It was a Saturday in the middle of August and the second day of sunshine. Monica had raced around the house in a frenzy with the vacuum cleaner, then sweated over the ironing of her husband's white shirts for next week. She abandoned the ironing of her own blouses and stepped out into the garden in the midday sun. Looking up she saw a cloudless sky of electric blue with only a hint of a breeze.
Monica took the stairs two a time and rummaged through her top drawer to find her favourite purple bikini. The top had silver sparkles along the front sides of the little triangles, and the bottom half was low cut and tied with strings on the sides. As she peeled off her shorts and tee shirt she was glad she had taken the time last week to have a Brazilian wax done at the Urban Spa. Not that anyone would be observing her sunbathing, but she liked to feel good about herself regardless.
Fastening the long dark hair on the top of her head, she grabbed the colourful beach towel with the surfer scene along the bottom edge, and tripped back down the stairs. Next she fixed a glass of iced red zinger tea, and then hunted in a cupboard for sun tan oil and sunglasses. She had to move the step ladder and some coats to locate the folding futon mattress, unused since the last hot spell a year ago. Eventually all the accoutrements were assembled and she looked up to maximise the results from the sun's rays.
There wasn't a lot of room in the small back garden, but it had the advantage of being south facing. The best feature, however, was that in one spot it was not overlooked by the neighbouring houses, thus providing complete privacy. Monica spread out her towel and stretched out her legs to smother them in coconut oil. She placed her drink and mobile phone in the shade under the teak table. Then she lay back and closed her eyes.
A bumble bee was buzzing around in the flower border and she turned her head to see what it was doing. The bee was lazily flying from one clematis blossom to another, then he moved further away to pollinate the lavender.
Two peacock butterflies briefly crossed her line of vision before vanishing over the high wooden fence. She closed her eyes again and her ears tuned in to the sound of birds chirping in next door's Cyprus trees. This reminded her that she had meant to fill the bird feeder yesterday, so she reached for her sun glasses and crossed the small expanse of lawn, to the garden shed. Filling the plastic measuring cup she poured bird seed into their feeder. Of course they had also devoured all the fat balls put out earlier in the week, so she replenished that supply as well.
Eventually she settled down again with a sigh and closed her eyes once more. She could hear the neighbourhood children shouting to one another from the adjoining street, and found this to be annoying. She wasn't ready to have to deal with babies and children yet, and couldn't understand the attraction it seemed to hold for some of her friends. Why were they in such a hurry to lose their figures and be chained to a crying infant? No thank you.
Since they had married two years ago, life had fallen into a comfortable routine. Monica was quite happy to put in her hours at the office each week and then be totally selfish at the weekend. Her husband didn't always have the weekend off as his hours tended to be quite unsociable. Sometimes this was inconvenient if she wanted to plan a get together with friends, but on the other hand it often worked out quite well. He wasn't particularly possessive of her time, and didn't have any objections to her amusing herself with other wives when he had to work nights.
As a result their marriage had been amazingly successful so far. Early days, she knew, but they rarely disagreed, and in fact were surprisingly compatible. Monica had never had a relationship extending longer than two years, because she usually became bored with boyfriends at about that time. So it was a revelation to herself and her friends that their marriage was working so well. They both liked holidays in the sun, and had booked two weeks in Sharm el Sheikh in September. If she could get a bit of a tan before then it would be perfect.
Her thoughts examined her marital relationship further; they both had a sense of adventure and daring. During their honeymoon they had both had a go at windsurfing and bodysurfing, with quite a degree of success. They had gone kayaking together and still joked about whose fault it was that the kayak had capsized. He was also an imaginative lover, and during the past winter they had often spent an entire day in bed.
The sparrows and blue tits had discovered that the feeder had been filled for their pleasure, and were contentedly twittering to each other. Suddenly it all went quiet, and Monica sat up. On the roof of the garden shed was a very fluffy black cat. "Hey, get away from here." She yelled at the cat, who turned his yellow eyes slowly to stare at her, without making any effort to move. She waved her arms around and he flicked his tail in response. "You wretched bird murderer." She shouted at the cat, but he didn't move until she got up and went towards the shed. Then he silently slipped over the back fence.
Before settling down again Monica went to fetch the ghetto blaster. She plugged in an extension cord and carried it outside hoping to find a suitable radio station. For some reason there seemed to be either call-in shows or lame music on all of the stations. So she went back inside and picked up a Bruce Springsteen CD. That ought to keep him away, she thought.
Her husband had chastised her before about playing the radio too loud, and suggested she wear headphones. But how can a girl do a proper job of sunbathing wearing ear muffs? So she popped in the CD and thinking that "Glory Days" was most appropriate, rolled over onto her stomach and undid the back of her bikini top and one side of the bikini brief. The sun blazed down on her oiled skin and she finally started to wind down and feel drowsy.
So it took a while for her to realise that while The Boss was belting out "Born in the USA" there was another sound filtering through. It was someone banging on the garden gate, and then came:
