Number 12, Poplar Drive lay shrouded in darkness. An almost eerie veil of stillness had descended over the sprawling, opulent grounds of Long Acre House the moment the sun had slipped from the sky. It was now much later, but still Jen did not move. The hours of silence had only served to feed the anger which now rolled off her in waves of hatred andresentment.

She was shaking with fury as she reached for the crystal decanter filled with rich, honey-coloured scotch. The first glass she tried to pour slipped through her trembling fingers, splintering into hundreds of pieces as it hit the marble floor. The second, more successful, drink she poured for herself was finished in a matter of seconds. The moment the fiery liquid hit the bottom of her stomach, she felt a surge of power spread throughher body. Now it was her who was in control.

Her lips twisted into a small, mirthless smile as she heard the crunch ofsomeone approaching up the crushed shell path outside. There was a muffled curse, followed by a scrabbling sound as dropped keys were retrieved. As he finally turned the lock in thedoor, Jen felt her anger heighten.

“Jenny?” he called up the staircase, oblivious to her presence on the other side of thedarkened room.

“It’s Jen, darling,” she hissed. If he heard her, he showed no indicationof it.

Standing up, glass still in hand, Jen glided over to him. Placing a hand on his waist, she let her cool fingers slip beneath the hem of his shirt, stroking the sensitive skin of histaught stomach. He started, glancing uneasily round at her.

“Jesus, Jen,” Barry muttered “You scared me. Do you have some kind of aversionto lights?”

Jen regarded her husband with a hostile, appraising look. “A little late, aren’t you?” she enquired. Barry didn’t seem to notice her frosty tone and leaned in for a kiss. She duckedher head slightly so the kiss brushed only her cheek.

“I had a meeting,” he explained, appearing disgruntled. “It ran late.”

“Oh? A meeting. With whom?” She waved the slip of paper from the telephone messagepad in his face meaningfully. “Angela Baxter, perhaps?”

Something flickered in Barry’s eyes and Jen continued with a sneer. “Yes, I got a very interesting call from Ms. Baxter earlier today. She was wondering when you’d like to get together to talk over estimates for re-decorating the library. Well, that came as quite a surprise to me, considering last time I checked, we didn’t have a library.” Jen paced furiously in front of him, her high heels clattering loudly against the floor. “So, let’s review; you’re screwing the girl at the decorating agency, not to mention the maid,” she began counting off on her fingers. “Yes, you think I’m too stupid to understand thosesoftly spoken Spanish pick-up lines, you two are constantly laughing about. Well, you’re wrong. Anyway, that makes two already -- and we haven’t even started on your secretaries and P.A.s at work! Lord knows how many other people out there you’re fucking!” Jen screamed, dully aware that she was falling into her most hated of roles: thejealous, hysterical wife.

Barry glared at her through slitted eyes, uttering a particularly foul curse. “How about you, sweetheart?” he intoned derisively. “You’re no angel, yourself. You think people don’t know about your frequent drunken binges? You think people don’ttalk? I don’t need the embarrassment factor of having an alkie for a wife.” His lip curled in disgust as he knocked the glass roughly from her grasp.

“So, I’m an embarrassment to you know, am I?”

“Frankly my dear, yes.”

“Then maybe I should just leave -- surely that would send my embarrassmentfactor through the roof.” Jen’s remark did not cause the devastation she’d hoped for. On thecontrary, Barry let out a short, sharp laugh.

“You, leave? I don’t think so. Where would you go? What would you do? I can’t really see you doing without your $2000 dresses and your private swimming pool.”

“You bastard!” Jen cried, her slap hitting him hard across the face. Barry recoiled, raisinga hand to touch the red mark rapidly appearing on his cheek.

“You little bitch,” he uttered contemptuously. Jen met his steely gaze defiantly, but somewhere inside her, a flame of fear flickered. Clamping his hands down on her shoulders, Barry shook her forcefully. She felt a jolt of pain pass through her as his hand hit across her face. With a choked sob, she crumpled into a heap on the cold, hard floor. Not bearing to look at the face of the man she both loved and hated with a passion, Jenburied her face in her hands.

She listened numbly to his heavy, measured footsteps as he climbed the stairs, leaving her alone with her misery. And so, the deathly silence resumed. Nothing stirred in the house for a long time, until finally, Jen rose. With slow, deliberateness, she retrieved her already packed suitcase from underneath the stairs. No note would be needed, she decided with an almost eerie sense of calm. The argument with Barry had resolved all.

Jen bid a silent farewell to Long Acre House, as she slipped soundlessly out the front door. She did not cry as she climbed into her car. Tears meant weakness -- and if therewas one thing Jen had always vowed never to be, it was weak.

As she inserted her key into the ignition, she felt her mind drift inexplicably back to a memory of a many years ago. Back to a deceptively simple and quaint seaside town. Back to a time of youth and blissful naiveté. And most importantly, back to a boy with hairgolden like the sun and eyes baby blue and utterly guileless.

A ghost of a smile touched Jen’s lips as she manoeuvred her car out onto the main road.It’s time to go home, she realised. Home to Capeside.