The Prank
Before a small stage, guests danced in celebration, led by the guest of honor himself—the sixty-five-year-old boss of Charles. “Goodness, what a man…” the women chimed in unevenly, humming along with the lead singer of the little band.
Gertrude and her husband, exhausted from the revelry, wine, and heavy food, remained seated at the ruined table. At the other end, two colleagues argued about something, while a third dozed, his head resting on folded arms.
Gertrude leaned closer to her husband and whispered directly into his ear:
“Shall we slip away? Everyone’s too drunk to notice. This noise is giving me a headache.” For emphasis, she pressed her fingertips to her temples.
Charles glanced around the room from under his brow.
“You’re right. Nothing left for us here. Let’s go,” he said.
They slipped out of the restaurant unnoticed.
“Ah, fresh air!” Gertrude inhaled deeply, her lungs filling with the crisp night.
“Shall I call a cab?” Charles asked.
“No, let’s walk. Clear our heads.” She took his arm, and they strolled slowly through the dimly lit streets.
“Won’t those heels hurt you?” Charles asked.
“Then you’ll carry me, like you did twenty years ago. Remember? I wore new shoes, and they rubbed my feet raw. We walked home from the cinema because we didn’t have a car yet, and the last bus had gone. You carried me all the way.” Gertrude sighed.
Charles squeezed her arm against his side, silently confirming he remembered.
“We were so young then. Twenty years—gone in a blink. Feels like just yesterday we married, when I was expecting Alice, so happy…” Another sigh.
“I’ll be promoted soon. More opportunities, better pay. Alice is about to give us a grandchild. Then my retirement party in autumn. We’ve our health. Isn’t that reason enough to be happy?” Charles asked.
Gertrude didn’t answer—they’d reached home.
She showered first, washing away the evening’s glamour. She emerged in a plush robe, her damp hair loose. Charles couldn’t help comparing her to Angelica—his mistress, her skin smooth, body firm, eyes magnetic, hair a wild cascade… “What years do to women. Will Angelica look like Gertrude in twenty years? No, she’ll stay young for me. She always will be younger.” The thought stirred him. He stepped under an icy shower to cool off.
Morning came. He pulled out a crisp shirt, faintly scented with fabric softener, and a pre-matched tie. Gertrude always paired them, ready to go. The kitchen beckoned with coffee’s rich aroma.
“I’m off to the cottage today. The apples must’ve fallen—I’ll gather them, make compote, bake a pie,” Gertrude said, setting a steaming mug before him.
“Why not wait? On Saturday, we could drive together,” Charles mumbled through toast.
“Three more days? They’ll rot. And I should check on things.”
“Suit yourself.” He drained his coffee and stood.
“I’ll stay overnight. Won’t make the last bus back. Left dinner in the fridge.”
He froze mid-step, turning.
“You’re staying? Really?”
“Yes. Why the surprise? Got plans for me?” A sad smile.
“No. Just… be careful.” He left.
The door shut behind him.
Charles started the car. Before pulling away, he dialed Angelica.
“Hello. Did I wake you? Listen, darling—happy news. Gertrude’s leaving for the cottage tonight. We’ve the whole evening.” His voice dripped sweetness.
“Understood, love,” Angelica trilled, a loud kiss punctuating her reply.
“Clever girl. See you tonight. Miss you already.” He pocketed the phone, turned up the radio, and drove off, buoyant.
Everything aligned perfectly. “Time to come clean to Gertrude,” he thought. “Angelica’s tired of waiting.”
After work, he bought expensive wine, fruit. Approaching their flat, he noted the darkened windows—she’d left. He raced upstairs, heart pounding, breath ragged. “Age spares no one. Should join a gym.”
He dumped the bags in the kitchen—and froze.
A silhouette stood by the window, back turned.
“You… didn’t go?” His voice wavered. “Why’s the light off?”
“Surprise!” Angelica spun around.
His jaw dropped. The bag nearly slipped from his grip. He flicked the switch—yes, Angelica. Her hair was pinned up, just like Gertrude’s. Hence his mistake in the dark.
“Success! Should’ve seen your face!” She laughed.
“Nearly gave me a heart attack. Thought Gertrude was here. How—how’d you get in? Where’s the key?”
“Not happy?” She embraced him. All thought fled.
Morning. He woke, glanced at the clock—time to lounge. Angelica’s side: empty. Then—clinking porcelain, coffee’s aroma. He grinned, sprang up, and showered.
He emerged, towel-drying his hair.
“Morning, dear,” came his wife’s voice.
He froze. Before him stood Gertrude in a frilly apron.
“You?! Back already?” He clutched the towel tighter.
“Why shy? Seen it all before.” She smirked. “Dress and eat.”
He fled. No trace of Angelica. Had he dreamed her? No—she’d been real. He dressed, baffled. The wine bottle he’d left—gone.
Coffee steamed in their mugs. He bit into toast, nearly choking as Angelica’s voice rang out:
“Awake, darling?”
Coughing, Gertrude thumped his back.
Hallucinating? He dared not look. Angelica entered, sniffed.
“How sweet—you made coffee.” She poured herself a cup.
Gertrude stood impassive, as if blind to her.
“You’re pale,” Angelica said.
“Feeling unwell?” Gertrude echoed.
“What’s happening?!” He shoved back his chair.
“He’s feverish,” Angelica told Gertrude, resting a hand on her shoulder.
“Time for work, dear,” Gertrude smiled—first at him, then Angelica.
“A prank. Well played. When did you—?”
“Yesterday. When you called, saying Gertrude would be gone, I came to her. You called her old, dull, nothing to talk about. I wanted to see for myself. And what did I find? A sharp, elegant woman. No wonder you stalled leaving.”
Gertrude nearly threw me out, but I proposed something better—teaching you a lesson. Succeeded, didn’t we?” They exchanged grins.
“So now what?” His voice faltered.
“The script demands you choose. But…” Angelica paused. “After meeting your wife, I withdraw.”
“No need to see me out. I’ll call a cab. You’re blocked—don’t bother ringing. Not that I’d answer. I’ll find my own flat. Want nothing from you. Sort things with Gertrude. In her place, I’d…” She shrugged. “Her call.” She set down her cup and swayed out.
“Ciao, darling!” The door slammed.
Gertrude collapsed into a chair.
“Gertie, I—”
“Not now. Leave.” She turned to the window.
Outside, Charles sat in his car, marveling at their performance. He’d sweated like a trapped rat.
Angelica—fiery, young. But Gertrude… He barely knew her. He’d expected screams, smashed china. Instead—this.
At work, he fumbled. Colleagues whispered. Angelica’s line stayed dead. Blacklisted. Pity, but not irreplaceable.
By day’s end, he called Gertrude.
“Don’t hang up. We must talk. I was wrong—it’s over with Angelica—”
The line went dead.
He rushed home. Empty. The cottage? Locked.
“Lost your wife? She’s not here,” a neighbor said.
He dialed Alice. After endless rings, her husband answered:
“Charles, Alice is in labor. Why’s it taking so long? I’m losing my—Doctor! Wait—” The call died.
So Gertrude wasn’t there. Where? He recalled young, vibrant Gertie, eloping, her laughter:
“Wife for life? Through thick and thin?”
“I’ll love you forever!” he’d roared, spinning her outside the pub.
Now, parked roadside, he wondered: “Was Angelica worth losing this? She’d have left eventually—young, wanting marriage, kids. I’m near a grandfather.”
No wife, no mistress. Work. No ironed shirts, no hot meals… He checked the mirror. Thinning, greying—an old man.
Trucks roared past, buffeting his car. “Look what you’ve done. Now what? So easy to destroy…” Sighing, he turned the key.
ParkedHe stepped inside, the weight of his choices heavy on his shoulders, knowing that forgiveness, if it ever came, would take more than words—it would take time.
