Thank you to everyone who's sent me feedback on my stories so far. As I've said, I really appreciate it as I've never been brave enough to let anyone read my writing until now. I very much enjoy creating these stories but they are just fantasies and not to be taken too seriously!
* * * * *
Joanna stumbled up to the front door, barely able to see through a watery veil of tears that refused to stop flowing. Her eyes were swollen and red from crying. But she didn't want to stop weeping; she didn't want to stop hating. It was the only strength she had left, to get her through this nightmare.
The elegant door-knocker made a sharp, tapping sound as Joanna raised it and let it fall against the varnished, wooden panel. She repeated the action; once, twice, a third time, rapidly losing what was left of her patience and rationality.
"Come on!" she sobbed. "Open the door, you bitch! Why won't you open the BLOODY DOOR?"
A few neighbouring curtains twitched. Joanna didn't stop to consider the consequences of her actions - gossiping tongues, the police arriving to haul her away for disturbing the peace. She didn't really care anyway; it would all be worth it if only she could get her hands on her cheating, so-called best friend, Ellen.
Joanna hammered a few more times, then put her mouth to the letter box and yelled through it.
"I know you're in there! Open this fucking door right now!"
The door remained closed, its wooden face blank. Joanna felt it was taunting her. A fresh helping of rage surged through her and she lifted her foot to kick at the aggravating barrier.
Just then, there came the sound of a key turning in a lock. Joanna stepped back, panting and readying herself for a full-scale attack on the woman she hated.
The door opened cautiously; a crack of light from within cast itself across the driveway. Then a face peered out. It wasn't Ellen; it was her eighteen-year-old son, Callum.
"What the fuck's going on?" he said in a low voice. "Are you mad or something?"
Joanna stared at the boy. She hadn't really been expecting this. It was Ellen she'd come to shout at, not her son. None of this was his fault, and, somehow, his being there diluted Joannna's anger a little.
"Where's your mother?" She tried to keep her voice quiet and steady now. "I need to see her, where is she?"
"Out." Callum made as if to shut the door.
Joanna flared up again. "You're lying! Let me in!"
Heaving the door open with her shoulder, Joanna forced her way past the surprised teenager, and found herself in the hall.
"Ellen!" She yelled up the stairs and then took a step towards the lounge. "Ellen!"
Callum stood with his arms folded, watching her.
"I told you, she's not here. Mum and dad have gone out for dinner - it's their anniversary or something."
"Oh!" Joanna sagged against the banister at the bottom of the stairs. Once again, she felt deflated; there was nowhere to direct her anger if Ellen wasn't here.
"So it's their wedding anniversary, is it? How nice for them." Joanna wondered if it would still be as nice if Ellen's husband knew that Ellen had been fucking another man just twenty-four hours before. Her lover being no less than Joanna's own spouse.
The memory of discovering the cheating pair 'in flagrante delicto' brought a grimace to Joanna's face. It was ironic really; Peter and Ellen had actually looked good together. Maybe they should have married each other in the first place.
Callum was staring hard at Joanna now. She realised she must look a sorry sight; after hiding out all day at her sister's, her anger had got the better of her and she'd stormed over here without bothering to change clothes, apply make-up or even brush her hair. All she could think of was getting revenge. She hadn't stopped to think about how that would be achieved. If Ellen had been here, would Joanna have punched her? If George, Ellen's husband, had been here alone, would Joanna have fucked him, to get her own back? Well, maybe. But, as neither were around, what was she to do now?
"I don't believe this," Joanna mumbled. "This really takes the bloody biscuit!"
Callum inclined his head towards the still-open front door. "Well, as I said, mum's out..."
"I know, I know!" Joanna snapped. "I think I'll wait here for her, if you don't mind. It's important that I see her."
"Please yourself." Callum shrugged, closed the door and wandered down the hallway towards the lounge, shaking his head. "Silly cow!" he mumbled, under his breath.
But Joanna's sharp ears half-caught the words.
"What did you say?" she spat, her anger flashing over again.
The only answer from Callum was the banging-closed of the lounge door. Once again, Joanna found herself staring at a blank, wooden face. It was too much.
Callum's apparent lack of interest in Joanna's plight enraged her even more. Men! They were all the same, whatever age they were! Didn't they give a fuck about feelings?
Letting out a huge, roaring sob, Joanna got to her feet and charged towards the lounge door like a bull to a red cape. The door crashed open and Joanna burst through it, screaming. Her foot caught the edge of a luxurious rug and she went flying against a bookcase, which wobbled ominously.
The shock of her fall jolted Joanna out of her hysteria for long enough to take in the scene. The lounge was lit dimly, by a standard lamp and the glow of the TV screen; the sound of the TV was turned down. An empty pizza box, beer bottles and a car magazine lay strewn over the hearth rug.
It seemed that Joanna had disturbed a teenager's cosy night in, sans parents, and Callum was presumably none too pleased about it. Tough shit, thought Joanna. She wasn't exactly radiant with happiness herself this evening.
Callum slumped down on the couch and took a swig of beer. "See? I told you no-one was here," he said, wiping his hand across his mouth. For a second, he took his eyes away from the TV and rested his intense gaze on Joanna's red, tearstained face. "Got any cigarettes on you?"
Joanna let out a long, shaky breath. "No, I haven't, you insolent little shit. What do you think your mum would say if she knew you smoked in her house?"
