Zosia was steaming full ahead down the pavement towards me, head down, wrapped up against the elements like an angry Polish present.
She was clearly a woman on a mission, no doubt heading for a showdown with me, a thought as appealing as putting my nut sack in an angry ferret’s mouth.
Christ, had she caught wind of my illicit encounter with Tallulah on Monday?
Nah, impossible.
No one knew about it, except me and Tallulah. And there was no connection between Zosia and Tallulah. Except, maybe for Spanish Andy. Had Tallulah been mouthing off about shagging me to Spanish Andy, and he in turn had told Zosia?
What a cruel and unlikely set of circumstances 'twould have been, were that true.
I contemplated crossing the street to avoid the inevitable ugliness, and would have easily got away with it but my legs refused to take me.
Zosia didn't clock me until we almost collided. And as the distance between us closed, I swear I could hear her rehearsing her lines. (Bastard, no respect, treat me like shit, blah, blah, blah...)
Guilt over the Tallulah shag made me start proceedings with a warm almost loving greeting, you know, as though nothing between us was wrong.
"Hey, Zose, quel surprise!"
Zosia stopped dead in her tracks, and looked up, temporarily fazed at seeing me. Those same blue eyes that once sparkled with so much love for me now burned with pure animosity.
"Cheating bastard!!"
She knew.
Complete flustered by that realisation (thanks a fucking bunch Spanish Andy), my stupid response was to lean in and try to kiss her, but she turned her head and I ended up kissing the earflaps of her hat.
I took her by the forearms, all faux concern. "You okay? You seem a little peeved."
"Who fuck you think you is? Treat me like shit. Fuck around." She demanded, pushing me in the chest.
“Erm, well...the answer, my dear, is...er...a nebulous one. A nebulous one indeed. And why? Well, that’s a nebulous point too.”
And that's when she went on the offensive; a blur of windmilling mittens and vicious expletives raining down on me.
That’s the thing with Zosia. Her moods are so dark and unpredictable, the most innocuous of situations can take strange, uncontrollable directions, some remark or other causing offence or upset where none was intended.
She chose her words like weapons; useless, selfish, arsehole and fucker chief amongst them.
And as she went for me, her blows finding their target with the deadly efficiency of laser-guided missiles, yelling at the top of her loudness, curtains parted in neighbouring houses and curious faces appeared in windows.
I found myself laughing, trying to fend her off, making light of the situation for the nosey neighbnour's benefit. (Yes people, I'm being attacked in the street by a crazy woman, but it's okay, really, don't worry, I'll be fine.)
I tried to placate Zosia with a quiet offer of a return to my place where we could sit down and talk things through like sensible adults over a cup of hot tea, out of sight of the neighbours, but it only inflamed her more.
Increased punching, fiercer verbal.
All I could think was, is it just me or is this woman stark staring mad? No wonder I shagged someone else. I'm not happy. My relationship with her is crap. It resembles an impressionist painting. Looks okay from a distance, but shuffle up close and examine it detail and there’s nothing but an abstract bunch of brightly coloured splodges.
One of Zosia's mittens flew free in the onslaught and a bare hand slapped me square on the cheek.
In my book, there's nothing so infuriating as being slapped in the chops.
It shocked me into retaliation.
I caught Zosia's flailing arms and gripped them tight, forcing her down to her knees. Shit, there was so much adrenaline pumping round my system I thought I might break them in two.
"Stop, you Polish fucking nightmare."
Unbelievably, as she'd been in the instigator of the entire attack, Zosia began screaming out, "Help! Help!"
I pushed her forcefully away. She fell backwards to the floor, spilling her mobile, lip gloss and all the other insane contents of her handbag.
I bent down and screamed loudly at the back of her head to get the fuck out of my life, to leave me the fuck alone, and to never show her fucking daft face round these fucking parts again.
I shouted so loudly I even scared myself and took off across the road.
After gathering herself and her wayward belongings together, Zosia followed hot on my heels, yelling out "Stop! Thief!!"
What?? The crazy bitch...
I broke into a light jog to put yardage between us.
A middle aged chap I see sometimes at the newsagents at the top of my street was closing his front gate.
Zosia's cries of "Stop! Thief!!" grew more intense.
The middle aged man checked me out suspiciously as I quickened my pace.
"Morning," I said cheerily, as I trotted by.
"...Morning," he replied, uncertainly.
No 'Have-a-go hero' there, then.
Eventually, near the high street, Zosia finally gave up on the "Stop" Thief!!" nonsense, hurling one last piece of abuse at my back as I disappeared round the corner.
I spent the rest of the day lying low at Goliath's smoking myself numb.
