Howard knew he would need coins for the parking meter at lunchtime and tried his wife's oddment draw in the bedroom. Beneath the clutter was an unfamiliar black-covered notebook. Knowing he shouldn't, he opened the book and read from the first page. It was written in Judy's familiar round hand in red ballpoint and he thought it was a diary or journal. He skipped a few pages and read more. Then he realised it must be a story.
But if so, why would she write such a bizarre tale? He put away the notebook, ashamed at intruding on his wife's private fantasies. A little later, making coffee, he was still amazed by what he'd read and thought: "She's bored. That's why she wrote it."
His curiosity overcame shame and once more he took out the notebook, sat down and read it through. The scene was unmistakably the local station café. Howard knew it from the occasional trip to town, but it was familiar to his wife from her daily commute. But in contrast to the café, which was real, the rest had to come from her imagination.
***
Notebook entry:
I don't usually sit in the café, but today I was perched on one of the stools at the counter because there was a hold-up on the line and my train was late.
"Are you left waiting too, just because a train company can't run trains on time?" said the man standing beside me. He was tall and slim and wore a dark blue suit, better cut and made of a finer woollen weave than most. I liked the slight ironic twist to his lips and the gleam in his eye which carried a challenge.
An unexpected impulse made me shake my head. I wanted to shock this nice but conventional man. "My husband sent me here to wait for the man who could stir me out of my boredom. It would have to be a very special man because my life is tedious. I have high standards and most men don't interest me at all."
The man considered his reply and the way he hid his surprise showed class. "How interesting. And does your husband mind who this man is?"
I shrugged. "He loves me. He wants it to be whoever makes me happy. But he knows how demanding I can be and thinks that only the cleverest, strongest, most confident male could deal with me. He says he doesn't have to worry about being superseded because I shan't find anyone."
"And how long have you been waiting?"
"So far? Only ten minutes."
"More impatient than bored, I'd say." I was being inspected by the suave commuter. "Here, I've bought you another coffee. I have ages to wait so let's sit down properly. And you might as well know that my name is Marcus. I'm the man you're waiting for."
I wanted to say that I didn't like arrogant men and that I limited myself to one coffee in the morning. I followed him instead to a table on the platform and we sat opposite one another. For the first time I had a chance to study his face. He had dark curls at his temple and amusement animated his features. He was used to telling other people what to do, that was evident, but I thought he was kind even though I was sure he was demanding and selfish. And I was curious to see what he hoped to get out of the conversation. Just a matter of passing the time until his train came - unless I made an impression.
"Tell me why you think you're the man I'm waiting for?"
"Why a man? Can't a woman amuse you? You're not telling me you're looking for a lover?"
"You've not answered my question."
"It doesn't deserve an answer. You decide whether I'm the man. I don't know you. I have no opinion, except that you look sexy and I don't mind having fun with you."
"If you're going to be rude I shall leave."
"Fine."
We sipped our coffees in silence for a minute during which I was aware of a very close inspection. Then the man, Marcus, said, "Tell me more about being bored. What's the matter with you? Depressed?"
"Nothing like that." I thought quickly. What did I mean when I told Howard I was bored to the point of despair? Was it my work, my marriage? Not precisely, but they contributed. It was more than that, more that my life was failing to meet my expectations. I'd had so many plans, so many objectives - things I had to do. And I'd done many of them without gaining the satisfaction I'd expected. It was my fault no doubt. I didn't understand myself as well as I'd thought.
"I deserve more from life. There's no excitement. I do the same things every day, have the same thoughts, know what Howard's going to say before he opens his mouth. It's not his fault, it's mine."
"You poor thing." My companion was laughing at me. "Life's full of adventures waiting to happen. You have to find them."
"But I don't know where."
"Isn't this one of them? Your husband must be a more sensible man than you give him credit for. If he really sent you here."
I looked down at my cup. Howard knew nothing about the station bar: he rarely travelled by train. This was entirely my doing. But having started the game on a whim, I couldn't deny that it was fun.
"Actually my husband told me I needed a man who tells me what to do."
"I can make you do what I want. Easy," said Marcus. He reached out and put his hand over mine. I snatched my hand away. He caught it again and forced it back to the table top. "See what I mean. My will is stronger than yours and if I want to hold your hand I shall. It's cold and I'll warm it for you."
"I can scream. It would serve you right for taking liberties."
"Stop protesting. I'll hold your hand if I want. It does no harm and you led me on. In fact I'm going to kiss you. Clearly you want me to, but scream if you must. Everyone here knows you led me on."
He followed up immediately, kissing my cheek without resistance, followed by a kiss on the lips. I felt the warmth of his breath, compelled to respond by the force of his presence.
"You shouldn't have done that."
"I'm enjoying myself and it gave you a thrill. A sexy thrill. Don't deny it. My train will be here in a minute and you're going to do one more thing for me."
"I shan't. You're not trustworthy."
"Absolutely, but you'll do it anyway. Give me your mobile number." Marcus still gripped my hand and squeezed it tight. With his other hand he took out his own phone so he could key in the number.
"Shan't."
"I don't know when I'll be free, but if I want to see you I'll send a text and you must come. You know you will."
"Never. I've told you I'm married."
"Tell your husband you're coming to see me. He'll approve. Now stop wasting time."
"If you insist, but I shan't answer any text."
He looked over her shoulder at her phone.
"You'll come when I want you. Here, I'll give you my business card. You're surname's Puncheon? Punch and Judy - I like it! Someone here's a joker. You can tell Howard Puncheon we're meeting for work if that makes you happier."
I held his card and he had my number, I wasn't sure how. And then he was gone and my tedious day was still full of promise. I knew I was sorry to be left alone.
That evening I told Howard I'd met a handsome stranger at the station café and he'd propositioned me. Howard looked at me as if he'd never seen me before, trying to work out whether I was teasing him or telling the truth. He laughed.
"You should be so lucky. Someone tripped over your bag and mouthed an obscenity at you and you mistook it for a compliment. Or something like that."
"Have it your way. But he was muscular and very good looking. I'm seeing him again and I'll let him buy me a drink."
"You do that. I shan't be jealous."
***
Howard was confident he knew Judy. She'd not spoken to him about meeting a stranger. He reasoned therefore that what she'd written was untrue - a work of fiction. It was common sense that she couldn't have remembered a conversation verbatim, so she must have made up the dialogue. It was fiction and read like a story. And she knew that he occasionally looked for coins in her drawer, so she could have left the book there knowing he would find it.
It was a game and he smiled at her ingenuity. She'd always liked pastimes which involved play acting, like charades or fancy dress. But what was the point of the game and how did you win? He decided he was meant to read the notebook and be jealous. When he confronted her she would announce that it was creative writing and that he was a gullible fool for imagining she had a lover. And that he was wrong to read her private notebook. She would tease him no end.
Almost immediately, he had second thoughts. Could it be a confession? She'd had an affair and lacked the nerve to tell him to his face. Instead she'd written it down knowing he'd read it. Howard thought carefully and decided it was impossible. Judy was shy about meeting strangers. She'd never have an affair. And it read like a made-up story. He did his best to forget the notebook.
Except that each night he checked the drawer to see whether the story had been continued. On Monday morning after she left for work, he read the following short entry written the night before.
***
Notebook entry:
Exciting news. I've had a text from Marcus. "Bar in station concourse on my way home. Seven p.m. tomorrow night. Don't be late because I shan't wait around." Thinking about this makes me breathless, but of course I'll ignore his insulting proposition.
***
Howard read disbelievingly. If this was a wind-up it was painfully effective. He reassured himself that it was a story, yet he caught himself wondering if Judy would go to the meeting. After a bit he didn't know what to think. Leaving for work, she'd told him that she had a late meeting. Of course it was a tease. He decided to forget the diary.
But it preyed on his mind and he delayed leaving work so he'd not be at home thinking about Judy. If her objective was to make herself the centre of attention, he had to admire her success. It was nine and he was exhausted when he finally put his key in the door.
Judy was home. She came out of the sitting room and greeted him with a taut smile. Suddenly he was inspired to give back some of her teasing. He looked hard into her eyes, sniffed her hair ostentatiously and checked that she was dressed as she'd been when she left for work. He wanted to show that he'd read the diary and wasn't put out by the game. Also that he understood exactly what she was up to.
