15. Richards Revenge

RICHARD'S REVENGE

R osie peered out from behind her living room curtains, her eyes narrowed as she scanned the quiet suburban street. To the casual observer, it was a perfectly ordinary Tuesday afternoon. But Rosie knew better. Somewhere out there, lurking behind a hedge or possibly disguised as a particularly lumpy mailbox, was Richard.

"Any sign of him?" Catherine's anxious voice came from behind her.

Rosie shook her head, letting the curtain fall back into place. "Not yet. But he's out there, Catherine. I can feel it in my bunions."

It had been three days since Richard had started his one-man crusade to "protect" Catherine from the supposedly nefarious influence of her new friends. What had begun as the occasional drive-by had escalated into full-blown stalking, with Richard popping up at all hours like a particularly persistent whack-a-mole.

"I still can't believe he followed me to my dental appointment," Catherine moaned, collapsing onto the sofa. "Who does that? I mean, what did he think I was going to do? Run off with the hygienist?"

Maria, who had been stress-baking in the kitchen (resulting in enough muffins to feed a small army), poked her head around the door. "Maybe he thought you were getting your teeth whitened to impress a new man," she suggested, brandishing a flour-covered spatula. "You know how Richard is about your appearance."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Yes, because nothing says 'hot date' like 'open wide and say ah.'"

The doorbell rang, making them all jump. Rosie approached it cautiously, half-expecting to find Richard on the other side with a bouquet of flowers and a court order. Instead, she opened the door to find Emma, Lisa, Julie, and Trisha, all looking suspiciously cheerful.

"Hello, darlings!" Emma trilled, sweeping past Rosie with the air of someone about to announce a particularly thrilling adventure. "We've come to join Operation: Ditch the Dick!"

Rosie blinked. "Operation what now?"

Lisa, ever the voice of reason, explained as they all filed into the living room. "We've decided that we can't let Richard terrorise Catherine like this. And it can't be up to you guys to sort it out alone. We're all in this together, so we've come to offer back up."

So, we're going to set up a neighbourhood watch. Of sorts."

"Of sorts?" Rosie echoed, a sense of foreboding creeping over her.

"Well," Julie chimed in, her artistic enthusiasm evident, "we thought we could take turns keeping an eye out for Richard. But to avoid suspicion, we'll need disguises!"

With a flourish, she produced a large bag that seemed to contain every reject costume from the local amateur dramatic society.

Catherine's eyes widened in alarm. "Disguises? Oh, I don't know about this..."

But Emma was already elbow-deep in the bag, pulling out a series of increasingly ridiculous outfits. "Nonsense, darling. It'll be fun! Look, I've got dibs on the nun costume."

"Nun costume?" Rosie spluttered. "Emma, we're trying not to draw attention to ourselves!"

But her protests fell on deaf ears as the others descended on the costume bag like seagulls on a dropped ice cream cone.

And so began the Great Richard Stakeout.

The next morning found Rosie peering out of her front window once again, this time barely able to contain her laughter. There, pruning her rose bushes with more enthusiasm than skill, was Trisha. Or rather, a very unconvincing elderly gardener who bore a striking resemblance to Trisha in a grey wig and oversized dungarees.

"Yoo-hoo! Rosie, dear!" Trisha called out in a quavering voice that was probably meant to sound old. "Lovely day for a bit of gardening, isn't it?"

Rosie watched in a mixture of amusement and horror as Trisha proceeded to hack at her prized roses with the grace of a drunk lumberjack. "Yes, lovely," she called back weakly. "Though perhaps the roses have had enough... pruning for one day?"

Trisha gave her an exaggerated wink that was visible from space. "Don't you worry, dearie. I've got my eyes peeled for any suspicious characters!" She punctuated this statement by nearly taking off her own finger with the secateurs.

As the day wore on, the parade of poorly disguised sexagenarians continued. Lisa took up position as a very glamorous window cleaner, spending more time adjusting her silk headscarf than actually cleaning any windows. Julie set up an easel on the pavement and proceeded to paint what she claimed was "an abstract representation of suburban ennui" but looked suspiciously like a bunch of squiggles to Rosie's untrained eye.

But it was Emma's turn on watch that really took the cake. As the sun began to set, she emerged from Rosie's house in full nun regalia, complete with a habit that looked like it had seen better days (possibly in the 15th century) and a rosary that, upon closer inspection, appeared to be made of wine corks.

"Good evening, my children," Emma intoned in a voice that was probably meant to be pious but came across more like she was auditioning for a particularly hammy production of The Sound of Music. "I'm just out for my evening constitutional. And to save a few souls, of course. Any sinners about?"

Mrs. Fitzgerald from number 23, out walking her poodle, did a double-take so dramatic that she nearly garrotted herself with the dog lead.

"Emma," Rosie hissed from the doorway, "what on earth are you doing?"

"Keeping the peace, my child," Emma replied serenely, before ruining the effect by pulling a hip flask from somewhere within the folds of her habit and taking a hearty swig. "The Lord's work is thirsty business."

Rosie groaned, retreating back into the house and wondering, not for the first time, how her life had come to this.

Inside, she found Catherine and Maria huddled around the kitchen table, poring over what appeared to be architectural plans.

"Um, what's all this?" Rosie asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Catherine looked up, her eyes shining with an almost manic light. "We're planning escape routes! Look, if Richard comes in the front, we can shimmy down the drainpipe here, or if he tries the back door, there's a lovely big rhododendron we could hide in."

Maria nodded enthusiastically. "And I've been researching how to make smoke bombs out of household chemicals. You know, just in case we need a diversion."

Rosie pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. "Ladies, don't you think this is all getting a bit... out of hand?"

But before either of them could respond, a shrill whistle pierced the air - the signal they'd agreed on to indicate Richard had been spotted.

"Battle stations!" Catherine yelped, upending her chair in her haste to get to the window.

They all peered out to see Emma, still in full nun costume, facing off against a very confused-looking Richard on the pavement.

"Do not go near that woman, you fiend!" Emma was bellowing, waving her rosary like a weapon. "The power of Christ compels you!"

Richard, to his credit, looked utterly baffled. "I... what? Look, I just want to talk to Catherine. Who are you?"

"I am Sister Mary Merlot of the Order of Perpetual Sobriety," Emma declared. "And I'll not have you harassing these good women!"

By this point, a small crowd had begun to gather, drawn by the spectacle of a nun in hoop earrings berating a middle-aged man on a quiet suburban street.

"Oh god," Catherine moaned, burying her face in her hands. "This can't be happening."

But it was happening, and it was about to get worse. As Richard tried to sidestep Emma, she made a grab for him, missed, and instead managed to knock off her own wimple.

"Emma?" Richard exclaimed, recognition dawning. "What on earth-"

But Emma, never one to admit defeat, doubled down. "The power of Chardonnay compels you!" she roared, splashing the contents of her hip flask at Richard.

It was at this precise moment that a police car, summoned by a well-meaning but utterly confused neighbour, pulled up to the curb.

What followed was a scene of such sublime chaos that it would go down in neighbourhood legend for years to come. Emma, trying to flee, tripped over her habit and face-planted into Mrs. Fitzgerald's petunias. Richard, still spluttering from his impromptu wine baptism, attempted to explain to the increasingly bewildered police officers that he was not, in fact, being attacked by a militant order of nuns.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Sensational Sixties Squad, alerted by the commotion, descended on the scene in their various ridiculous disguises. Julie, still clutching her paintbrush, managed to splatter half the gathered crowd with what she swore was "cerulean blue" but looked suspiciously like emulsion. Trisha, in her gardener get-up, began loudly lecturing the police on the importance of proper lawn maintenance.

Rosie, Catherine, and Maria watched from the doorway, torn between horror and hysterical laughter.

"Should... should we do something?" Catherine asked weakly.

Rosie shook her head, a giggle escaping despite her best efforts. "Honestly, I think we'd only make it worse at this point."

It took nearly an hour for the situation to be sorted out. By the time the police left, having extracted promises from both Richard and Emma to "keep the peace," the entire street was buzzing with excitement. Mrs. Fitzgerald was overheard telling anyone who would listen that she always knew "that woman was a bad influence," while Mr. Thompson from the corner house was demanding to know if there was a secret convent in the neighbourhood that no one had told him about.

As the impromptu audience dispersed, the Sensational Sixties Squad retreated to Rosie's living room, a motley crew of dishevelled disguises and sheepish grins.

"Well," Emma said, breaking the silence and absently picking petunia petals out of her hair, "I think we can safely say that Operation: Ditch the Dick was a rousing success."

Catherine, who had been sitting in stunned silence, suddenly burst into laughter. "Oh my god," she gasped between giggles, "did you see Richard's face? I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head!"

"You know," Trisha mused, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, "I don't think Richard will be bothering you again anytime soon, Catherine. He looked positively terrified."

Catherine nodded, a newfound confidence in her posture. "You're right. And even if he does... well, I know I've got the best defence squad a woman could ask for."

Rosie looked around at her friends. "You're all completely mad," she said fondly.

As they settled in to dissect the events of the day, planning their next move (and vetoing Emma's suggestion of forming a permanent neighbourhood watch called "The Nunsense Patrol"), Emma pulled out a clipboard.

"On our now infamous spa night we vowed to avenge the behaviours of Richard and David. I think we can safely say that operation Dick'n'Dave has begun in earnest. We should all be very pleased with ourselves."

"Yes," said Lisa, cautiously.

"You should unsure," said Emma. "Everything OK?"

"Yes, everything's fine. I suppose I get concerned when we're more focused on vengeance rather than building each other up and planning great things for the future…do you know what I mean? It feels very negative to be throwing all our efforts into the men."

"I agree," said Rosie. She turned to Catherine. "Dick face is out of your life now…what would you most like to do now he's finally been kicked to the kerb?"

"I've always wanted to see the Northern Lights," she mused, a dreamy look in her eyes. "Richard always said it was too cold and impractical, but now... well, who's to stop me?"

"Certainly not us," Lisa chimed in. "In fact, why don't we all go? Can you imagine the seven of us loose in Iceland?"

The idea was met with enthusiastic agreement, and soon they were all throwing out suggestions for a grand adventure.

"We could go dog sledding!" Julie exclaimed.

"Or soak in those gorgeous hot springs," Trisha added.

"Ooh, and sample the local vodka," Emma said, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Let's take a look at the options for going there," said Rosie. "We'll price it up and collate some options then we can work out who fancies it."

"Good plan, Miss Organised," said Emma. "Have you had time to think about what you're going to do about Derek? Any thoughts about whether to take him back or not?"

As Rosie was about to speak, the sound of a car door slamming right outside the window made them all freeze. It was as if the car was on the driveway. Catherine's face paled. "You don't think..."

Rosie was on her feet in an instant, peering out through the curtains. In the glow of the streetlights, she could make out a familiar figure approaching the house.

"It's Richard," she hissed.

Catherine dropped her head into her hands. "I'll never get rid of him," she said. "He's always going to be there, in the background, watching me and interfering in everything I do. I'm just going to have to accept it."

"No you're not," said Rosie. "Absolutely not. I'm calling the police."

"Don't do that," said Catherine.

"Why? He's on my property. He's trespassing."

"OK, but let's go and talk to him first."

Rosie looked at Catherine. If she didn't take firm action against this nutter, this sort of behaviour would go on forever.

"Wait!" Maria called out, emerging from the kitchen with a tray. "I have an idea."

As Richard's knock sounded at the door, Rosie took a deep breath and opened it, flanked by her friends with their hands on the hips and angry looks on their faces.

Richard's jaw dropped at the sight before him - a group of women in their sixties staring at him with looks of steely determination.

"Richard," Rosie said calmly, "what can we do for you?"

He gaped for a moment, his eyes darting from Emma to Julie.

"How many women live here? There are dozens of you," he said. "I just wanted to talk to Catherine."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Rosie replied. "You see, we've asked you not to come here as politely as we can. Next step is a call to the police, the step after that is a restraining order."

"But she's my wife, I have every right to see her."

"No, she's your ex-wife and you have no right at all to see her."

"Richard, they're right. It's time for you to leave me alone. Our marriage is in the past. I've moved on, you need to as well."

They watched in silent triumph as Richard dropped his head and walked back to his car.

"Oh God, I feel really bad now," said Catherine. "Perhaps I should have asked him what he wanted."

"No," said Rosie. "We know what he wanted – to find out what you're doing here, and to try and keep tabs on you even though you got divorced many years ago. This is called ‘being cruel to be kind'."

"I guess," said Catherine

"It's not even cruel, if you ask me," added Emma. "It's perfectly straightforward behaviour."

"And it's something to entertain the neighbours," said Rosie. "I don't think there have ever been so many comings and goings in this street. It must be very exciting for them all."

"Speaking of excitement," Maria chimed in. "I've been cooking and there's a tray of freshly baked cookies cooling in the kitchen. Anyone fancy one?"

As the evening wore on, fuelled by wine and Maria's cupcakes, the women found themselves sharing stories and dreams they'd long kept hidden. Catherine confessed her secret desire to learn pole dancing ("For fitness, of course!"), while Julie revealed her plan to create a series of nude portraits of local pensioners ("It's about celebrating the beauty of aging!").

Rosie sat back, watching her friends with a warm glow in her chest.

"How about you, Rosie?"

"Well, I was just thinking that I don't really ‘need' anything right now. I feel happier than I have for years. I love where I live, I've got great friends, a lovely daughter and two gorgeous grandchildren. . I'm happy with my lot."

"What about Derek? Do you wish you were back with him?"

"To be honest, I sometimes do. We had such a good marriage for so long. I always thought he'd be the man I grew old with."

"But he was unfaithful," said Maria. "You can't go back after that."

"No, I know it seems strange, and when I first found out about his affair it was all very raw, and I was devastated, but as time's gone on, the pain's faded and my bruised ego has started to mend. I don't think of him as a philanderer now, but as a man who made a mistake."

"Christ, I'm livid with David," said Maria.

"Yes, and I was with Derek but – I don't know – I often think that life's too short. That all happened five years ago. I don't know…I'm not desperately hoping that he comes back or anything, but I do think of him with a lot of affection, and I'm not ruling out getting back with him."

"But Mike," they chorused.

Rosie laughed. "Yes, he's nice too."

"He's a handsome doctor and he thinks the world of you."

"Yes, I know. But it's early days. Who knows what will happen."

"If you don't want him, can I have him?" asked Maria.

"Sure, yes – anyone who's single gets a go on him," said Rosie.

"Hooray!" shouted the women.

As the clock struck midnight, Emma raised her glass in a toast. "To the Sensational Sixties Squad," she declared. "May we always be a thorn in the side of ex-husbands and may we all get to have a go on Dr Mike."

"Hear, hear!" the others chorused, clinking their glasses together.

As they began to tidy up, making plans for their next meetup, Rosie's mind drifted again to thoughts of Derek and Mike. She couldn't keep avoiding them forever. It was about time she worked out what to do.

But how was she supposed to do that? It wasn't just a question of choosing between two men but choosing between two lifestyles. The quiet, dignified retirement she'd once envisioned, or a life full of chaos, friends, dates and takeaways. The latter option was very appealing now, but what of the future. What about when she was 70, or even 80. Would she want a house full of crazy women then?

As the last of her friends departed, Rosie stood in her doorway, watching them go. Emma linked arms with Trisha and was trying to teach her a bawdy sea shanty. Julie and Lisa were deep in discussion about the Chancellor of the Exchequer whose book Lisa might write.

"I just think you're amazing," said Julie, looking at Lisa with barely disguised adoration.

Rosie smiled to herself. "Good night, you gorgeous lot," she shouted before retreating into the warmth.