If you haven’t read this before, this is a sample of a short story–evolved into a novelette–that I will be sending to my email list for free when it’s completed. It’s taking a while for various reasons, mainly that I wish to make sure it maintains a balance between realism and comedy. I started writing it in 2012 when I was a bartender for Myett’s hotel and restaurant, Cane Garden Bay in the British Virgin Islands. It’s inspired by observations and surprise discoveries I made of a world so different to what I knew at the time.
Enjoy this sample if you haven’t read it already. Originally, the title was How to Lose a Wife in 7 Days, but I felt the protagonist Terry Logan was such an unpleasant character, that he could speed up that time frame, no trouble. The truth is, ‘seven days’ would’ve made this a full novel at the rate I’ve been writing.
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How to Lose a Wife in 2 Days
“A holiday to Magaluf would’ve been so much better,” said Terry.
Shagaluf, the name that he and his mates knew it by, shot through his mind. It would’ve been such a laugh with the lads and those northern tarts from Tyne – everyone out for a good shag.
“Well we’re here now, so let’s make the most of it,” said Doreen.
Terry’s body odour emerged around him as his prodding fingers released a squelching from the armpits of his England football shirt.
“Good afternoon,” said the female flight attendant.
“Alright,” said Terry with a leer. “Passport and the uh – the thingy, is it?”
“Yes, your boarding passes please.”
Terry handed over the documents.
“Thank you and enjoy your flight with British Airways,” she said.
“Cheers love,” said Terry. “Look out for our seats, alright? 36D and 36E!”
Seated passengers were persuaded to observe the commotion as Terry’s loud voice and bumbling stature—hand luggage bouncing around—bowled through the aisle. As Terry passed through, their heads recoiled.
Terry raised his hand to wipe sweat from his forehead, allowing his armpit to breathe in the faces of the seated travellers around him. He then stopped. “Look ‘ere. These are the seats, right babe?”
“Yeah, this is it,” said Doreen.
They were positioned in the centre row of the plane’s economy class, sandwiched by the two aisles. Terry threw his bag in one of the overhead holders and squeezed into the seats first.
Sat with a screen in front displaying health and safety procedures, Terry moulded his weight into the seat. Doreen joined him and dodged as Terry’s elbow swung in her direction.
“Watch it Terry,” she said.
“Alright, alright,” he replied. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”
Terry wriggled around, waiting for one last gratification. It was coming. The ultimate freedom. Yes. There it was. He let the wind breeze out from between his large bum cheeks, forcing the hot, hissing air into his trousers.
An old man in the seat across the aisle grabbed his throat as if he was choking. His mouth slowly fell open and his tongue snaked out. He let out a little whimper and his eyes began to water. The eyes of another man seated at the window, brightened up – his hand moved to cover his nose. A woman sat diagonally in front of Terry wretched before her lips arched down and a frown painted her face.
The heavy, humid, sulphuric scent that blanketed the entire section of the plane, compelled many to clutch the entire bottom of their face. Doreen showed no change in her expression. She was used to it.
One flight attendant gasped and almost slipped as she entered the gaseous arena. Like stumbling into a workman’s van, who’s made his vehicle his own farting litter box, the stink stood stiff.
Terry moistened his lips loudly, smiled, shuffled in his chair, and closed his eyes.
The vibration of his phone, shook him back to reality. He pulled out his shiny, silver titanium mobile.
“Talk to me,” he said.
“It’s me mate.”
“’ello Fred. ‘ow are we then?”
“I’m alright mate, just callin’ off my boy’s blower. Listen, I gotta make this quick, because I’m running a little late for work.”
“Oh yeah? Weekend shift is it?”
“Yeah mate, bloody tax man had ‘is hands in my pockets again, so I need a little extra. Anyway, Buzzock tells me your goin’ to the islands for your holiday.”
“Yeah. Not my idea. I was up for the caravan park in Dorset, but the wife wanted to try something new. It’s taking me for an arm and leg though mate. Flights alone were flippin’ daylight robbery.”
“Yeah? Well you remember how I went on holiday to those parts a year back? Let me give you a piece of advice. Stick to your better-half like a fly on shit.”
“’ey? What d’you mean?”
“What I’m sayin’ is, there are a lot of fellers out there, who try to get their end away with tourists and they don’t exactly care for the sanctity of marriage, if you catch my meaning.”
Terry laughed. “Fuckin’ no way. What you talkin’ about mate?”
Terry looked at Doreen and flipped his phone to the opposite ear. He turned away and whispered, “my Doreen would never do anything like that.”
Terry raised his eye brows at one of the flight attendants approaching.
“Look. Ter. I’m just telling you what’s what,” said Fred. “I didn’t tell anyone about this, but, Fiona, well…she only went and fucked one of those jungle bunnies when we were out there.”
“You fuckin’ what?”
“Yeah. I mean talk about choppin’ your fuckin’ bullocks off. It was the last night of the ‘oliday and I come back to the room off my fuckin’ trolley. I’d been smashin’ the granny out of a pair of Dominican brasses, then got high as a monkey up a palm tree with these local fellas.”
“Sounds like a crackin’ time.”
“Well, that’s where the buzz stops mate. I was lookin’ for a little quickie before the sandman said ‘ello.”
“Haha, you’re not wrong there mate.”
“Anyhow, I only go and stumble into the room and find her with one of the fuckin’ natives.”
“Yeah. Bent over like Mike’s secretary at the Christmas party. Wanker was shifty as a fuckin’ weasel. Don’t worry though. He got his.”
“Bloody ‘ell. I had no clue mate.”
The flight attendant was in front of Terry, signalling to him to switch his phone off.
“All right love, in a sec,” said Terry.
“What’s that mate?” said Fred.
“Gotta go mate – we’re taking off.”
“Alright Ter. Well like I said, be like fuckin’ Columbo out there. Oh and when Jamal offers you a smoke of the old bush, tell ‘im where to fuckin’ go. That’s how they got me. Wankers had me buzzing, then one of them snuck off and banged the missus like a salvation army drum. The crafty cunts. And make sure you watch her closely on the last night. Something about the last night of the holiday should have those islands tagged for how to lose a wife. They’ll do bloody anything.”
“All right mate. We’re only on this island for a couple of days, then we’re boating over to the next, but bloody nora. Cheers for telling me that.”
“Yeah, later on.”
Terry switched off his phone and nodded at the flight attendant.
“Thank you,” she mouthed.
Terry forced a smile and turned to Doreen. Doreen, who now had the plane headphones on, flashed a smile and returned to face the screen in front of her.
“Not a fuckin’ chance,” muttered Terry under his breath.
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