Love Is The Best Revenge

This is my third story about a widow finding love to complete my trilogy, which includes Rosie Glow and A Problem for Maria. Unlike the other two stories, this romance does not contain sex scenes.

This story took me longer than any other I've written for this site; I hope you enjoy it. I was fascinated by the idea of two unlikely friends in a tragic situation finding love.

Please note this work is copyrighted, and I do not give permission for any part of it to be used elsewhere in any form. I think that the stealing of work to monetize from this website, which is given freely by authors, is abhorrent. ©Corny1974

Outside the courtroom, my ears were ringing. I couldn't hear what people were trying to say to me. I was aware of my mum holding my hand and my dad's arm guiding me towards the exit. It was then that I saw him, Jamie. Tears streaming down his face. No one was holding him or comforting him. He had lost his wife; I had lost my husband.

The difference was that my husband, Andy, was never coming back. He was gone forever. Jamie would eventually get his wife back in nine years or maybe a little less, according to the judge. She hadn't even looked at me when I read out my victim impact statement. In contrast, Jamie had looked devastated. When I finished talking to the court, describing the consequences of losing Andy and the subsequent miscarriage, I suffered in my grief. He looked me in the eyes and simply mouthed sorry. I just felt angry at him for his bitch of a wife. I was angry at the world. It was rage that fuelled me. That got me through my days. It was only later, in the quietness of my room, that I wondered why Jamie was sorry. Was he sorry as a fellow human being, sad at the loss I had suffered, or was he sorry because he had something to feel guilty about?

Six months after the trial had ended, my rage had never abated. I was so determined to see her punished, to get justice for Andy. That rage was all I had. That rage now had nowhere to go. I realised that I had used up everyone's patience. Whilst no one would be callous enough to tell me, it was time to move on, Andy had been gone for 18 months. It was easier to pretend that I was beginning to come to terms with it all. In reality, I doubted that I ever would.

Although I knew logically that Andy was gone and he wasn't coming back, there was still a bit of me who followed big red-haired blokes down the street. So sure, that it was him, that it was all some mistake, some colossal joke. He'd turn and laugh at me and say, "Gotcha!" with that cheeky, lopsided grin of his. That grin, I missed so much.

Before you say that I needed therapy, of course I was having therapy. I didn't think it was helping me, but it allowed me to be honest, to say aloud how I hadn't really moved on in a way I couldn't with anyone who cared about me. The therapist allowed me to talk about all the plans that Andy and I had. About the children we were going to have, about the child we lost. She gently tried to coax me into making new plans for the future, but I wasn't ready to think about anything that didn't include him. The therapist helped me understand why I had started cleaning compulsively. It was a way to exert control, the control that I didn't have over real life - I could control dirt and mess. I could cleanse and clean up, but I couldn't wipe my life clean. My lovely life was now tainted and dirty, soiled forever, by that drunken driver one cold winter's night.

I was cleaning the kitchen again. Having clean, clear surfaces made me feel better. Maybe my therapist was right when she said it was a control thing. I smiled with some satisfaction as I gave the countertop top a final wipe. The doorbell rang, and I opened it to see Jamie standing there. Husband of the murderous bitch. No, I wouldn't say her name. She didn't deserve to be mentioned. My initial reaction was to try and shut the door, but his foot was already in place.

"Bloody hell, that hurts," he said as I tried to slam it shut, "It never seems to hurt them like that in the movies."

I look at him, stunned, before saying, "Get your foot out of my door and leave before I call the police."

"Look, just let me talk to you, please. It's important."

I often wondered later why I just walked away from the open door and allowed him to follow me into the kitchen. "Wipe your feet. I've just mopped," I snapped.

"I'll take my shoes off, then," said Jamie hurriedly.

"Well, if you want wet socks," I shrugged, "Sit," I said, pointing to the tall stool at the island unit, "Well, what's so important?"

"I can't stop thinking about Andy and about you and what happened."

I gripped the side of the island, the white of my knuckles showing, "No, I can't stop thinking about it either: the knock on the door, the police with their hats in their hands and respectful, sombre faces. I knew it wasn't good. I knew he was dead. That I'd lost him."

I saw him wince when I said that. "What I didn't know," I was shouting now, "Was that it was all so preventable. If your bitch of a wife had got a cab home instead of driving whilst banned and three times over the limit, I would be standing here with my baby in my arms." my voice cracked then, "And my husband, my lovely Andy who never hurt a fly. A man without a selfish bone in his body would have been sitting where you are." Jamie looked away then. "Instead, I'm looking at the husband of the murdering waste of skin who took everything from me."

"Look, about C-".

I stopped him before he could say her name, "Do not say that woman's name in my house. In Andy's house - don't!"

"I'm sorry. That's all; I just wanted to say sorry. I know it's trite and meaningless, but I just needed you to know that I can't stop thinking about you, Andy and your little one. I hated thinking that you might think I was moving on in any way. I'm not, what happened consumes me, and I feel such guilt. I can't eat. I can't sleep, and I have no one. Who wants to be friends with the spouse of a - murdering, waste of skin."

I pause then. The silence filled the kitchen before I finally said, "My heart bleeds. If you are coming here for sympathy you'll find I'm all sold out. Dried up and bitter, no empathy left."

I heard myself, heard what I had become; I took a deep breath and tried to find a little bit of the old me,

"Having said that, you don't need to apologise. You didn't do anything wrong."

"But I did. It's my fault."

"Jamie," I sighed; I just wanted him to go now, "You weren't even in the country; you were away on business. You weren't driving, you weren't even in the car. How could it be your fault?"

"Because I shouldn't have left her. I should have said no to going away, but I thought the break would do us good. Allow us to recoup. I knew she was drinking again, but I couldn't get her to admit that it was a problem. That she was an alcoholic."

He paused then as if he had run out of words, run out of breath after his long spiel. I didn't know how to react. What to say? Part of me wanted to hate him, blame him, and tell him it was all his fault. Instead, I didn't say anything. I just stared at him. Perhaps there was still enough of the old Emily left to feel some sympathy for him. Just enough of the old Emily left, whose heart hadn't been blackened by grief. It wasn't his fault that his wife was a drunken bitch, I looked at him properly for the first time. He looked tired and thinner than when I saw him at the trial. His jacket was hanging off his broad shoulders. His blonde hair needed a cut. It looked like he needed a good meal. He was a soul in torment. I knew the signs well.

I heard my voice speak before my brain had registered what I was going to say. "Have you eaten?"

He shook his head. "No, I haven't had much appetite lately."

"Me neither, but I have a homemade lasagna in the freezer. It was....... Andy's favourite," I said quietly. Jamie once again winced at the mention of his name. "I just thought you might like it too." He nodded and I set to work, he talked as I bustled about the kitchen. It was as if he was talking out loud, not talking to me.

"She was always spoiled, she always got what she wanted from her Mum and Dad. She was their princess and then mine. I was so in love with her. I'd do anything for her. She used to joke that she was a high-maintenance girl as if it was something to be proud of. She joked about me too to her friends, about her Jamie, who would do anything for her. I used to laugh along too. Happy to be a co-star with her in the starring role. I can see now that she never respected me. I was just another minion to dance her attendance. Her opinion was the only one that mattered that was why she didn't listen when I told her the drinking was getting out of hand again."

I slammed the oven door shut and poured him a glass of lemonade. "I hope that is OK. I don't drink, since, well, you know."

"No, I know that's fine. I don't either. I never really did, to be honest. I'll never touch it again now, though, now I can see what it does and............ what it destroys."

There was something so simple and honest about that statement that I saw myself pat his hand. Eating in companionable silence until eventually Jamie asked, "How are you? I know it's a stupid question, but how are you really?"

"I'm no different, just as bitter and twisted as I have been since Andy died. I have to pretend to my friends and family that I'm coming to terms with things. That way I can ease their pain a bit, even if I can't ease my own."

"Tell me about him, about Andy."

"He was funny and cheeky. I knew that he was the one from the moment I saw him. That was weird. He felt the same, but he was too much of a lad in front of his mates to admit it until much later. He was cocky and silly, showing off, but I saw something else and saw that he was sweet and kind. I saw he was sensitive. He never needed to be reminded when it was a birthday or a special occasion. The number of times I'd have a craving for a particular chocolate bar or something silly. He would just walk through the door with it. He just knew what I needed. I was very lucky to have him."

I pulled up short. That was the first time I could talk about him and feel happy without being overwhelmed with pain. I felt happy for what I'd had, not what I'd lost. I cried again then, because I felt like I turned a corner.

"I'm sorry I've upset you again," said Jamie, "I didn't mean to, please don't cry." With that, he held my hand; he squeezed it. It felt good, such a simple thing holding hands. So simple that you never miss it till it's gone.

"No," I reassured him, "For the first time. I'm crying because I'm happy thinking about him. Thank you for asking about him. People don't tend to. Perhaps that's what I have to do more of, to remember the happy times. My therapist tries, but I've been so full of hate, of darkness."

Jamie carried on holding my hand, "My therapist is trying to convince me that I was in an abusive relationship, that I have PTSD. I wasn't in the SAS; I was only married, to.....to."

"Claire." I said quietly. "You can say the bitch's name. She's already spoiled enough in this house; she won't spoil anything else. I won't let her."

"I'm not a complete wimp, you know. I'm a manager at work. I'm very capable. I make dynamic decisions all day long. My colleagues respect me. Or did. How could I not have any respect at home? Why did I put up with her nonsense?"

"Jamie, you were in love and you wanted to protect that."

"I did love her very much, I know you hate her, but I did love her. I have been to see her in prison. All I get is a list of demands. She's created this poor little Claire scenario where she is the victim. I finally see her for who she really is. She's selfish and manipulative, and she's ruined your life and mine."

"And taken Andy," I whispered. Jamie looked away again.

"And your baby. I can't even begin to say sorry for that. I just can't. It's just so unfair."

"It would have been nice to have been left with a little part of Andy, but it wasn't meant to be. It was a girl, you know. I've never told anyone that, not even his family or mine. I thought I'd spare them the pain," I wiped my eye with the edge of my sleeve, rapidly changing the focus before I came completely undone, "Did you want children?"

"Very much, but Claire wanted to finish off her wild times before settling down to be a mum. There was always some excuse, some party, some wedding hen night. Maybe next year, some year."

"There will still be time when she gets out. She'll be 38."

"Well, it won't be with me."

I didn't expect that reply; I thought he was just venting, saying what he thought I wanted to hear. "Have you told her that?"

"Yes, it didn't go down well. She had to be taken back to her cell. So now I'm the bastard who deserted her in her hour of need. Well, it's not like I have anyone to be bothered nowadays anyway. If it makes you happy, she is having a horrendous time in prison. Apparently, spoilt princesses either become top dogs or get bullied into being some bitch's lapdog. It seems the top dog position was already taken, so the top dog now has a new lap dog.

I thought about what Jamie had said. Did it make me happy that Claire was suffering? Of course, it bloody did. I hope they shave her head and tattoo bitch on her forehead with a rusty nail. However, I realised that I hated seeing Jamie suffer, I hated seeing him in so much pain. Ostracised, alone and what was he guilty of? Loving someone. No, he was an innocent victim in this, just like me, just like Andy.

I realised that for the first time in ages, I was actually putting myself in someone else's shoes. I was feeling empathy for another human being, like the old Emily. The Emily that Andy had loved so much. Sometimes when I was having one of those wide-awake 3.00 am nightmares, I was worried that Andy wouldn't even recognise the person I had become. He wouldn't like the bitter, twisted me. That scared me. I needed Andy's love still; I needed his respect.

So, finishing off the meal, and looking at Jamie, I made an impulsive decision. I would try hard to become more like the old me. I'd do it for me, for those who cared about me, but most of all I'd do it for Andy. I would make him proud of me again. If he was here now, I know what he would do. He would want to help Jamie. He would have probably taken him out for a pint and just let him talk. He was a good listener. Maybe that's what I could do for Jamie. I could listen. I felt calmer when he was talking, and he obviously needed to talk. Maybe thinking about someone else for a bit would distract me from my own feelings.

As I cleared the table, I said, "It was nice to feed someone again. I am having pizza tomorrow. There is always too much for one. You are welcome to join me if you want."

"Are you really sure? I would like that. This is the first meal I think I have tasted in months. The first meal that I didn't have to force myself to swallow. Thank you, Emily, for listening."

"It's OK, I'm sorry about your foot and for being such a grumpy bitch. It's my current default setting."

"I've been selfish," said Jamie. "I hoped there was something, anything I could say or do to try and help, just a little bit. Instead, talking to you has made me feel, I don't know, a bit lighter. I'll see myself out. I am going to try and help you. I promise. See you tomorrow."

With that, he was gone. How did that happen? My eyes glanced over at my favourite picture of Andy. He was holding a huge fish he had caught. I hated his stinky fishing gear and always complained about it. What I wouldn't give to smell it now? I looked again at his picture. He seemed to be smiling wider than before. He had that cheeky smirk he always had when he was up to something.

"Andy, are you up to mischief?" I said aloud.

The next day at work, I found myself thinking about Jamie. I had thrown myself into my work to fill my mind. I had become almost an automaton. Work, home, cleaning those work surfaces over and over again. A brave smile during Sunday lunch at my parents to reassure them that everything was OK. I was different today, and people noticed. My friend Kelly caught me looking out of the window.

"A penny for your thoughts," she smiled, "You're distracted today, what is it? Everything OK?"

I smiled and surprised myself by telling her about Jamie's visit.

"I admit at times I have hated him as much as her, but when faced with him, I found myself reassuring him that it wasn't his fault."

"That's the Em I know--the real Emily. You couldn't see anyone suffer. Does that mean my friend is coming back?"

"Have I been that bad?"

"Oh, sweetheart, you're allowed. Anyone is after what you have been through, but I have missed my friend." With that, she turned back to the computer monitor, gave me one last smile and carried on with her work.

There was me thinking that I had been doing so well at fooling people that I was beginning to be OK. Apparently not.

Jamie arrived at 6.00 pm. He'd had a haircut; it suited him. He had brought a selection of different soft drinks for us to try.

"I thought we could mix them and make some mocktails if you wanted," he said, looking unsure.

"Yes, that would be great. Pizza is in the oven."

"Not takeout then?"

"No, homemade, they are only quick to do. Taste a million times better, and well, cooking keeps me busy."

"What else do you do to keep you busy?"

"Clean and go to work, mostly. I gave up my hobbies after, well, you know. I couldn't cope with the well-meaning, sympathetic smiles at Pilates, and as for my dance class, well, I just couldn't face it."

"I gave up my five-a-side team for the same reason. I wasn't going to help them win any games, and I certainly wasn't going to join them in the pub afterwards. The lads were great, but the odd member of an opposing team might have said a few things under his breath about, well, you know."

"I meant what I said. It is not your fault."

"Well, as long as you think that, I don't care what anyone else thinks."

As I had forgotten to ask what he liked on his pizza, I had done a four-in-one. Each quarter was different. Luckily, he seemed to like it all. The only section he didn't like was a seafood one, just like me.

"Prawns on pizza - yuk!" we both chorused together.

"My turn now, don't look, I am making you a mocktail; you've got to guess what is in it," said Jamie collecting some ice from the fridge dispenser."

He seemed so different than yesterday; he was more relaxed and we had even laughed a few times during the meal.

"It actually hurts to laugh," he admitted, "I think I have forgotten how to do it." He smiled then and carried on telling me about some disastrous scouting trip he had gone on as a boy. Another outdoors guy, like my Andy. He loved braving the wet and cold. That was where we were different. I liked being warm and cosy when enjoying myself. It had never mattered though; our differences were what had made us such a good combination. I was lost in my thoughts, thinking about Andy coming here wet and cold after some hike or a day fishing. He would chase me around the house trying to touch me with his freezing cold hands before jumping in the shower and asking me to join him. I smiled then, lost in the memory.

Suddenly, I realised that Jamie was standing looking at me. "You were miles away; it must have been somewhere good. You were smiling. I enjoyed seeing you smile. Anyway," he said, suddenly embarrassed, "Try this. You have to guess the combination."

I closed my eyes to taste; it was easier to concentrate then. "Mmm, there is definitely orange in there, with something peachy and a dash of?"

"A dash of what?" Jamie challenged.

"Cola?"

"Just a touch, well done; there is also some cloudy lemonade in there."