, I second-hand but new to me and even had a six track CD multi-changer in it.

At the station I was thinking about Heather’s lack of luggage. She had reassured me that she was only going for two days at most and just had to give Jean Pierre something. Maybe I was supposed to ask what, but I wasn’t in the mood for any games. Heather did tell me that I was taking her out to the new Italian restaurant on Thursday evening at eight o’clock so at least another meeting was planned. I leant over to kiss Heather’s left cheek, but she grabbed my face in her hands and pulled our mouths together. It turned into quite a passionate snog and I just started thinking how ace she smelt. Even without a shower and in the same clothes she arrived in last night Heather smelt as sweet as a garden centre. The kiss was stopped short though by a loud clicking sound. I looked around to see a person with a rather large camera walking away. This was strange but I just returned to the kiss before waving Heather goodbye. For a few moments I had completely forgotten both my missing bride and my two-faced Best Man.

Leaving the station I decided that as I had been distracted last night and not even checked the Villa’s league position that I should buy a Sunday newspaper. My normal choice was ‘The People’, but it was the headline on the front of the ‘News of the World’ that caught my eyes. ‘JILTED JOHN DENIES BRIDE KILLING’. Oh, no this day was not going to improve. I had to buy a paper.

“He’s a local bloke as well, you know. I bet he done her in”, said the paper seller.

I returned home with not only the ‘New of the World’ but also ‘Sunday Mirror’ and ‘The People’. All contained at least two pages on the missing bride from Lichfield. The number of inaccuracies in the stories and the total disregard for the truth were shocking. One called me ‘’A loner” and another claimed “John, aged 34, had a history of violent behaviour”. Well, I am just thirty and the last person I hit was when I was eleven. ‘The People’ had lots of lovely sweet pictures of Becky that made her look like the gil nextdoor. Actually I really liked the one and cut it out. But the ones of me were horrible. One was from my Council Identity Card and I looked like I had just been released from Broadmoor. The fact that it was taken the week that I had been suffering with conjunctivitis did not help. All the newspaper stories seemed to now be suggesting that soon Becky’s body would be discovered and that there was only one suspect. Where was this going to end? I would probably end up as the lead story on ‘Crime Watch’. Oh, Becky where are you? I didn’t care about being public enemy number one I just wanted to know Becky was safe.


Just as I was really starting to think about the possibility of Pete being involved in Becky’s disappearance the phone rang. I picked up the phone but didn’t say anything in case it was a journalist. Maybe I needed a lawyer.

“Is that Mr Jon Stadler? The mad-axeman of Lichfield”, said the croaky voice. I replied by just saying “yes Nan”.

Nan was very excited and not only because she had managed to get an outside line on the phone in the main staff office without anybody knowing. She was delighted that her grandson was national news. She was apparently enjoying her new title in the home as “Jilted Jon’s Nan”. Mr Patel was currently in the process of making her a badge. Nan was being her totally mad self. At least some things don’t change. I told Nan that I was in fact not a murder.

“Oh, I know that, I mean if you killed Becky who was that girl who came to visit me last Tuesday”, Nan then broke into an uncontrollable fit of giggles followed by “Oh blast, I have wet my pants. They were clean on last Thursday as well”. The phone went dead.

Next Week : A shocking trip to Nan's home

Week 18 - I Don't Believe It !

The next week was strange with frequent visits from the police, a very tearful visit from Becky’s parents and a rather threatening call from Shirley. All of this whilst I was trying to come to terms with Carol’s revelation about Becky’s infidelity. I decided not to tell my family about the latest Becky twist as my Dad had become very anti-Becky since the non-wedding day and mum was just too busy popping back the Prozac pills.

The Shirley call was the oddest and she seemed to be implying that it I didn’t take her out again then she would tell her police colleagues about how bad I had treated her and that would make them consider me as a suspect in the Becky disappearance. I have never been the kind of chap that can be threatened though and often at school I would take unnecessary beatings instead of doing something somebody was trying to force me to do. Mind you Pete would often take revenge for me at a later date and always without me needing to ask him. This did mean that I felt guilty because as a pacifist I never used violence, but people who crossed me used to feel the force of Pete’s forehead. Pete’s head-butts were legendary and after a couple of years less people picked on me and my wiry frame because they knew how Pete protected me. Maybe I should send Pete round to sort out Shirley. But of course Pete would never lay a finger on a woman. He was a perfect gentleman around the opposite sex. No, I had better deal with Shirley myself and just tell her that I was still in love with my missing bride and unable to start a relationship with anybody else.

So where was Becky? I was now getting really worried about her and annoyed with myself for not worrying earlier. Ok Becky might have been unfaithful, but I would have forgiven her anything as I loved her so much. I mean it happens at Hen Do’s and as I probably didn’t know the fellow involved would it really have mattered. But why did it mean she couldn’t marry me? Was it because his sexual prowess was superior to mine? Perhaps she realised that I was never going to fulfil her sexual needs? I thought I had been doing ok. I mean I did everything it said in that women’s health magazine I read last year. Becky always seemed to enjoy it, even when I made her wait until after Match of the Day. She always made the right noises at the key moments, but maybe the mysterious guy pushed some extra buttons that I hadn’t discovered. But that wasn’t important now the important thing was to find Becky. She had to be safe, but where the hell was she and why had she not contacted her parents? Maybe she had gone off with this mystery man?

It was a Friday evening and I was sitting down to read the Express & Star and listen to the football phone in on the local radio. As always I started with the back page of the paper to see the Sports news and see if Ian Taylor would be fit to face Coventry tomorrow. I worked my way towards the front of the paper and then was hit by the story on page seven. It was not a big story but the title rocked me. It read “Jilted John’s Missing Bride”. As feared the story was about Becky and John, even with the extra ‘H’ in Jon it was me. They spelt my surname wrong as well, added four years to my age and said I lived in Burntwood, but it was definitely me. The story didn’t suggest any foul play but tried to add a bit of mystery. Mind you, there was a mystery as to where my Becky was. The story hit a nerve with me and tears started to trickle down my face. For the first time I started to think about the possible bad things that could have happened to Becky. Maybe it had all been too much for her? Surely she knew I would forgive her anything?

Over the next hour the phone rang repeatedly as it became clear that many of my relatives read every inch of the Express & Star. My mum was first who decided to just ring to sob openly on the phone and I was only able to catch the odd word. Many of which seemed to be ‘poor Becky’. I decided against mentioning her extra sexual activity. This was simply between me and Carol. Although, I was thinking should I be telling the police? I mean what if she had bonked a mad axe-man who had not taken the news that she didn’t want him well and he now had different parts of my bride in the different compartments of his freezer. Next caller was Pete who said he read the story and was going to come and take me out for a beer. Nan also called and told me not to worry as she had had a word with her dead friend Jessie and Becky hadn’t turned up there.

A few hours later I was sitting with Pete in a pub called ‘The Drakes Drum’. It was away from our usual haunts but had been mentioned as a place where a lot of Villa fans went so Pete thought we should try it. Pete didn’t seem his usual self and kept looking around as if he was waiting for somebody to appear. I asked him about this but he said I was imagining it. In all the years I had known Pete he had never been this nervous before. He said he was just worried about the Villa at Coventry tomorrow. Understandable as he had ended up being chased down Coventry high street by abut forty Sky Blues fans. Even though I had hardly touched my pint Pete was back at the bar buying me another pint.

Repeatedly I tried to talk to Pete about the newspaper story and where Becky might be, but he didn’t want to talk about it. He seemed to think I needed to take my mind off it and maybe he was right, but this wasn’t the usual Pete. I decided that Pete was the one person I could trust so I made the decision to tell him about the visit from Carol. He still seemed to not be fully paying attention but he did manage to make an inappropriate comment about Carol’s legs. I then quietly blurted out the information that had being driving mad all week. That Becky had slept with somebody else just two weeks before our wedding day. Pete nearly spat his beer in my face but then quickly composed himself and labelled poor Becky as a ‘tart’. He decided it was time for another round of drinks. Now, something wasn’t right here because Pete had bought four straight round of drinks and that never happened. Normally we would have an odd number of rounds and I would always end up buying one more unless Pete didn’t do the ‘I have forgotten my wallet’ trick and then I would buy them all. But today he was buying drinks non-stop. Maybe he wasn’t well and was about to admit to a serious illness.

Pete returned from the bar surprisingly empty handed. At least I already had two pints lined up. He looked me straight in the eye and announced to my shock that he wasn’t going to Coventry tomorrow. This was just so unlike Pete. We always went to Coventry and usually won. Pete then stood up and then gave me a fiver for a taxi. He was looking as if he was about to cry and I could not understand what was going on. Even Pete is now behaving oddly. What is happening to my life? Pete took a step back and then said something that at first made no sense at all. It sounded like he said ‘it was me’. As Pete walked off I tried to make sense of these comments and then it hit me like a Pete head-butt. Pete had just confessed that he had slept with Becky.

Next Week : New Best Friend

Week 11 - Blind Date Surprise

The next hour went quite slow with Denise and Lyn spending a considerable time in the toilets together. It seemed that almost after every conversation the two had to disappear to compare notes on their dates. Pete seemed more interested in the girl with the stubbled faced skinhead by the bar than his own date. I actually found Lyn quite interesting although her insincere laugh was a bit off putting. Denise might be attractive but she could make Nigel Mansell seem a gripping conversationalist. When she wasn’t dragging Lyn to the Ladies she was checking her reflection in a mirror that was positioned to the left of us. Lyn started to show more interest in me as Pete was obviously being distracted by the girl at the bar to the annoyance of the skinhead who was trying to show that this was his girlfriend by holding her close to him. I am sure I even detected a snarl across his face, but this just encouraged Pete to give his companion a cheeky grin.


Denise was taking her time making a glass a dry medium white wine last and rather annoyingly was running her finger around the rim to make an irritating noise. She seemed lost in her own world with her eyes focused only on her own reflection. Lyn had finished her third half a lager and was beginning to get annoyed with the lack of attention Pete was showing her. Pete had no idea though and just kept smiling at the girl at the bar. What was he playing at? This was going to either end with Pete being slapped by Lyn or the Skinhead coming and trying to deck him. I hoped it would be the first because I think Pete would be less likely to retaliate if it was Lyn.

“So you were jilted then, Jon”, Denise suddenly addressed me for the first time all night.

“Look, he doesn’t want to talk about it”, Pete quickly burst in.

“It must have been awful for you”, Lyn caringly joined in, “Did you have to give all the presents back?”

Pete was right I didn’t really want to talk about it, but not because it was painful. Now it was just something that I had moved on from and I was ready to become Jonathan Stadler again and not ‘jilted Jon’. I didn’t need Lyn feeling sorry for me because I wasn’t a charity case and hadn’t been scarred for life. Yes, it had been a difficult couple of months, but I was only twenty-nine and hopeful had two thirds of my life ahead. This was now my time to be the real me again and not half of Jon and Becky. Or as it appeared more often than not ‘Becky and Jon’. It took a few more comments from Pete before the ladies finally realised that this was not a topic for conversation. Unfortunately this then meant we all sat silent for the next five minutes. All of us probably just trying to think of what we could talk about now. I am sure this used to be easier when I was younger. What did I used to talk about with dates before Becky? With Becky it was quite easy because she was always talking and all I had to do really was listen. She even claimed that she fell for me because I was such a great listener. I must admit though, that a few times I didn’t listen to all the conversations but seemed to have the knack of smiling or saying ‘oh dear’ at just the right moment. The thing was, that me and Becky worked and it was easy, but was that the problem? Had I taken my foot off the pedal and stopped really trying with Becky. When you are first interested in a girl and trying to seduce her you work so hard. You spend hours in the bathroom and make sure that all your spots are covered up, you even blow in your hands to check that you haven’t got smelly breath, but how quickly that all disappears once you are together. I suppose girls keep trying and still take hours getting ready, but that is probably for other girls benefit not the boyfriend. Perhaps I have let myself go. Perhaps I did enter the comfort zone where you can break wind in bed and it doesn’t really matter. I enjoyed the comfort zone, though. Coming home to Becky and just collapsing together on the settee watching ‘Brookside’ was just ‘cosy’. Now I was going to have to start dating again and being presentable. Could I do it? Have I forgotten how to talk to women?
The next time that Lyn and Denise returned from the toilets with newly applied lippy they surprised me by sitting the opposite way around. Denise moved next to Pete and Lyn came and sat by me. Was this deliberate or had they just not thought about it. Pete was no longer staring at he girl at the bar mainly because his view was now obscured by a very large bloke who had a leather jacket that was even too big for his wide body. It was now my chance to talk to Lyn and be my ‘real’ charming self. I have to avoid the obvious questions like ‘what do you do?’, but I need to sound interested in what she has to say. It was actually Lyn who started the conversation.

“Has there been anybody since the one we can’t mention”, Lyn came straight to the point.

I told her that I hadn’t really been out, but couldn’t think of a reason why. I decided to go right for it and ask if she had been in a relationship recently.

“I am sort of engaged to a bloke in the army”, she surprisingly informed me. I tried to play it cool, but began to wish that the two girls hadn’t changed places. I enquired what ‘sort of engaged’ meant. Lyn then told me about how she had been a penpal for a soldier serving in Bosnia for two years now and that she had only spent one weekend with him but he had mentioned in his last letter that he would like to marry her. This was my chance to let Lyn speak and I could just be a good listener. Also a reminder not to pursue any romantic involvement with Lyn just in case he has any Leave due.
The rest of the evening went well and I ended up walking Lyn home, which was admittedly considerably further than I had anticipated when I made the offer. Pete had left with Denise twenty minutes earlier giving me one of his famous winks as he left. I must ask Pete next time I see him if he still keeps count of how many conquests he has had. Knowing Pete he has probably compiled a top ten of Pete’s Shags. Despite Pete’s obvious hunky attributes I don’t think I have ever been jealous of him. Pete always has just been my best mate. Pete doesn’t let his emotions really show and I have never really seen him cry, although he came very close when the beat Trammere in the 1994 League Cup semi-final. As for serious relationships Pete had not really had one. Yes, there was Caroline Randall in the third year at secondary school. Pete spent the whole year chasing after ever and copying her taste in music. It was strange because Caroline really liked him but for some reason neither had the nerve to ask the other one out. Caroline actually ended up as our year’s first gymslip mother at the end of the fourth year. The father was a Sixth Former name Darren Woodward who was mysteriously beat up the week after the pregnancy was revealed. The gossip was that it was Caroline’s Dad who inflicted the damage, but Pete never spoke about it. Perhaps it is wrong but a part of me always assumed that Darren had received a legendary Pete headbut.
Lyn chatted the whole way home and insisted on us walking with our arms linked. I was frequently on the lookout for hidden army men armed with sniper guns. Lyn was very easy going and had a smile that was relaxing. Was this turning into a date and if so would she be expecting a goodnight kiss? One thing was for sure I was not going to give her anything else. I am not that kind of boy. I usually have to know at least a girl’s next of kin's star sign and a list of all previous lovers postcodes before they get to see my dangly thing. Maybe, though, that was the old me perhaps the new post ‘Jilted Jon’ should be a bit more easy and perhaps even more Pete like. The problem is I think too much about things. I mean what happens afterwards. I haven’t got any protection or any clean pants to put on. Yes, I could just put my jeans back on and go pantless. But the last time I did this when I forgot to take a pair of pants when I went swimming, having worn my blue trunks to go in, I nearly had a nasty accident with my zip. Perhaps I am thinking too much already because just because Lyn was leaning against me closely and blowing in my ear doesn’t mean she is looking for anything else. After about forty minutes of walking we reached a street called Bell Road, which I think I had heard Lyn say earlier in the night is where she lived. It was now gone midnight and I was just deciding that I was going to have to ask if I could use Lyn’s bathroom.

”I am ok from here on Jon. Thank you for walking me home”, Lyn rather hurriedly said. She then kissed me on the cheek and then ran off through a gully-way. In no time she was gone and I was left to think about two different things. Firstly, where I was going to be able to spend a penny and secondly, ‘where the hell am I?’

Next week : Thirty and  party not to foget