Things Are Not Always That Obvious

Sister Rose had very kindly informed the attendant paramedics what had happened as they were loading me into the ambulance. Of course one of them just had to be a fucking Aussie piss-taking bastard didn't he. Lance (what sort of a real bloke is called 'Lance' for fuck's sake) spent the whole journey taking the piss out of the big international rugby league player being taken out by one punch, (In my defence, I must say it was a good'un though) telling me I'd had it coming for years for what I'd done to his Australian heroes in the past. The twat even took a picture of my bloodied face on his mobile phone so he could send it to his mates back home in 'Good old Aus'.

His mate wasn't much better either. She was a pretty young thing who clearly didn't approve of cheating husbands, making it quite obvious that she thought along the same lines as Sister Rose. It must have been her turn to set up the drip feed thingy that paramedics have to insert as a matter of procedure and she certainly made the most of it. What the fuck happened to all the 'caring professionals' we were supposed to have in our health service? - I'm sure the bitch must have used a blunt needle 'cause it hurt like hell when she pushed the damn thing in.

The two 'friendly' medics had taken me straight through to the emergency room on a trolley, leaving me to the mercy of the A & E nursing staff. Of course they just had to tell everyone who'd listen who I was and what had happened, so again, I was met with a wall of disinterest in my well-being from all the female staff in there.

Eventually I was seen by the on-duty doctor, a woman of course, who proceeded to inspect the back of my head with the due diligence I would expect from a harassed, busy professional. - She took one look and sent me down for an X-ray!

Luckily, the porter in charge of the wheelchair that took me down to the X-ray department was a huge Saints fan. He took great delight in telling me how he'd been there at Wembley when I'd scored the winning try against Wigan (Saints' local rivals and bitter enemies) in the cup final of '98. Not exactly unusual as nearly everyone I had ever spoken to from St Helens claimed to have been there that 'great day'. Incidentally, that day had been the greatest of my rugby career. To hear 35,000 Saints fans singing the old Martha & the Vandellas' song 'Jimmy Mack' as I walked back after scoring a try in the last minute that won us the cup against our biggest rivals of all teams..... Well it just doesn't get any better than that!

Bob, the porter, had kindly asked me if there was anyone he could inform of my whereabouts and injuries, so I gave him my wife Anne's mobile number and asked him to ring her. Leaving me with a promise to do so, he deposited me at the X-ray station. Unfortunately, Bob was obviously a gossip. He just had to tell the radiologists on duty (mainly female of course) what he'd heard had happened to me. Seems I'd been beaten up by a jealous husband for shagging his wife for years, so once again, I was dutifully ignored by all and sundry glowering females until there was no-one else left for them to x-ray. I then had to wait a while for 'busy' Bob to return and take me back up top to see the doctor.

Eventually he did come for me, wheeling me back up to A & E and abandoning me in the waiting room. Again, all the way back, he insisted on talking about rugby, not really letting me get a word in edgeways as his voice resonated around my throbbing head. As he was walking away, he suddenly remembered what I'd asked him to do for me and said loud enough for everyone in the waiting room to hear,

"By the Way Jim! I rang your wife like you asked me to. She said, and I quote!....Tell the cheating bastard he can rot in hell for all I care."

So there I was, sat in the middle of a very crowded, very busy, accident and emergency department, waiting for the on duty doctor to find time to see me and hopefully stitch me up and send me on my way. I was by then fully lucid but still had no bloody idea just who it was who'd hit me, and why the fuck he thought I'd been sleeping with his wife.

As I looked around I could see amusement, disdain and downright contempt on most of the faces of the rest of the patients and staff who were there waiting with me. I was able to hear much of the whispering, all accusing me of being a cheating bastard of a husband who obviously couldn't keep his cock in his trousers.

"Honestly, I haven't slept with anyone's wife other than my own." I said, to no-one in particular but loud enough for all to hear. "I've no frigging idea who the bloke or his cheating wife are, on my mother's life I don't!"

"Yeah right!" came a reply from some unidentified female.

"I FUCKING HAVEN'T!" I shouted.

At the sound of my raised voice the on-duty security guard, a big guy who obviously was a frustrated cop and needed to wear a uniform to prove his manhood, came rushing towards me. Taking one look at my facial expression, he apparently decided on discretion being the better part of valour and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Jim, please don't cause any trouble." he pleaded, "I don't want to have to call the police."

"No problem, just leave me the fuck alone!" I snapped.

Anyone who has had to seek attention at a busy A&E department on a Friday night will understand just how long it can take, waiting to be attended to by the overworked and stressed-out staff who have the misfortune to be on duty and having to deal with the all the drunks and other general miscreants who appear at that time of the week, so it was of no surprise to me that it was taking an absolute age for me to get attended to by the doc.

Eventually I was called through to see her, yes the same one who had first attended to me, and she had a good look at the X-rays of my battered skull as I sat there.

"Mm mm... No sign of any fracture Mr Mackay, but I think I would like you to be admitted tonight so we can observe if any problems crop up later, 24 hours should be enough."

"I feel fine now doc, just a bit of a headache. It's no worse than I've had many times on a rugby pitch." I replied, perhaps a little too testily.

"Just who is the doctor here Mr Mackay?... How would you like it if I started to advise you how to play that stupid game?"

"You'd be in good company there doc; there were thousands every week used to tell me exactly what I was doing wrong." I replied, trying to lighten the mood a little "I'm sure I'll be fine and I really would like to go home now if that's OK."

"If that's what you wish sir, I can't physically stop you from walking out of here, but I must insist on you signing yourself out stating that you are leaving against all my advice.... Obviously, you know much more about the latent problems that could occur after a nasty bang on the head than a mere experienced A&E doctor who studied for 6 years at university and has worked in this department for the last 5 years."

Turning and picking up her medical razor, she carried on her tirade, "You, of course, are a highly qualified 'amateur' who apparently knows far better than I, just HOW thick you're skull actually is and what little damage could be caused by a gentle collision with between a human skull and a frigging concrete post!!!..."

Sensing her patience was perhaps wearing a little thin (us ex-rugby players are quick that way), I decided it was perhaps best if I kept my big mouth shut while she shaved a seemingly unnecessarily large patch of hair at the back of my head in order to stitch me up.

"There are seven stitches in there Mr Mackay.... I'm sure you know the routine. They should dissolve in about a week and leave you 'another' nice scar to go with the rest of your collection. Please go see your GP next week sometime to ensure there is no infection in the wound and, I must stress how important this is despite your great knowledge in such matters, if you do feel any dizziness or changes in your vision at all please come back here immediately."

Turning away from me and clearing the needle equipment, she then continued with her back to me, "I would also suggest you keep away from any jealous husbands for the foreseeable future too Mr Mackay."

"For fuck's sake doc, I didn't sleep with anyone else's wife; this is all a huge misunderstanding." I snapped, "Why does everyone seem to think I'm some sort of cheating, adulterous prick?"

"Like they say Mr Mackay, if the cap fits!....Now please, if you insist on leaving, please do so, we are extremely busy as you see."

By that time it was 1:30 am on a Saturday morning, a great time to try and get a Taxi home. I'd tried ringing Anne on her mobile, (straight to voice-mail), and also our house phone, (no answer), and as my parents were away on holiday, the Taxi option was the only viable alternative. Eventually, just after 2:45am, my lift home arrived.

Ali, (aren't they all nowadays?), took one look at my blood-stained clothing and immediately pointed out, "I don't take drunks home from hospital; please ring someone else's taxi mister."

Jumping into the back seat before he had chance to set off, I snapped at him, "I'm not fucking drunk!... Now take me home before I really get annoyed!"

"OK mister, just don't bleed all over my car please, I am on all night and I'm sure the rest of my passengers wouldn't want blood all over their clothes."

"No problem mate," I replied, "I stopped bleeding hours ago, so please just take me home, and no talking please, I'm not in the mood."

Half an hour later we pulled up outside my house.

After I had got out of the taxi, and he'd driven off, I noticed for the first time that my car (the one we had been in at the supermarket) was on the drive, and Anne's SUV wasn't. That meant at least that she had been home and put the shopping away.

After looking around my locked car, the realisation slowly hit me that I was locked out of my home and my car and didn't have any keys to get in either. Of course I proceeded to do what any calm, rational, clear-thinking man with a busted nose and seven stitches in the back of his head would do in those circumstances. - I kicked the fucking front door in!!!.....

I never even made it upstairs to bed, the combination of the time of day and powerful painkillers I'd been given had knocked me out as I lay on the sofa. I do remember, however, thinking at the time that some bugger was going to pay for all this, before I dropped off to sleep.

I woke up just after 10am on Saturday morning feeling absolute shit. My head ached, my nose felt as though it was the size of a small mountain, and the lump on the back of my head?... Well let's just say it hurt like fuck!!!...

Dragging myself into the bathroom I did the necessary morning business. Surprisingly I did have the usual morning 'wood', but a piss sat down like a woman took care of that little problem. - (Not SO little I might add, I have hands like bunches of bananas and you know what they say about men with big hands, well I was living proof that it was so true.) - I then had a shower, being careful to keep my head dry as the 'sympathetic' doc had told me to the previous night. I didn't bother shaving (couldn't be arsed), then looked in the mirror to comb my hair (words of a song? - ah yes 'Nowhere To Run', Martha and the Vandellas again). Fucking hell, what a sight. My nose was covered by a stupid looking plaster that spread over both cheeks and my eyes were as black as a frigging giant panda's.

After getting dressed I threw the blood stained T-shirt I'd been wearing the previous night into the bin, my jeans into the wash basket and then made myself a mug of coffee, (instant of course, Anne is the one who needs 'proper' coffee). I thought I knew exactly where my wife would have run to so I decided the first thing I'd better do was get the poor front door fixed. It had been the recipient of all my frustrations and temper earlier and was not looking good, hanging from its hinges with the lock and door-frame smashed to smithereens. I called Alan, my assistant manager at work and probably my best friend in the world, and asked him to bring a new door, frame and lock over as soon as he could, refusing to explain anything when he asked me why I should need a new door so urgently and telling him to keep it to himself.

A couple of hours later we had fitted the new door and Alan had left with strict instructions not to mention anything at work (like that was going to happen). He'd tried a couple of times to inquire why I was stomping around like a bear with a sore arse, why my face and head were in such a mess, and what had happened to the door. The first time he asked I'd just muttered it was none of his business, then when he'd asked again a little later he got a mouthful of abuse and not so politely informed to 'keep his fucking nose out'. Resisting the temptation to mention that I'd probably have been better keeping my nose out (ha-fucking-ha), he helped me fit the new door (I did notice the odd smirk but he'd suffer for that later, the piss-taking little shit), before going back to work and taking all the remnants of my unprovoked door assault. By this time it was after 3pm and I really needed to contact Anne and explain that everything had been a misunderstanding and persuade her to come back home to look after her wrongly injured loving husband.

I was right; she had gone home to her parents' house. Her SUV was in their drive as I pulled up outside so I parked behind it, preventing her from running off again (clever eh?). After hurriedly walking up the path I rang the doorbell and waited for someone to answer. A few seconds later Mary, my lovely mother-in-law, opened the door slightly (she'd put the security chain in place first) and peered through the small gap at me. She gasped when she saw the state of me, a look of sympathy on her face quickly disappearing to be replaced by one of severe disapproval,

"James!.... How could you?" she asked, still not allowing me into the house, "How could you cheat on Anne like that, I thought you were better than that..."

Mary only ever used my given name when I was in deep shit with her so I kept my voice calm and quiet as I replied "Mary, I never cheated on Diane, despite what she put me through, and I would certainly never cheat on Anne, honestly.... Please let me in to talk to her and explain."

"No James, she doesn't want to talk to you right now, she is absolutely fuming. She thought you were the love of her life and is so disappointed with you."

"I know it looks bad Mary, but I really don't have any idea who that bloke was, or who his damn wife is either. Let me explain this to Anne....Please!"

"Let me try and get her to at least listen to you James, I certainly want to believe you. I love you like my own son and it would break my heart, never mind Anne's, if we found out all this was true."

She closed the door in my face again and retreated back into the house, I hoped it was to persuade Anne to let me talk to her. A couple of minutes later, the door again opened onto the security chain and there it was, the mocking face of my arsehole father-in-law.

"I always knew you were no good you arrogant pillock, I should never have let my little girl marry you in the first place...." he spat at me, protected as he was by the door, "think yourself lucky I'm not 20 years younger otherwise I'd be giving you the good hiding you deserve, you cheating fuck!!!...."

That was too much, no way was I going to take shit like that from a twat like him. My temper rose quickly as I shouted at him, "You obnoxious cunt!!!.... Firstly, there was never a time even in your wildest fantasies that you could have given me a good hiding as you so eloquently put it and secondly I NEVER FUCKING CHEATED!!!!......"

'That didn't go as planned' I thought to myself as the door slammed in my face. I could see Mary looking at me through the lounge window, so I walked over and signalled for her to open it. She did as I'd requested, slightly opening the sash, just enough to enable me to hear her,

"Please go away Jim, let me work on her. There's no way she'll talk to you in the mood you're in. She could hear you arguing with Ralph and doesn't want to discuss things while you and her father are together."

"OK Mary, I'll leave for the time being. I wouldn't trust myself around that arsehole anyway, but please tell her what I said. I'll give her a ring in a short while and try to talk to her if that's OK."

"I'll try and get her to talk to you Jim, although I can't promise anything. Her father is adamant she should divorce you and get you out of our lives for good, but leave it with me, you know what he's like, he'll calm down in a couple of days."

"I wouldn't have expected anything else from him Mary....Why on earth did a lovely lady like you ever marry such an obnoxious prick in the first place?... You could have done so much better than him." I said quietly, my temper placated slightly by my lovely mother-in-law.

"You know what it's like Jim; you went through it with Diane. Sometimes you just can't help who you fall in love with." She replied softly, a tear falling down her cheek, "Now please leave and let me try and calm things down in here, ring in a couple of hours and I'll let you know what's happening."

I kissed her softly on her tear-stained cheek before whispering to her, "Thanks for everything Mary, I'll speak to you later."

I went back home and moped around the house for a couple of hours before ringing Anne's mobile around 8pm.

"Hi Jim, sorry love it's Mary here not Anne. She's gone to stay with our George in Leeds for a couple of days and will be back on Monday. Just let her calm down, OK sweetheart? I'm sure she'll talk to you when she gets back."

George is Anne's younger brother. He plays for the Leeds rugby league club and luckily is one of my best mates, so I knew he wouldn't be bad-mouthing me to her like her dad had been.

"OK Mary," I replied calmly, my annoyance tempered by my desire to have my wife back home where she belonged, "When you speak to her, please tell her it's all a big misunderstanding and I love her more than anything in the world,"

"I know you do Jim, I'm sure she'll realise you wouldn't ever cheat on her, despite what Ralph is trying to tell her, our George and his wife will put her straight. I'll get her to ring you when she gets back, OK?"

"Thanks Mary. I'm sorry for all this, but honestly I've got no idea what any of it is about." I replied, "I'll speak to you later when I'll hopefully have found out just what the hell has been going on."

"OK love, 'bye for now."

I'd decided to go round to the supermarket on Sunday afternoon, intending to ask the manager if I could have a copy of any CCTV tape he might have of me being attacked on Friday night. Luckily he'd been expecting the police to come enquiring so he had the tape ready. (I hadn't even thought to report it to the cops; they probably would have been too busy to investigate a 'domestic' anyway). Unfortunately, all the tape showed was me getting thumped by a big bloke in a bomber jacket and jeans. It was impossible to identify him from the tape as his frontal view was never really in view, so I was still none the wiser as to his identity.

The store manager, again a big Saints fan, (what can I say, it's a big sport in St Helens) gave me a copy of the tape and tried to apologise for the assault happening on 'his' property. I put him straight that there was only one person to blame and that was the bloke who'd hit me, and that he, the store manager, had nothing at all to reproach himself for. I then went home and pottered around the house trying to figure out just who the hell it might be after I'd looked at the grainy video tape repeatedly. Eventually I gave up and went to bed after taking some more of the pain killers I'd been prescribed by my favourite emergency doctor.