Sarah got the shock of her life.  Just as she was about to get on with some housework the doorbell rang.  Without thinking, and being totally unprepared, she breezily flung open the door to find.... him standing there.

            “My God, your face looks a mess.... It looks really painful.... Oh Sarah I feel so bad.  Let me make it up to you.  I’m so scared of losing you that I do the very thing that drives you away.  I can’t help it.... You shouldn’t make me angry.... It’s your fault that these things happen.... You shouldn’t provoke me.... Look, I promise on my mother’s grave that I will never ever strike you again.  Now you know that means that I’m being deadly serious.  Please.... let me help you feel better.... I’ll do anything for you.... Are you ok?”  He rambled on.

            Sarah’s instincts told her to slam the door in his face but she was so taken aback that her body was paralysed and the glue under her feet simply remained stuck fast.  Neither speech nor movement was forthcoming.  He looked so concerned.  He looked and acted in exactly the same way as he used to whenever he’d knocked the wind out of his son Lee; when he was stone cold sober of the morning after.  He used to look worried then; but he wasn’t.  No more than he pretended to be now.  In fact he had a certain detachment about him that couldn’t even acknowledge that he was fully responsible for the swollen, bruised and bloodied faces and bodies of his victims, signified in his chauvinistic, self-justified beliefs.  She recalled how he used to only bung on the remorse charade when he feared he was losing the love of his son or herself or if he thought there was a chance he might be punished for his crimes.  The distress that he felt was never for those he inflicted pain and sorrow upon; it was always only for himself and his possible loss.  She wryly recalled his crocodile tears whenever she’d left him before and she could see the same misty eyes with the same ‘little boy lost’ guise now.  She nearly puked.  She was becoming painfully aware of just how ignorant she had been to the reality of the pathetic, patronising, put-down and dominated existence she’d had with him.  Feeling a sudden surge of hatred, coupled with a strong desire to fight back with all her might, she glared at him and snarled:

            “It is over between us….  Got it? ….  Now go away.  And stay away.  I never want to see you again.”

            Greg did not retreat, as if she seriously thought he would; instead he put his size eleven boot in her doorway and crowed, “Not so fast sweetie.  I think you’re just playing one of your ‘hard-to-get’ games.  I don’t think you really do want us to finish.  You can’t bear to be on your own.  I want to hear you say that you don’t love me anymore because I think that you still do.”

            “I can’t stand you.  Have you got that?  I positively despise you.  Now sod off.... For good.”

            “Hey calm down” said Mr Smarmy.  “Let’s not be too hasty and do something that we both regret.  Look, I’m really sorry that I hurt you but you really shouldn’t’ve got me so riled up.  You know I’ve only got a short fuse.  Anyway are you seeing someone else or something?  Is that what this is all about?  Is he upstairs hiding?  Is that why you won’t let me in?  I’m warning you; don’t let your bloody boyfriends near my kids.... I’m warning you.”

            Sarah screamed at him, “There is nobody else and even if there was it’d be none of your damned business.  Now just get lost and leave me alone.”

            “Sorry love,” came the menacing reply.  “It’s not that simple.  You see there are things in your house that belong to me and I want them back and my mother wants her baby crib and quilt set back that she loaned you and my sister wants her buggy and bouncy baby chair back; and then there are my kids.... I want to see them.  I have every right to see them.  I’m their daddy and they need me.”

            “What?” came Sarah’s incredulous cry, “Nothing in my house belongs to you or your crazy mother and sister, and you know it.  In fact it is YOU who has things of mine in YOUR HOUSE…. Things that you STOLE from me.”

            “We’ll see about that,” he butted in, “The Court may have other ideas....”

            “And as for Jason and Jessie,” she bellowed back, “you don’t deserve to have them; not even for five minutes.  You physically and mentally abused your own kids and mine and you couldn’t be bothered to look after Jason or Jessie before.... Why now?  You didn’t care if their nappies were soiled, if their bums were red, if they cried at night, if they were hungry, cold or frightened.  You even rammed Jason’s pram into me just because you got into a jealous rage - you didn’t give tuppence about Jason shrieking in shock and terror nor did you give one iota for me and my bruised and bleeding ankles.  The only thing you ever cared about was your next can of lager.  You were so preoccupied with your liquor that you didn’t even notice when Jason toddled off alone up your stairs, or that he was sat stuffing his mouth with fluff and muck off your floor.  You even got so stoned that you’d smash up ornaments and picture frames, totally oblivious to the fact that there were babies and kids in the house.  You’re not even fit enough to keep a dog.... You even took a hammer to that poor defenceless four-legged creature that you did have and you even let him walk around on broken glass.  And even if I did let you have Jason and Jessica for a short while, how can I be sure you’ll bring them back?  You’ve threatened revenge on me for years to come, how do I know you won’t carry out your vengeance on my babies?  YOU are capable of anything.  This is something that will need to be sorted out formally by the Court because you are just using the babies as a ploy to pay me back.  You just want to hassle me and they provide the perfect excuse.  Now go away.”

            “Oh don’t worry, I’m going” replied her assailant.  “Oh and for your information if I can’t cope with them I’ll pay someone else to look after them.  But you won’t have them; that’s for sure.  Oh and by the way I know you want to get back to lover boy up there…. I know he’s up there.  I just heard him.... I knew you were having an affair all along.  All your neighbours told me.  Oh I’m going all right; but not for long…. I’ll be back later for my babies and you’ll be DEAD.  That’s what YOU’VE got to look forward to.  I’m going to KILL YOU.  Goodbye Sarah, my sweet.... for now.”

Sarah, in brave fighting spirit, rummaged through her shed looking for something for security and found a pole, two metal bars and a long stick which she took into the house, as well as a large rock which she stuffed into a thick sock.  Inwardly though she was worried and very, very scared but she was never going to let him see her pain.  She bolted the doors, locked all the windows and spent the next hour or so trembling on the settee while Jason and Jess slept soundly next door.  All she could think of was his intention to snatch her babies.

Suddenly the shrill of the doorbell bought her swiftly back to the present.  She was so alarmed that she jumped violently, her arms did an involuntary jerk and she spilt scalding coffee all down herself.  Cursing and moaning she approached the door in deep trepidation.  Without laying a finger on the handle she cowered behind it and squeaked:    

            “Who is it?”

            “I’m from the Social Services department Ms Hawthorne.  I need to ask you some questions.  May I come in?” came the confident response.

            Sarah’s blood chilled.  ‘What the hell does he want?’ she wondered.

            Her unwelcome guest introduced himself as Mr Rowbuckle, sat himself down in

Sarah’s living room and, speaking all authoritatively, announced, “We’ve had a referral from a Mr Greg Potter.  He’s concerned about his children Jason and Jessica who are living with you I believe?  He says that they are at risk in your care, that you go out drinking all day in the pubs leaving the babies lying in their cots.  He says that you leave your other children babysitting them.  He’s worried because you’re incapable of looking after any of your children and that you have no time for them, nor do you care about any of them.  He tells us that you have mental problems and he has requested that we intervene especially because Jason is so bored that he rocks rhythmically, banging his head against anything he can find and because he and his little sister have severe napkin rash.”

            Sarah stared at him and gasped, “Oh for cryin’ out loud.  My ex-fiancé is nothing but a vicious, vindictive, malicious liar.  He promised to do all this.  I just didn’t think it’d be this soon.  Just look at my face.  HE did that.  Is that the action of a concerned man?  Gregory Potter is a wife and child batterer.  HE is the one you people should visit.  HE is the alcoholic and the one who is irresponsible and inadequate at childcare.  As for the headbanging, well yes that is true but it only started when Jess was newly born and during the times when Greg and I rowed or he saw Greg assaulting me.  I did ask the health visitor Marge Bennet-Brown for some advise about Jason’s behaviour but was told that it is not unusual for toddlers to feel put out and jealous at the arrival of a sibling and that they all react differently with the most alarming behaviour.  Mrs Bennet-Brown advised me to just give Jason more hugs and loves to reassure him.”

            Sarah sighed, totally overwhelmed.  “Look.... Would you like to see them?  I think you’ll be hard pushed to find better cared-for children.”

            The intimidating intruder replied, “No thank you Ms Hawthorne; that won’t be necessary.  I had a feeling that this was a case of a vengeful ex-spouse.  It happens quite often, but we have to investigate all referrals.... Just in case.  I’m sorry to have troubled you.  I won’t take up any more of your time.  Good day to you.”

            Sarah was pleasantly surprised by the guy.  He was a decent human being after all, just doing his job.

Feeling somewhat relieved and heartened Sarah bucked up and began to busy herself but not for long because another unexpected caller appeared at her door.  Hiding behind it she timidly enquired as to the identity of her guest.

            “Marjory Bennet-Brown, health visitor,” came back the breezy reply.  “May I just pop in for a few minutes Sarah?  This shouldn’t take long.”

            Sarah reluctantly opened the door, forcing herself to appear cheerful and in control.  But inside she was a mixed cocktail of rumbling volcanoes and jellyfish.  She managed a fleeting half-baked smile as her unwelcome visitor showed herself into the living room.  Sarah followed obediently.

            “How are you Sarah?” came a rather unconvincing ‘concerned’ enquiry.

            “Oh fine,” she lied, “And you?”

            Mrs Bennet-Brown plunged in: “I’m sorry to have to visit you in this way but your ex-husband is deeply concerned about the welfare of his children....”.  She prattled on, listing the exact ‘concerns’ that Sarah had just heard from Mr Rowbuckle.

            Sarah was seething under her skin but she fought hell and high water to keep her personal emotion under wraps and to present a dignified air to such an interfering busybody - the type who seem to have nothing better to do than harass the harmless harassed.  What Sarah really wanted to do was to tell Mrs Bennett-Brown to take Mr Potter’s ‘deep concerns’ and shove them where the sun doesn’t shine.

            “I’ve just explained the situation to a social worker,” Sarah began politely, “My so-called ‘concerned’ ex-fiancé has used and abused me and has terrorised my children.  Take a look at my face, Mrs Bennet-Brown.  The bruised and battered flesh that you see was caused by Mr Gregory Potter.  He belted me last night in a completely unprovoked, cowardly attack.  And it wasn’t the first time either.  That despicable man has threatened to get me and my older children ‘sorted’ and he has made it absolutely clear that his stated objective is to cause me as much grief as possible.  One way is by sending the likes of you around to bother me after he’s fed you a pack of lies.”

            Sarah was warming up now and, noticing the look of horror on the health visitor’s face, decided to do away with being ‘dignified’.  “I’m the VICTIM here Mrs Bennet-Brown…. of DOMESTIC VIOLENCE.  I don’t need these kinds of accusations.  Why don’t you take your well-intentioned but misguided investigation up to GREGORY POTTER’S house?  HE is the child abuser.”

            Marjory Bennet-Brown mumbled something about just doing her job and only trying to help.  She pointed out that she was on the Domestic Violence forum and handed Sarah a card carrying the name of a Woman’s Aid counsellor.

            “Before I go,” she announced, “I must just ask you about Jason’s head butting.”

            “Oh really!” snapped Sarah.  “You know very well that I’ve discussed this problem with you on a few occasions and that your advice was to try and not dwell on it, to give him more attention and that he should eventually stop doing it.  You also informed me that it is Jason’s way of attention-seeking and that it is quite common when a new baby comes on the scene.”

            The health visitor looked blank.  “I really don’t recall you having discussed this with me,” she declared uppishly.

            “Well I did,” replied Sarah firmly and, fighting with and urging herself not to blow her top at this frightfully tiresome and time-wasting woman, shut her mouth and smiled sweetly.

            “Could I see the children?” asked the irksome meddler.

            Sarah replied that they were taking a nap right now but that she’d go and rouse them.

            “Oh no; don’t do that,” responded Mrs Bennet-Brown abruptly, “Leave them sleep for now.  I’ll have to see them though.  Could you bring them into the clinic for a thorough check-up?  Shall we say next Friday morning at 11 am?”

            Sarah was stunned.  Check-up?  Medical?  Whatever next?  Sarah wondered if this irritating woman seriously thought that she spent her days clouting her kids!  She felt that the health visitor hadn’t listened to a word she’d said about Greg being the guilty one and she the downtrodden wretched wife-to-be.

            “Friday 11 am will be fine,” responded a dutiful Sarah.

The melodrama was over; but no sooner had Sarah shown Mrs Bennet-Brown the door when yet another government agent came prying.  This time it was the turn of benefits agency private eye Mr Drinkwater.  Allegations this time were that Sarah had lived with her partner for three years whilst claiming state handouts as a single mother.

            Sarah silently screamed: ‘FOR CRYIN’ OUT LOUD why of why do these misguided, annoying nosy parkers persist in poking their noses in and pestering innocent, law-abiding, unassuming gentle folk?’  It occurred to her that it was no wonder the world was in a state of rapid decline and anarchy when the likes of her get targeted mercilessly and yet the likes of her abominable ‘ex’ get off scot free!  It was as if these state stooges were too scared to bring to book the real villains and found it easier and safer to push around the weak and vulnerable.

            Sarah struggled hard to regain her composure.  She faced her accuser and graciously explained that yes it was a substantial relationship, yes they had children together and yes they had spent time in each other’s houses including a few weeks spent together at Greg’s home during the time of both births and during renovations on her house; but no they did not live together, although her older children did have a temporary stay with him when they attended his local school for a short while.  She clearly made the point that her only crime was to fall for a self-centred parasite and she stressed that Mr Drinkwater would be better served by visiting Greg Potter with his incrimination of fraud.