Se01 E01



Provocation, 1…
Standing by the sink and letting the tap run. Lost in a view of the garden, wondering why the grass is so bloody high and why nothing is as it should be.
Something of an exaggeration perhaps, but this is the kind of mood Trisha’s in, and as the day has dragged its sorry arse along, it hasn’t got that much better.
There’s nothing wrong with the grass, it’s quite neat and tidy, that’s because it’s well looked after, always tended with care and Trisha wants some of that. No, not grass, okay the kind you could smoke perhaps, but what she means is a little bit of tender and a lot of care.
Trisha turns the tap off because it’s annoying the hell out of her and any minute, he’ll start moaning about the waste and what it all costs.
She doesn’t think about that much, doesn’t think about much at all, except that fucking garden and what he might want for dinner and what time he might decide they (yes, they) should go to bed and on the odd occasion where she might feel… you know, a little frisky, he’s already tied up in the land of nod and nothing bar a nuclear explosion would get him to wake up and do something about it.
Something about pigs and flying suddenly springs to mind.

Provocation, 1a…
Looking into the sink and what exactly is she supposed to be looking at?
Her reflection, or that of someone she thought she’d never be, and seeing a woman who wants to be someone else and not married to this cunt who just drives her up the fucking wall.
She could always leave, not that she’s thought about it, because she doesn’t do that sort of thing. She could kill him, she hasn’t thought about either, she’d probably miss and end up hurting herself anyway.
She could fuck someone else and make him go away and that has it’s appeal, I mean, fuck it, why not?
Are we talking about a divorce? Don’t make me laugh, He wouldn’t know the difference between that and mowing his fucking garden, just something you do, ‘cause there’s nothing on telly and he won’t go to bed until he‘s ready.
Trisha has her head sort of sideways on; now she’s thinking and a small smile.
Perhaps that idea has merits all of it’s own…

Shopping. Oh such a wonderful, fulfilling feeling as you trudge around the supermarket and he’s got his club card ready and so eager to come across as such a nice, warm man and so eager to chat away while stuffing the carrier bags and what Trisha said about him being a cunt, isn’t so wrong after all.
When she said “I do” she kind of forgot the question and now it’s like the worst possible thing she’s ever been involved with, except the rather naughty thought about killing him. Funny how that thought has stayed there and then a part of her brain wakes up and says ’Just divorce the lousy prick, go on, you know you want to…’ Trisha sees her reflection in the stainless sink and wonders just what it is she sees.

Provocation, 2...
Pick something about herself that perhaps someone might find attractive. Maybe she shouldn’t, but it’s not as if there’s anyone close enough to tell her she shouldn’t or that she shouldn’t be thinking about herself at all.
Trisha likes her eyes. She does and okay, a little bit of a cliché, but when it comes down to it, if that fits in the right box without any warning lights coming on, then fuck the rest of it, her eyes will do.
They are, a soft light green, the kind of eyes that always seem to smile, even thinking about that idiot again and did you see that? Trisha thinking again, see, she can do it. She just has to let it happen.
Trisha stands by the sink and wonders where it’s all gone.

Her husband, call him what you will but his name is Frank. Francis Richard Harris and Trisha Margaret Thorne were married on July 12, 2001. There is a joke about doing time for murder and she’d be out by now, but we won’t go there.
It’s not as if she doesn’t like him, that’s not it, no, no. Trisha fucking hates him and sometimes she finds it hard to hide that nausea and she would love to slit his throat or something similar, but something that really isn’t too messy because he’d only fucking complain about it, not that he’d be in any position to clear it up, but he’d still whine and that wouldn’t be good for her at all.
So let’s forget about killing him and go fuck someone instead.

Provocation, 2a…
The question would be; who?
Trisha moves away from the sink and glances at the large chunk of wood that holds the selection of stay sharp knives. No, we’re not doing that!
Options. Nope, not that low calorie drink thing, options! You know, a list of alternatives and in amongst these is the little voice that squeaks: ’Just leave him and it’ll be fine.’
This is answered by a rather soft ’Maybe.’
She has to do something. Something to show him that Trisha is more than just the thing at home.
She is, because everybody’s something.
A smile as she makes coffee. Frank doesn’t drink coffee or tea, he says it’s unhealthy and refuses to make her any.
Well, he can go and fu-
Oh, we’re back to that again. Didn’t take long, did it?
The question was who?
Is all this to do with nothing but fucking?
The way she says it, it’s like it’s all she wants or all she does.
But that, just isn’t true.

Maybe it’s more than fucking. More than the bump and grind, it’s…
There was more wasn’t there?
A softer sound, because there was so much more, she might be living in some odd distant place that only really exists inside her head, but she’s not wrong, it was real and it is what they had.
The little squeaky voice she’s been hearing is a little louder and after quietly listening, perhaps, it’s not that wrong, either.
What does he feel though? What does he really share with her?
What?
He’s a cardio-thoracic surgeon, a professor, no less. But so what? That tells her that he’s got letters after his name and bugger all else, and he plays with sharp knives.
Oh, here they are again.
But who is he?
Is he the man she married those eight years ago and someone has lifted the curtain and what she sees is this fucking waste of space?
She married him. There must have been something, otherwise why do it?
Trisha sits at the kitchen table and struggles with that one.

Provocation, 3...
There had been long debates about them having children. Not debates really, monologues and they were all his. Trisha didn’t have to say anything because he had it all covered. He didn’t want them, he considered them a bloody nuisance, a bloody inconvenience, so I guess to sum up, the very, very short answer would be no.
Trisha had wanted kids, she liked the idea of being a mum, but a certain thing had to happen and he was convinced that these things just came out of a bottle and had absolutely nothing to do with him.
She said something about him earlier and maybe that was a little harsh, and Trisha has a forgiving nature.
Well, sometimes…

Trisha has three sisters and they all have kids. Some are quite nice, some are a little ’odd’, some sit on that ’oh dear’ scale and just can’t get off. You may be thinking that this is about kids then, but that’s not quite it either.
Her coffee is finished and it looks like her marriage is as well. She gave it her best, really put herself into it and the resounding conclusion is that she won’t kill him, she won’t fuck someone, so what she’ll do is leave quietly and he wont even notice.
Before she goes, she’ll have to wash up her mug and put it away. He’ll only moan about that after she’s gone.
A phone call to her solicitor and he’s a pretty decent man, a warm sound in his voice as she explains what she wants done.
A quick, simple divorce and then she can get on.

Now that that is out of the way, the real story of Trisha Margaret Thorne can begin and with a hope and a smile, it can only get better, can’t it…

Provocation, 3a…
In front of the long mirror, Trisha stands naked, looking at herself. A lot to like and a slight tummy, gravity not quite there with the hello and welcome just yet, not pulling everything south and her bum looks okay too, at least there’s something to grab hold of. Should the event arise.
Since her divorce, Trisha has been happy, buoyant sounds more like it, more out going and has taken to walking more, especially in the early mornings with her earphones in and that little solitude and music pushing her along.
Frank had signed the papers without any fuss and she’d bought an apartment on the second floor and not long after this, got herself a job and enjoys it, a secretary for a publisher and he’s ever so slightly mad.
Mad in a fun way, he has been known to come into work wearing a skirt and a blouse which are matched by Doctor Martens and a cigar on the go and he doesn’t seem to care about much, but what he does, he does with a passion.
His publishing company is quite small, niche publishing and he’s quite determined and quite vocal if something isn’t right and he won’t give a shit who he swears at. He’ll often ask Trisha about lipstick and things like that, and sometimes, it’s hard to tell if he’s joking or not.
He’s tactile too, but careful, he likes Trisha’s hair, because it’s long and dark and he likes to let his fingers take a trip through it, when she lets him, she was going to have it cut and he went nuts, begging her not to and she backed down and he then went out and bought her a huge bouquet, he was wearing pyjamas at the time and it was broad daylight, and he came back in one piece, so that was okay.

So, since her divorce and getting her own place, it has been so much better, and it’s not over yet…

Henry Meadows is the ’odd’ fellow in question. A six foot tall thin man with shiny green eyes and hair that’s just turning grey and he’s late thirties and nothing like his demented brother, Max.
If Henry is the fun side of the family, then Max is the apostate of it, a quite nasty piece of work and hasn’t a good word to say about anyone.
He and Henry argue a lot and this upsets Henry, it does put him off and he’ll then take Trisha out for an extended lunch or something and it takes a long time for him to say anything.
Henry enjoys what he does and likes what he is, he doesn’t want to change that, his work ethic is very strong, even if he does have a weird sense of wardrobe, but he is what he is and Max only tries his best to spoil it. Very nearly works, too.
He and Trisha get on so well, being so comfortable with each other and although there’s nothing remotely romantic between them, it’s a friendship that’s close and that helps their working relationship too.
Max sees this as something else entirely, and he sneers at them.
Max Meadows is married to the weasel like Andrea, they have four children and how that happened just defies any known laws of science and any sense of reality known to humanity. They are just simply horrible and their kids all carry government health warnings.
Enough… Trisha sighs, making coffees and seeing Henry standing by his office door and he should really take that dress off. A yellow flower print dress and mauve tights? Oh come on, but she laughs and Henry does too.

Oh, and has Trisha mentioned Colette yet?
She hasn’t?
Well, trust me, she will. Oh she will alright…