The Discovery

The shovel thrust into the ground again, the sharp edge cutting harshly through the clay. Wiping away a bead of sweat she looked down, ready to heave the soil up onto the grass, when suddenly her world stopped.

Birds seemed to freeze in flight, car engines cut out. The blaring radio from Mrs Johansson’s garden faded to nothing, only to be replaced by a deafening silence. She no longer felt the light breeze through her hair, nor the smooth handle of the shovel, heavy in her hands. All around her was stillness and silence. The weight of her realisation lay heavy on her heart, but at the same time, a sense of relief seemed to drift upwards from deep inside, slowly turning cold. She knew now. After all this time, she finally knew.
That morning had dawned just like any other. It was midsummer, clear blue skies stretching for miles. She got up early, as usual, while her husband slept later. Another day off for her. He left hurriedly for the office after breakfast, forgetting his wallet and mobile, and not for the first time. She put them on the hall table, just in case he rushed back to get them. After a while, she dressed, and went outside to finish the work she had started yesterday. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, jeans, sleeves rolled up, old Nikes for gardening shoes – so different from her usual image.

She worked for a while, mind blank, concentrating on the task in hand, and after a while the sound of the tinny radio from next door filled the air. She hummed along to the tune, enjoying the sunshine, and thinking about what to make for dinner.

That’s if he comes home in time and he’s not too tired.

She moved to another bed, kneeling to pull weeds. I must call Jo today, and arrange for that coffee next week. The song from next door changed to a more upbeat one, and she sang along with the words, brushing back a strand of loose hair.

The past couple of weeks, she had either eaten dinner alone at their normal time of six pm, or waited for him to come home so they could eat together. Until recently they would discuss the day’s events, gossip about colleagues at work, and have a general banter about whose career was more advanced. She loved those evenings, especially after dinner, when they would curl up on the sofa together, watching an episode of Friends, or relaxing to their favourite music

Picking up the shovel, she moved behind the pear tree to loosen the soil in the border. They were going to plant some flowers there; she said chrysanthemums, while he wanted geraniums. Pushing the blade of the shovel in deep, she heaved a clump of soil over, chopping it loosely.

Lately, it might have been her imagination, but she felt those nights had seemed rather strained, as though they were searching for a topic of conversation. His answers were short, almost clipped, but always with a soft smile to take away the sharpness in his tone. When watching TV, he never seemed to joke anymore that she looked like Cat Deely, with her long hair and great legs. It remained unsaid between them, but she knew he thought she looked older. I don’t feel I know him anymore, she reflected. It’s as though we’re drifting apart.

A chirping sound from inside made her rush to the hall. Her husband’s mobile was blinking merrily. Hello? Silence. Hello? A click. She dismissed it as a prank, and went back into the sunshine, re-tying her ponytail carelessly.

Then, a thought appeared from nowhere, which startled her. That phone-call last week – what on earth was that about? He had left his mobile at home that day too, Hi Daniel, it’s Kelly. We need to talk. But before she could speak, the line had gone dead. A bad connection, she had assumed, probably a business call. But now, in the back of her mind, like a constant shadow, suspicion began to lurk.

And that fragrance. He had laughed it off, telling her not to be so oversensitive, that he’d hugged a colleague at work on her birthday and she was wearing Dior. He couldn’t even remember what perfume she wore, come to think of it. She suddenly felt such a fool. How could she have been so blinkered? It was all so obvious.

Working late … strange calls to his mobile … the scent of a woman’s perfume …

The shovel thrust into the ground again, the sharp edge cutting harshly through the clay.

The weight of her realisation lay heavy on her heart, but at the same time, a sense of relief seemed to drift upwards from deep inside, slowly turning cold. She knew now. After all this time, she finally knew.

She had never felt so stupid. Pain bubbled up inside, threatening to break out. How could you do this to me? She cried silently. Then, shockingly, that feeling of hurt began to fade to the background, anger flashing out violently. There was no hurt; just cold fury. Then, with the ease and grace of an uncoiling snake, an idea began to form.

The natural sounds of the world rushed back in abruptly. Looking at her watch, she realised it was almost five. He’d be home soon. Dropping the shovel carelessly, she strode back inside, already composing herself enough to make the phone call.

Hello Jo? It’s Catherine. Yes, about next week. Wednesday? Three sounds great. Yes … yes I’m fine. And you? Good. I’ll see you then. Bye.

She went back outside into the late afternoon sunshine. The radio seemed louder, but this time it wasn’t as irritating. She picked up the shovel once more, and continued digging.

Her mind was made up. With steely resolution, pure clarity and harsh intent, the thoughts were already taking firm shape.

Revenge really would be a dish best served ice cold.