Part One of

  ‘The Lovewell Series’

  by

  Sarah Anne Stroud

  Set – and written – in 2014

  In which we Somehow encounter more Lovewells than first meet the eye, while Humphrey finds himself in a Gray area.

  1  1

  Humphrey stood in passive horror as the figure advanced upon him.

  Genetically stocky, bordering on the obese, with significant facial hair and monobrow.

  And she wasn’t alone.

  ‘Listen you! Oh, I might’ve known you’d just sit there smirking at me. I suppose you’re happy now, aren’t you? Well? Well, don’t just sit there, shaking your head at me! Listen, I don’t like you and I don’t respect you. Right? Do you get that?! Well?!! Don’t just sit there nodding at me! I always knew you’d divorce me. I always knew you would. Because you’re a pig! You’ve got no compassion, no morals... you’re nothing but a spiteful and vindictive swine, Humphrey. And another thing, you might well have divorced me, but I’m glad you did. And do you want to know why? Because it was my idea, that’s why. Do you understand that? Yes, that’s right. So you can’t hold that over me. I’m happier now than I have been in years and I’m already looking for another man. Wait a minute, what am I saying? I’m looking for a man: because you certainly don’t qualify. You never did! Sandra agrees with me too. And, God knows, she knows all about men. Well, don’t look at me like that, Sandra...’

  Oh, thank goodness; she’d taken a breath at last.

  This was typical Anthea, getting an attack in before anyone else could. It had been the same throughout their marriage.

  Humphrey shuddered.

  Yes, certainly it had. Particularly with regard to those, extremely hard to evade, ‘bedroom activities’.

  He sent a cheery ‘Good morning!’ in Sandra’s direction being unsure as to when, or indeed if, he would ever be able to get another word in. What Sandra was even doing there was a mystery. The two women didn’t get on, even at the best of times. Not that Anthea had ever had too many of those of course: certainly not since she’d found herself lumbered with him. She must’ve told him that hundreds of times over the years, in no uncertain terms. Maybe Sandra was there to remind her sister to stop talking, every once in a while, and to actually breathe occasionally?

  Humphrey suddenly realised that his ex-wife wasn’t talking. She wasn’t even muttering under her breath about how useless he was. Was she even breathing? Had Sandra failed in even that basic task?

  He thought for a moment.

  He would need a mirror: that would soon bring her round anyway, for better or worse. As luck would have it, he just happened to have one on him. It was part of his ‘New Man’ penknife, which included no actual knife but which did manage to incorporate a mirror, a raspberry lip balm and a pair of eyebrow tweezers.

  He moved very carefully towards her but then hesitated, reluctant to take that final step. The one that would take him close enough to see the crow’s feet and the laughter lines.

  Hang about; laughter lines?!

  Oh no, she was off again.

  What was it going to be this time then? She was happy without him... yes, he got that bit. She didn’t look particularly happy though, even for her. She was telling him she was, in spades, with no holds barred, but she certainly didn’t look it. She didn’t often smile under any circumstances though, to be fair to her. Not even one of those fake smiles where the mouth moves but the eyes wish you every possible evil under the sun.

  God, she was gorgeous when she was angry.

  There was something about that bulging eye and jabbing finger combo that really did things to him.

  ‘Did you want to see me, Anthea?’

  Humphrey smiled at her, endearingly. Or so he hoped, anyway. It was an expression he’d practised many a time. Charming yet vulnerable, that was the aim.

  Here, speaking of aim, what was she doing with that vase?!

  With some relief, he watched her place it back down on his desk.

  ‘Did I want to see you what: dead? Now you’re well and truly talking.’

  ‘How about naked?’

  That sounded cheerful enough, although he thought it prudent to actively assess his escape routes at that point, just in case she decided to take him up on that sadly-not-very-generous offer.

  He needn’t have worried.

  ‘That would hardly be worth your while, Humphrey.’

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Ouch.

  That really was disappointing. She’d resorted to an attack on the physical. Her insults were usually so much better than that.

  There was no denying it: he felt cheated.

  ‘I know you never loved me, Humphrey.’

  Well, at least she’d feel a bit better for having got that off her chest. Wallowing in self-pity was her version of some sort of luxury spa day. And her ex-husband was having none of it.

  ‘You never loved me either then!’

  Anthea gasped.

  Sandra looked ashen.

  ‘ “Either”?!’

  Oh, Jesus.

  She’d insulted him first, he was only trying to agree with her!

  She’d only gone and changed the bloody rules on him again.

  Pitifully, he began pleading his case. There should obviously never, ever, have been an ‘either’. He hadn’t been thinking straight and it’d just sort of ‘sneaked out’.

  There should not have been an ‘either’.

  There should have been a ‘No!’, delivered with great emphasis and indignation and then nothing more.

  Or, if he hadn’t felt quite so tired, he might have embellished it, ever so slightly, with an

  ‘Of course I did!’.

  Or, if he hadn’t been quite so cowardly, he might even have made it a nice, round, suicidal

  ‘No, I’m sorry – but you’re wrong’.

  Unlikely though, that one, under the circumstances.

  Hardened Spartan warriors might have had second thoughts about telling Anthea she was wrong. Still, she would have to be impressed by one thing: the revelation that he was such an expert ballistics marksman that he’d somehow managed to shoot himself in the foot, even while that foot was firmly jammed into his mouth.

  And she’d always told him he couldn’t multi-task, too.

  ‘Let me get this perfectly straight, Humphrey. You are, in effect, saying that I was so unattractive, so hideous, so vile and so utterly repulsive that even you – even you! – did not love me?’

  She clenched her fist in that, very particular, way she seemed to have. Humphrey was too offended to pay all that much attention.

  Ray Mears would’ve been appalled at him.

  ‘Hang on a minute! What do you mean, even me? I resent that, I’ll have you know.’

  Did he look offended?

  He really, really wanted to look offended.

  Did she look offended?

  No.

  No, she just looked dangerous.

  ‘Really? You made love to me with all the enthusiasm of a cow on its way to the abattoir!’

  Humphrey stared at her.

  There she was again, confusing ‘love’ with ‘making love’. Why did his, rather-too-successful, attempts to match Usain Bolt’s personal best – albeit in a far more squelchy event – automatically have to mean that he’d never loved her?

  Would a clapped out cow on its way to a well-deserved eternal peace have been any worse off than him anyhow; clapped out in his own way and yet destined not for peace, but for ongoing intimidating appointments with regimented horizontal exercise?

  What a very clever move on her part.

  There was no arguing against a statement like that. There was no defence to an accusation like that. His own father couldn’t have got him off a charge like that one.

  Strangely, Humphrey felt a sense of intense pride at that last little revelation. He could just imagine his father confidently oozing on to the scene, taking a brief look at the opposition... then doing a wide-eyed double-take of Anthea and running for his life.

  Why the hell was she staring at him like that?

  Ah yes, she’d asked him a question, hadn’t she? Albeit a fully loaded one, heavily disguised as a derogatory statement.

  Well, since there was no point in arguing with her, he decided to try and call a halt to the entire episode.

  ‘Oh, blow it out your ear, Anthea.’

  Brave words, those – which was why he deftly moved to hide behind his former sister-in-law.

  Anthea’s mouth fell open at his sheer audacity. Not to mention his incredibly poor knowledge of anatomy.

  What sort of books on that subject could he possibly have been reading?

  Crap ones, by the sound of it, which might explain an awful lot of what had – and, more usually, had not – gone on during their marriage.

  ‘I suppose you’re happy now though, aren’t you? Now you’ve divorced me.’

  God, she was good.

  That entire statement had been expertly designed to make him say something that could immediately be taken out of context.

  He most certainly was happier, now that he’d divorced her, there was no possible way he could deny that. Although, Anthea herself had come up with the idea. On an almost daily basis, actually, throughout most of their twelve-year wedlock.

  That was an interesting word too, ‘wedlock’.

  It sounded like a judicial sentence of some kind:

  “You will be taken from this confetti-strewn place to a roller-coaster of intense human emotions, where you will serve twelve, emotionally draining, years of wedlock’.”

  Yes. After which time, you’ll be left as miserable and angry as Humphrey’s ex-wife obviously was.

  In comparison to her he was happy. At least she was finally talking to him again. As for him, these days he lived in a three-room hovel-cum-shoebox, shared a kitchen with the cast of ‘A Bug’s Life’, and his dress collection was being slowly decimated by rising damp.

  There wasn’t much of anything there to smile about.

  Ah-ha! Of course: ‘The Perfect Reply’.

  Oh, this was going to be good!

  ‘I’m as happy as you are, Anthea.’

  Brilliant!

  Sheer genius.

  She wasn’t happy and for her to have to admit that to him would’ve meant her having to admit that their divorce had been utterly pointless. Their marriage hadn’t been working, that was true, but divorce should never have been the answer. And she could never give voice to that sort of statement without revealing some kind of deeper feelings; something that, as a general rule of thumb, she simply didn’t do.

  That was it then; game, set and match to him and new balls please.

  He could almost hear the cogs grinding round in her head, trying desperately to find a hidden meaning in his words that could somehow be used against him. She was like that computer in ‘War Games’, caught in a loop of her own, ridiculous, self-destruction.

  Was that it then?

  Was she leaving?

  With one final jab of her finger, ably assisted by a terrifyingly malevolent look with her ex-husband’s name very much upon it, she departed.

  Sandra lingered momentarily – perhaps trying to weigh up her limited options – before a sisterly look of almost sub-zero temperature pulled her effortlessly through the door like Jayne Torvill.

  Humphrey allowed himself a rather self-satisfied little smile, of the sort he wouldn’t have dared to even think about giving an airing to in his ex-wife’s presence.

  So, after three weeks of Moving On With Her Life And Being Far Better Off Without Him, she’d finally cracked then, eh?

  That was a relief at any rate.

  He could handle most of the things that life seemed to delight in chucking at him, but Anthea’s Silent Treatment was in a class of its own.

  Thank goodness he had at least one less thing to worry about now.