Page 35 of Sassy & Sixty

"Maybe it's time to let her go, mate," another friend, Steve, suggested gently. "Find yourself a nice young bird, start fresh."

Richard's eyes flashed dangerously. "Let her go? Not bloody likely. Catherine's my wife, and I'll be damned if I let a bunch of meddling old biddies turn her against me. No, I've got a plan. I'll show her she needs me. One way or another, I'll get her back where she belongs."

As his mates exchanged worried glances, Richard drained his pint, his mind already plotting his next move. He'd spent his life giving orders and having them obeyed. He wasn't about to let Catherine defy him now.

RICHARD'S REVENGE

Rosie 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.

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