The Marriage Act(20)
She’d typically be brimming with nervous excitement for where she was headed. But this would be her first appearance since the Eleanor Harrison affair and she was consumed by anxiety. Eventually, she reached the most derelict part of the estate and the purpose of her journey. The Charles Bradlaugh was a former pub and restaurant but its walls were now daubed in anti-Act graffiti, its signage scattered in broken pieces across a car park overgrown with weeds. Shattered glass crunched under the heels of her trainers as she made her way along an alleyway until she found an entrance to the cellar.
She carefully typed in a code to a digital lock and, when it unclicked, she lifted the doors, entered and stepped carefully down a dark, steep staircase. Corrine used the torch on her phone to lead the way through pitch black until she reached a door. She nervously opened it.
As Corrine entered a second darkened room, she felt a draught behind her and heard the rustling of material. She didn’t have time to process what it was before a pair of hands grabbed her by the shoulders and swung her around.
16
Arthur
Arthur spent ten minutes hiding behind a crack in the lounge curtains, taking his time until he had given the entire street the once-over.
He only unlocked and opened the front door when he was convinced that the Shrewsbury woman harassing June and him was not lurking outside and waiting to jump out and strike. He was short on disguises so wore a beanie hat to cover his thinning grey hair and reading glasses that distorted his vision as he walked. It was a weak look but it was better than nothing.
Arthur carried with him a reusable shopping bag and mobile phone. On the rare occasions he left the safety of their home, he was always sure to take his phone in the event June awoke disorientated. He would leave a landline handset on his pillow next to his mobile number written on a piece of paper. It hadn’t changed in almost a quarter of a century but there was no guarantee that June would remember it.
It was a constant battle to maintain her interest in food. Chicken soup with rustic bread was a simple dish but her favourite, and in need of fresh air after hiding indoors for days after Shrewsbury’s last uninvited appearance, he walked the mile or so to the nearest supermarket to refill the cupboard.
For most of their marriage, June had organized the household, he suspected the last generation of wives to do so. She’d also organized their online food shops and scheduled their deliveries. When she’d ordered three deliveries from one shopping list in the same day, it had been another indication that all was not well. She’d appeared relieved when he’d suggested that he took over the chore; it was one less thing for her to worry about.
Now, once inside the supermarket, Arthur made a beeline for the correct aisle but found only vegetable and minestrone soup left. And there was also no bread left in the baskets. He hated how shops in Old Northampton only seemed to get what New Northampton couldn’t fit onto its shelves. But he was adamant he wouldn’t be moving house. Despite the gradual eroding of his area, it was still his home.
‘Mr Foley,’ a voice began from behind. He turned to find a woman many decades younger than him with dark hair, pinched features and her hands on her hips. A small, stocky woman accompanied her. ‘I’m Lorraine Shrewsbury,’ she said, and his heart sank. ‘I’m your court-appointed Relationship Responder. I’ve been trying to make contact with you for some time now.’
‘I’m sorry but you have the wrong person,’ Arthur replied and tried to shuffle away. He cursed a sharp, shooting pain in his knee, an injury dating back to fighting a fire in an office tower block. It was a constant reminder that he wasn’t as nimble as he once was.
‘Mr Foley, I know it’s you,’ she continued. ‘But if you want me to prove it, then I can.’
She held up her phone and used an App to identify his face biometrically. It was a positive match with the image on his National Identity card. He shook his head but the game was up.
‘I don’t want to cause you any trouble, Mr Foley, but it is my job to spend time with you and Mrs Foley to ensure your marriage is in the healthiest possible shape.’
‘We’ve been together for fifty-three years, forty-nine of them married!’ Arthur snapped. ‘Of course we’re in good shape.’
‘And I’m sure you’re right and that everything is perfectly explicable. But under the terms of the Act, random monitoring indicates you have potential problems, which were only emphasized by further, longer recordings. And that brings me here. So allow me to spend some time talking to you and your wife and I’m sure that we can sort this out quickly and take you off the At Risk list.’
‘I keep telling you that we are not at risk! My wife has been poorly. She repeats a lot of what she says.’
‘I am aware of her medical circumstances. It’s the only, as yet, incurable form of dementia, I believe?’
Even now, that word made him flinch. ‘You can’t judge our marriage on that. It’s not her fault.’
‘I know and that will of course be taken into account, I promise you. So let’s return to your house and begin the process. The sooner we start, the sooner, hopefully, it will all be over.’
‘Why do you need to be in the house?’ He pointed to the woman by her side. ‘And what’s she here for? To value it? Is she trying to take it away from us? Because you can’t sell it, you know, it’s ours. All bought and paid for.’