Marjorie
Marjorie was my head of department in my very first teaching job. She was a lovely lady - very attractive, vivacious, funny, intelligent, good at her job, a little jumpy at times, but generally a good sort. Sadly she was married to an utter knut.

Often she would turn up on a Monday morning looking a little sheepish and wearing large dark glasses. In the staff room she would tell us all how she'd had a heavy weekend entertaining her husband's clients and had downed far too much red wine. When she removed the dark glasses and we could all see the results of the red wine she would claim she'd walked into a door.

Towards the end of my first term there we had the standard Christmas party - a meal at a local pub. I drove down to pick up Marjorie and her husband, Ian, with my husband #1 (the gay one - not that this has any bearing on the story, but for those of you following the train wreck that is my life, it adds more pieces to the puzzle).

When we arrived both of them had already started on the wine and were in buoyant spirits. We went to the meal and a good time was had by all.

Getting back to drop them off Ian invited us in for a drink and before we knew it we'd agreed to stop the night - they lived in a sprawling medieval manor house, paid for by his wheeling and dealing - I never did find out what it was exactly that he did, but he drove a jaguar and seemed to sell houses in France.

So there we are all enjoying a pleasant glass or four of wine, my husband, G follows Marjorie to the kitchen...I didn't find out what happened between them but in light of later events I suspect now that perhaps she attempted to seduce him....

I was sitting on the sofa waiting for Ian to return with another bottle of wine. He walks into the room - behind me - puts the wine down on a small table and then leans over me and places both hands on my breasts...no warning, nothing, just a pair of hairy paws grabbing me. In shock I just sat there (also bearing in mind this was my boss' husband and I was all of 22 years old) too terrified and entirely out of my depth to move. He commented that I had 'cracking tits' - oh, gee thanks. As soon as he removed his (ginger) haired mitts from my person I jumped up and went to find Marjorie in the kitchen...bad idea.

Marjorie had returned to the sitting room via another corridor in the maze-like house and taken G with her. I reached an empty kitchen with Ian following me.

He was in his fifties, fat, balding and ginger - now I have nothing against any of those traits at all, individually, but put them together and they don't tend to make for the best combination of good looks. Add to that a huge amount of arrogance and a large dose of bully and you sum Ian up. He stood in front of me in the kitchen and repeated his earlier 'compliment' and then added to it, "I bet your c**t is even better. I want to taste it."
I seem to remember my reply was something along the lines of, "Aaaarrrgggghhhhh!" I think I was trying very hard not to cry - and now looking back on this incident I feel desperately sorry for my younger self and wish I'd had the confidence to kick him in the nuts and tell him what a sad pathetic excuse for a man he was.

However, the evening didn't end there, oh no!

I returned to the sitting room - at this point it felt very much like a rather bizarre Carry On farce - the young newly qualified teacher being chased around the house by the lecherous old twat while her handsome husband was having an attractive older woman attempting to seduce him (she stood no chance whatsoever as she was the wrong sex....the old twat would have had more luck).

I sat and trembled - my husband took this to be a sign that I was tired (?!) and asked Marjorie to show us where we could sleep.

Remember those old horror movies where the hero is shown to his room along dark corridors lit only by a single candle which the butler carries? And then the room is low beamed, cold, dark and has heavy drapes everywhere? They based all of those on Marjorie's house.

The room was something out of a Goth's wet dream - it turned out that their son was a huge fan of Aleister Crowley and this was his bedroom - the son's not Crowley's.

We both tried to get some sleep but before we'd been in bed little more than an hour things really kicked off...

First of all there was the screaming -
Marjorie at her son.

Then the shouting -
Ian at his son.

Then the bangs -
the son slamming doors on his way up to the attic.

Then more screams -
the son as Ian dragged him (by the hair apparently) away from the window, from which he threatened to jump.

More screams -
Marjorie as she 'got in the way' between the two and also as she received a punch or two for her efforts.

Then more shouting, screaming, sounds of slapping, all in all a soundtrack to a hellish family life.

Suddenly our door burst open - I have to admit at this point I nearly wet myself in terror - in ran their daughter - she was 10. We tried to calm her down but she was hysterical. Soon she was followed by her mother - also hysterical and bearing the scars of the evening.

G was sent after Ian and the son - Ian had chased him out of the house with a knife because the son had threatened to kill himself.
Yes, I know that really makes sense.

G eventually returned alone. Marjorie was by now calm, the daughter had cried herself to sleep on my bed. Marjorie was not worried in the slightest about the disappearance of her distraught and suicidal son or her mad and nasty husband (not worrying about the husband I could understand). She said they did this quite often and they would all return by breakfast time "with their tails between their legs"

We didn't bother to wait for breakfast - once we felt sober enough to drive we left.

The postscript to all of this is that on the Monday morning I went to work and had made a personal vow of silence on the entire evening both to protect Marjorie and myself. However, she couldn't wait to tell everyone how Ian had 'had a few' and got a little 'excited' with their son - 'he's on drugs you know' she told us with a grin.

About a year later I told a mutual acquaintance what Ian had done to me - she sided with him and never spoke to me again.

Fortunately even before I left the job I realised was a sorry existence Marjorie had and just how pathetic her husband clearly was. The last I heard of them she had lost out on promotion to headteacher because of her husband's behaviour.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Sun 27 Jan 2008, 17:01, 10 replies)

this is just a sad story
with no happy ending... feel sorry for everyone except Ian and that 'mutual aquaintance'. Oh, and your gay husband.
(Stu Moo winner of five nobble piece prizes, Sun 27 Jan 2008, 17:50, closed)

Sorry
But I couldn't think of any upside or funny slant to it....
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Sun 27 Jan 2008, 18:04, closed)

O lordy
that story is both scary and sad. I send positive thoughts to your frightened younger self. I have found the bright point though - your current signature. Now I can try and make it to the QOTW meet-up in London - thanks!
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Sun 27 Jan 2008, 18:55, closed)

That's just terrible
And gives proper Ians a bad name!
(Caustic Armadillo consists at least 30% out of custard, Sun 27 Jan 2008, 20:08, closed)

@ CHCB
Hooray! Yes, come to the bash!
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Sun 27 Jan 2008, 21:56, closed)

*Laughs*
You certainly have led a full and exotic life. As for the gay husband, I'd be flattered as they can be very picky choosing the women they marry.
( girlinthehole, Mon 28 Jan 2008, 9:12, closed)

*clicks*

( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Mon 28 Jan 2008, 9:18, closed)

A 'full and exotic life'
Hahahahaha!

Trouble just seems to follow me...That and the fact I'm always on the lookout for an adventure - sometimes they're good and sometimes they're not...
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Mon 28 Jan 2008, 9:58, closed)

Fuck me!
Very well told and a few humorous details and analogies thrown in, but I'm just....... shocked and saddened.

You, madam, should most certainly pen an autobiography. Your post continue to have a profound effect on me. In short, you sound a real diamond.

*Doffs cap*
*Clicks*
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Mon 28 Jan 2008, 15:08, closed)

^^^^
that....

and bloody hell, that story was the personification of pathos. But in a good way as I doubt you could have reacted better to it by (it seems) needlessly protected everyone involved.

have a click for being a throughly decent person.... :)
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 1:34, closed)