Breakaway.

Breakaway.

Annie peered in the mirror, scrutinising her hair. The new girl at the salon had done a great job; any grey appearing between treatments would blend in naturally. She smiled; there would be enough time for a quick sherry before the taxi arrived. Just the thing to soothe her excited nerves. As she lifted her small weekend bag off the bed, the door opened: “That was Jack on the phone, the Plane Spotters Convention has been cancelled.”
“Oh, I am sorry love, what will you do now?”
He looked at her weekend bag, frowned: “Will you still be going now?”
“I can’t cancel, Jane’s already on her way,” panic crept into her voice, “besides, I would still have to pay; the hotel’s booked.”
Suddenly he smiled: “Why don’t I come with you? We haven’t been away together for ages.”
“Not since you took up plane spotting when you retired. You’ve been away every weekend and most weekdays; you’re only here when everything’s fogbound.”
William looked sheepishly at his wife: “I’m sorry love if I got carried away a bit.”
“A bit! You’ve not noticed anything but bloody planes; you watch planes, you read planes, you fly planes!” She quivered with pent up resentment. “And I’d been looking forward to spending time with you, explore the Highlands and Wales like we used to. If I had not joined this Breakaway Club, I would have died of tedium.” She stumbled down the stairs and dumped her bag in the hall.
“Let me come with you,” William pleaded, “I won’t be in your way, I promise.”
“Tagging along when Jane and I are antiques hunting? Don’t make me laugh, all the time you’d be looking at your watch, suggesting we do something different, go somewhere else.” Annie’s voice had a nervous, shrill edge. She heard it herself, yet could not stop it. William’s expression changed.
“Have you ever bought anything on those hunts?” His voice had a steely edge.
Annie turned round, stalked into the sitting room, “I haven’t found anything special that was affordable … you know how I hate to spend too much … Oh, that’ll be the taxi, please let me pass.” She almost fell out of the door, flustered and upset.
“Station please,” she whispered as she slumped into the car.

She leaned back, eyes shut, fingers at her temples, breathing deeply, muttering.
“Are you all right madam?” The taxi driver looked in the mirror, worried.
“I’ll be okay, just a bit out of breath, that’s all.”
When the taxi pulled up at the station, a tall man in his early forties left his BMW, helped her out of the car and paid the driver. She lowered her lashes and snuggled up to him.
“Hello Toy Boy, where are you taking me this time?” Her voice deep and flirtatious, the shrill edge had been left in the taxi. Toy Boy helped her gallantly into his low-slung machine and when they roared off, Annie peered in the mirror, scrutinising her hair and caught sight of William in the battered family car, right behind them.
She snuggled up to Toy Boy, gently nibbling his ear: “There are no limits here,” she whispered. “Put you foot down and show me your mastery of the road to destruction.”

The end.