She knew about the woman at number twenty-seven.
In fact, she had known for quite some time. Time enough for her to sit quietly scribbling in his absence. Well, more plotting than scribbling, actually. She had to admit that although the circumstances that brought her to this were extremely annoying; damn it, she had always done her best to be a good wife to him; anyway, despite all that, the truth was she positively enjoyed it. She had been aware of his comings and goings, all under the pretence of attending practice nights at the chess club. She had sat planning like this for so long, scribbling away, searching the Internet then scribbling some more.
It had occurred to her that because this had been the case over so many quiet evenings, she may very well find boredom setting in, after it was all managed. The fact that it was a double plot kept her busy for the time being. Timing was everything. That and the technology employed. It was simply amazing what you could find on the World Wide Web. Part of her plotting strategy was to continually delete her search history files, not that he ever looked at her laptop. The other was to do all her planning on paper, which once firmly in her head, got shredded.
He was tinkering with the gas boiler in the basement when it blew up.
She was visiting her mother at the time.
At the funeral there were a number of people from his work and a few friends. Enough to form a small crowd around the grave. Of course, she was there. She from up the road was there. Dressed in black, sobbing, occasionally looking over at the grieving wife. The widow was biding her time, waiting for the right moment… and there it was. The woman looked across the grave and the widow gave her a wink. The impact was immediate, although it was doubtful whether anyone else would have noticed. The widow found the look of shock and a small amount of terror in the woman’s eyes an absolute delight. But it would get better.
Moving around the mourners, quickly and quietly, the widow came up behind her late husband’s lover. Without making contact with her she whispered into her ear.
“Just thank your lucky stars that I’m going easier on you.”
As she moved away to return to her place, she was aware of the commotion she had left behind. The lady from up the road had fainted.
It was two days later, at her workplace, the woman received the telephone call, advising her that her house, number twenty-seven, was on fire.
After that, it all settled down. The woman from up the road moved. The widow enjoyed the fruits of her labour. But… but, after just a few months of role-playing over her poor dead husband, it started. It was that feeling that she had suspected might creep in on her. It did just that. It had been such a thrill, she had experienced such a high level of sheer excitement before, her life now felt horribly flat.
She sat with pen and paper, hoping to retrieve some of the euphoria. It wasn’t working.
There again, there was this guy in the office…