Losing Max

Losing Max.
'Should she open it?' she asked herself.
The name of the addressee - Miss Lisa Peyton - had been crossed out,
along with her address. But it was still legible and as she stared at
the familiar writing a strange, hollow sensation began to form at the
back of her throat. At the top of the envelope was written in capital
letters, 'RETURN TO SENDER,' and the name and address of the sender had
been written on the right hand side.
Her address.
Katie stared at the name above the address.
'Mr. M. Lowrie.'
Maxwell Lowrie - her husband.
Whoever Lisa Peyton was, she clearly recognised Max's handwriting,
because the envelope hadn't been opened. And she knew his address. And
she didn't want to read what he had to say.
Lisa stared at the address of the anonymous Lisa and tried to remember
where she had seen the street name before. 'Laburnum Avenue.' She
couldn't place it, but she thought that it was in the new housing
development that had appeared on the edge of the town last year. She
didn't know anyone who lived there but she thought vaguely that the
streets were all named after trees.
The white envelope with its First Class stamp sat on the kitchen table
next to her coffee mug and buttered toast. But Katie had lost her
appetite and she sat staring miserably at the small, neat writing,
wondering what sort of woman Lisa Peyton was. You could assess a
person's character from their handwriting, she had once read. But since
she hadn't kept the article about it she had no idea of what she could
tell from this particular handwriting. It was 'tidy.' So Lisa was tidy?
It was attractive. So - Lisa was attractive! It was feminine, young,
well rounded, confident&;#8230;Oh Max!
Her fingers inched towards the envelope, itching to tear it open. But
she snatched them away. She shouldn't. She couldn't. Oh - but she
wanted to!
She rose abruptly from her stool and wandered out into the hall, where
she stood before the full-length mirror that Max had hung on the wall
last year. It was slightly crooked, she noticed. But that was so
typical of Max's handiwork. He had spent ages measuring the distance
between the holes and had even placed a spirit level on the screws. But
somehow the mirror had dropped slightly on the left hand side. Poor
Max! She had told him that it didn't matter but he had been so
frustrated at his ineptitude. He had ended up by blaming the uneven
walls. That was his way. However hard he tried to master the art of DIY
he never got things right and then he blamed everything else.
In spite of her misery, a faint smile tugged at the corners of her
mouth as she thought about her husband's numerous attempts at home
improvements. The whole house was a shrine to his failures - from the
dripping shower in the bathroom to the half-attached wall lamps in the
lounge. But none of these things mattered to Katie. She would have
still loved Max if he blew the house up replacing a fuse.
She peered into the crooked mirror. Her reflection showed a
middle-aged woman who was slightly past her prime. Her thick, hair was
still a glorious shade of copper, her figure was still trim and her
eyes were as green as ever, although this morning the light had dimmed
slightly. But faint lines had appeared around her eyes and mouth, and
her chin was a little less firm than it had been a year ago. She was
like Max in a way, she thought. She tried hard to remain attractive by
joining a gym, plying her face with anti-wrinkle cream and dieting. But
still she hadn't wholly succeeded because she couldn't fight
time.
Lisa!
'Lisa' was such a young name!
'Lisa' conjured up images of beautiful women, Italian cities,
romance.
The Mona Lisa.
'Katie' was plain, capable, sensible. How could she ever have imagined
that she would be able to satisfy a handsome, virile man like Max when
there were thousands of Lisas out there waiting to show him what he was
missing? He was only human - and Katie had seen for herself so often
how young women were attracted to him. At parties they swarmed round
him like bees around honey - whilst she discussed seed-cake recipes in
the kitchen with other middle-aged and fading wives. Perhaps he had met
Lisa at a party? Perhaps she had slipped him her address whilst she,
Katie, had been discussing the difficulty in making lump-free
Hollandaise sauce?
She turned away from the mirror and moved back into the kitchen, where
the letter on the table seemed to be mocking her.
'This is proof that you're past it, Katie!' it seemed to say in a
husky, Italian voice that surely belonged to Lisa. 'Your husband needs
more than you can give him!' it snorted scornfully. 'You can't compete
with a young woman like me.'
"Shut up! Just shut up!" she cried.
It was suddenly too much. She reached out and picked up the letter.
She would open it because she would go insane if she didn't. Already
she was screeching to the walls and hearing voices that weren't there.
Already she was imagining a lonely old age in which she received post
cards from Italy signed, 'Max and Lisa.' Enough was enough!
She placed her thumb under the seal and was about to rip it open when
the telephone rang. Her thumbnail froze, and she withdrew it. Slowly
she replaced the envelope on the table and turned towards the phone.
Inexplicably she was filled with a sense of relief that Fate had
stepped in before she had done something unforgivable.
"Hello?" she whispered into the receiver.
"Katie?" It was Max. "Are you all right? You sound - odd."
"I'm fine. I'm missing you." She wanted to scream at him to come home
and explain about Lisa. She needed to hear a plausible excuse for why a
beautiful, exotic woman was returning his letters unopened. She yearned
to hear him deny that he had ever found any other woman desirable. But
all he said was,
"I might be a bit late home tonight. Grainger wants to see me after
work." Katie felt her mouth turn dry and her voice when she answered
was a mere croak.
"How late?"
"Maybe an hour. Listen - are you sure you're all right? You sound like
you're starting a cold."
"Yes. Yes - I'm starting a cold," she echoed.
"Well stay off work this afternoon. 'Bye love. Love you."
"Love you too," she murmured. His declaration of love should have
reassured her - but she knew that it was automatic. It was the way in
which they ended all their phone calls to each other. It was probably
the way he and Lisa ended their phone calls. She began to shiver,
although she wasn't cold. Her head pounded, although there was no pain,
just a pulsating rhythm that sent red sparks across her vision. She
went back to her stool and sat down, her legs feeling like jelly.
An hour!
What would Max and Lisa be doing this evening for a whole hour?
Talking? She doubted it. Kissing? Well- perhaps for a while. Touching
each other? Yes. Making love? Definitely.
She buried her face in her hands and her tears trickled out between
her fingers. Damn Lisa, she thought. Damn all these girls who stole
women's husbands just because they could. Damn them for being young and
supple when she was old and dry. Max was old too - but he wasn't dry.
Max oozed eternal youth like a river oozed through parched earth.
Lisa Lowrie.
It was alliteration - it was poetry. Max and Lisa. Lisa and Max. They
were meant for each other - fresh and vibrant together in this new
century. And plain old Katie, who couldn't keep up, was destined for
the scrap heap.
At last she raised her eyes and looked at the envelope. Her world had
ended anyway, she thought - so she might just as well open it and see
for herself the inevitable confirmation of her failure as a wife.
Nothing worse could happen to her now. She had lost Max and so she had
nothing left to lose. She picked up the envelope, fighting the voice in
her head that screamed
'NO!'
Quickly she tore it open and read,

'Dear Lisa,
This is the tenth letter I have sent you - and I have kept copies of
each one in case they are needed for evidence.
I warn you now that if you don't leave me alone I will go to the
police. I am happily married to the most wonderful woman any man could
ever want. She is the only woman I have ever loved - or ever could
love. You, Lisa, could never compare to her.
I have never encouraged your attention and that is because I do not
want it. For the last time - LEAVE ME ALONE!
From Max.'
Lisa stared at the letter and joy rose in her breast. Everything was
the way it had been before the letter arrived, except that now she was
even happier than before. Max loved her, not the Lisa she had even
known existed.
She rose from the stool and went upstairs to the wonderful, broken
shower that Max had installed. She would shower, dress and go to work.
And on the way she would call in to Laburnum Avenue and have a few
words with the nasty little stalker who was trying to steal her
husband.
END