The Strand-on-the-Green Strongwoman chapter two (standard:drama, 4552 words)
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Jan 06 2020	Views/Reads: 1349/932	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Maggie Wells witnesses an incident at a London tube station that sets her on a course across country seeking retribution using her formidable physical power.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

“Huh.” Sue Butcher pushed the paper aside. “If this guy's account is
anything to go by, then this ‘nutter' has to be incredibly strong. 
Speaking of which ...” Sue leaned across the table, looked up at 
Maggie, and narrowed her eyes.” 

“He's probably exaggerating.” Maggie shrugged, refusing to rise to the
bait. She knew Sue was jesting with her, but it was uncomfortably close 
to the truth. 

“The way you lift patients around for us,” Sue continued, “it's as if
they're flyweights when really ...” 

“Yes, and I'm not supposed to do that as you well know,” Maggie cut in
before Sue could go any further, “if our dear supervisors find out I'll 
be for the ...” 

“Come to think of it, the description fits too,” Sue continued with a
cheeky pout. 

“Cut it right there.” Maggie's eyes flared, and her powerful abdomen
swelled. “I'll not be compared to a woman like that if this turns out 
to be true.” 

Maggie stormed out before she got any more heated. Sue had just been
winding her up, true to her nature, and many times Maggie had flexed 
her muscles, raised Sue by her lapels against the locker doors in 
playful retaliation, but this time, it had been painfully close to the 
mark. 

And the guy she'd beaten up, who the papers stated was Mark Saunders,
had done exactly the reverse of what she'd thought he'd do. He'd 
reported the incident when she'd expected his ego to prevent him from 
doing so. 

*** 

It didn't pay to make hasty decisions; Maggie knew that. But a scan
through regional care vacancies was a starting point in a change of 
direction for her, and she needed to do this outside of the confines of 
home and Bill. Hence, when her shift was completed, Maggie made 
directly for the Notting Hill library and logged in using their 
computer network. 

An error on her part found not the job vacancies but a report of large
scale abuse at a care home in Stamford, Lincolnshire. Maggie felt her 
blood rising as she took in the details of the atrocity. ‘Staff held 
residents for hours without basic facilities for hours at a time' read 
one report. ‘Specific room designated solely to punish elderly 
residents,' read another. And finally, ‘Five employees responsible for 
Stamford care home abuse handed one hundred hours community service.' 

“Community service?” Maggie uttered out loud, not caring who had
overheard her. What kind of fucking sentence is that? Bastards!” She 
clenched her hands together, her biceps threatening to shred the fabric 
of her blouse as a librarian with a finger to her mouth warned Maggie 
of her outburst. 

Maggie turned momentarily, her blue eyes flashing fire in response, but
she knew that creating a scene would be counter-productive, and forcing 
aside the desire to retaliate, Maggie delved further. Peace Haven Care 
Home was the facility at the centre of the reports. Huh! That was a 
laugh, although it wasn't the least bit funny. The further Maggie read 
into the report, the more she was forced to keep her ire in check. 

It appeared that the care home was still operating, but the ringleaders
deemed to be responsible had been dealt with. Not in her book. Maggie 
scowled, her powerful hands inadvertently exerting pressure on the ends 
of the keyboard. She felt it creak and groan and relented with a sigh. 

Aware that the librarian's eyes were trained on her, Maggie again fought
back her aggression and located the job vacancies in her field for the 
region in question. 

A couple of vacancies for the Peace Haven stood out, and ideas rapidly
began to form in Maggie's head. The injustice of the court's decisions 
against the perpetrators reigned supreme in her mind, but along with it 
came a channelling of thought into the broader scheme of things. Again, 
unwise to rush into wholesale changes, but some injustices needed a 
little personal intervention, and given Maggie's discontent with her 
own situation, her brain began assembling a plan of action. 

Stamford, she'd heard of the place, but it sounded posh, expensive, and
quick research of places to rent confirmed as much. But there were 
towns nearby that were much cheaper. 

Peterborough – it didn't do a lot for her on first examination.
Multicultural – okay, she didn't mind that particularly, nicknamed 
Pottyboro apparently, and that soothed her mood somewhat, curved her 
lips into a rare smile. Her plan was formulating nicely. She had leave 
due, so a trip in that direction sprang to mind. She could see how the 
land lay while her job application was under consideration. That much 
was decided. Bill didn't count. He'd already been eliminated from the 
equation. She'd tell him as much once she got home. He could argue as 
much as he liked, but her mind was set. What had happened on 
Strand-on-the-Green had been the definitive moment. Her discontent 
domestically, plus her anger at the mistreatment of the elderly, had 
created its own uncontainable cocktail. Her plan was evolving almost 
before her eyes. 

Maggie left her seat, glared at the librarian on the way out for good
measure, and returned to her car. She phoned the address on the care 
home vacancy advert and requested an application form. 

*** 

Maggie arrived home intent on confronting Bill with her decision to end
their relationship. He wasn't in when she got back, possibly at work, 
possibly down the pub; she didn't much care. Maggie worked at her 
weights for thirty minutes, then showered and changed into a white tee 
shirt and blue capris before returning downstairs to the small front 
living room. She'd barely sat down when Bill came through the front 
door, pausing before entering the living room and dropping his copy of 
the Chiswick Times onto the coffee table. 

Maggie didn't have to read his expression to know what was coming next;
the stark headline said it all. “Been flexing your muscles, I see,” 
Bill said sarcastically. “I should have known you were up to something 
when you were late home.” 

It was the truth, of course, but Maggie couldn't resist rising to the
bait. “Don't be stupid. I told you why I was late. There must be 
hundreds or thousands of women matching my description.” 

“Down to the clothes you wore?” Bill raised his dark brows. “I doubt it,
and I noticed you didn't have to look at the paper before answering.” 

“Didn't have to, already seen it,” Maggie said, raising an arm
dismissively. “The girls in the care home were reading it if you must 
know.” 

Bill took a seat in the armchair opposite. “And how many women are
capable of dishing out that kind of treatment?” he asked, ignoring her 
words. “Only one that I know of.” 

“Well, it wasn't me, “ Maggie remarked with as much conviction as she
could manage. “Everyone has a double, so they say.” “Whatever,” Bill 
snapped, clearly disgruntled. 

Maggie trained her fiery gaze on Bill, a warning for him not to trigger
her temper. But he'd put her in a quandary. She'd been set on unloading 
her intentions on him and be done with it, but could she count on him 
to keep quiet and not go running to the police? Of course not. He'd see 
that as suitable recompense , she was sure. She'd have no alibi; after 
all, she'd lied to him about having worked late, and Mark bloody 
Saunders would have no problem identifying her. So, for the time being, 
Maggie had to rein herself in. Not an easy task for her, but without 
doing so, her new plans would be completely scuppered. The only option 
was for her to bide her time. As for the visit to Peterborough and 
Stamford, she could still do that. What she did with her leave was her 
own business. Right now she needed her wits about her, not her muscles. 
Time to soften her attitude with Bill a little until the 
Strand-on-the-Green Strongwoman business died down. Maggie took a deep 
breath, yawned and stretched. “Fancy taking a walk?” 

Bill shrugged. “Where to?” 

“Don't care as long as it doesn't end up at the pub.” She got to her
feet. The air's cooler now. A stroll in the park would be nice.” Bill 
narrowed his brows, but he didn't object. 

*** 

“Why the sudden change of attitude?” Bill frowned, looked away, thrust
his hands into his pockets before fixing his gaze once more on Maggie. 
“I mean, all this week you've acted as if you didn't want to know me, 
and now – well, you're almost back to your old self. Going to tell me 
what's going on?” 

Am I fuck. Maggie smiled, glanced over Tysdale Rec at the kids playing
cricket, then back at Bill. “Nothing. You just read me wrong sometimes, 
that's all.” 

“Nah–” Bill jabbed a finger at her, one that she narrowly averted
snapping off. “You forget. I can read you like a book.” 

“Not that you're the greatest reader, huh?” Maggie's smile remained,
even though her temper was on a downward spiral. 

“Now who's being all antsy – see what I mean?” 

“You're the one with the attitude, Bill, so come on, buck up. Stop
imagining things.” Before Bill had a chance to respond, Maggie slipped 
an arm through his, her muscles swelling as she pulled him down and 
planted a kiss on his lips. 

Bill's first reaction was to pull away, but it was pointless. Maggie was
far too strong. Bill didn't feel that he was a weakling by any means, 
he considered himself quite strong when all said and done, but Maggie's 
power was staggering. Something he'd learned early on in their 
relationship. He could do nothing but capitulate until she relented and 
released him, embarrassment reddening his features. “There's a good 
lad.” Maggie sighed, looked away. A ball from the kids' cricket match 
landed nearby, and Maggie scooped it up, swung it underarm back to 
them. 

“I'm taking a couple of days' leave,” she said, casually flicking
strands of ginger hair aside, the action reinforcing her commitment to 
have it cut short. 

“Ah, good idea. I'll book a couple of days too. Perhaps we can manage a
couple of days at the coast. Nothing that costs a lot. B and B sort of 
thing.” 

Not what I wanted. Maggie cursed her bad timing and manner of delivery,
but she'd acted on impulse as was her way. She had to rephrase and 
quickly.  “No, that's not what I meant. It's work related ...” 

“I might have known,” Bill cut in with a sigh. 

Maggie felt her frustration growing and her temperature rising. She was
already struggling to contain it. Her sweetness and light approach was 
going out of the window fast. 

“Well, that's the way it is, I'm afraid. These things happen. Maybe we
can arrange something later.” 

That certainly wasn't going to happen. 

“Yeah, perhaps.” Bill took a deep breath, and when he returned his
attention to Maggie, there was undisguised sarcasm in his voice. 

“So, this work-related break, it's just crept up out of the blue, has
it?” 

Maggie shrugged. “Something like that.” She wasn't going any deeper into
this quagmire. That was as much information as Bill was getting. 

*** 

Three days later, a letter addressed to Maggie Wells came through the
letterbox. Maggie collected it, and as expected, it was the application 
form for a position at the Peace Haven Care Home. Maggie read through 
the form satisfied that she was suitably qualified to apply for the 
position, tucked it into her shoulder bag, and left for work. 

Now she could book her leave. Covertly check out the care home, and
assess accommodation, probably in nearby Peterborough. While on work 
break, she completed the form in the rest room and then slipped out and 
posted it. She'd have no problem with references; she'd had seven 
years' experience now in caring for the elderly and through that had 
plenty of reliable references to choose from. 

When Maggie returned home, delayed by heavy traffic, Bill was already
there. He'd had a shower, changed and was wearing his favourite clothes 
as if dressed for an evening out. 

“Going out then?” she asked, not particularly interested. 

“Yep,” Bill said, perched on the edge of an armchair tying his shoes. “A
few of the lads are meeting up in Chiswick. A couple of them are taking 
their partners.” Bill looked up, his stare deepening. “But I told them 
you wouldn't be interested. He led out his hands. “I mean it being 
Strand-on-the-Green and all.” 

“What's that got to do with anything?” Maggie snapped, hands on hips.
“I'll be fine to come unless you don't want me there.” 

“Really?” Bill raked a hand through his dark, wavy hair. “You want to
come?” 

Maggie's eyes flared. “Well, if you don't want me to, then ...” 

“No, it's okay – it's fine ... it's just that I thought ...” 

“Yeah, I know what you thought. The Strand-on-the-Green Strongwoman and
all that. Well, I promise not to hurl anyone into the Thames tonight.” 

“Look, I'm sorry,” Bill said, placing an arm around her shoulders. 

“It's obviously not you. I was just being stupid. We haven't seemed to
be getting on as well, lately, and ...” 

“I'll go upstairs and change,” Maggie interrupted, cutting him off. 

“We'll eat out, yes?” 

“Yes,” Bill agreed, and Maggie raced upstairs. Now, why did I do that?
Maggie chastised herself. What can I possibly gain from it? And what 
happens if Mark Saunders just happens to show his face? Such things did 
occur. 

The trouble with her was that deep down, she just couldn't resist a
challenge. There was normally only one winner – her. This, however, 
might well be the exception. Maggie cut into the bathroom and cursed 
her impulsive behaviour. 

And yet, despite the situation, Maggie still went for power. The dark
dress she wore exposed her wide shoulders, her strong arms were bare 
for everyone to see, her blue eyes shone with health, her face exuded 
vitality, and her striking ginger hair, which would be getting cut, 
flowed freely around her shoulders. Like it or not, she was taking Bill 
on, and anyone else for that matter. 

Maggie returned downstairs and fixed Bill with a challenging stare. 

“Will I do?” 

“Of course you'll do. You don't have to ask.” Bill turned and led the
way to the door, but despite his apparent casual demeanour, Maggie 
could see that he was gobsmacked that she'd agreed to go. Maggie 
snatched the keys from the table. She hadn't volunteered to drive, but 
since she didn't drink and Bill did, it was a given that she'd drive. 

“So then, where's the meet-up point?” Maggie asked conversationally as
she slipped the car into gear and they set off on the journey of 
fifteen minutes or so. 

“The Bell and Crown,” Bill replied, directing his stare at Maggie as if
waiting for a reaction. 

The Bell and Crown, less than a couple of minutes from where she'd
beaten up Mark Saunders. Maggie kept her eyes on the road, no point in 
reacting to that. It wasn't as if Bill was expecting her to go; he 
clearly wasn't. So he hadn't deliberately arranged the meet-up point to 
coincide. 

“And then we'll probably continue along to the City Barge and Bull's
Head,” Bill added. “Nice evening when all said and done.” 

“Okay – oh, by the way, that leave I was on about – I'm taking it
Thursday and Friday. Should be back later on Saturday.” 

“Fine,” Bill said flatly. “Though I still don't get it. It hasn't
happened before.” 

“First time for everything,” Maggie snapped, this time taking a quick
look at Bill before returning her attention to the road, “and when duty 
calls ...” 

“You go running,” Bill said sarcastically. But Maggie let the remark go,
her muscles rippling as she momentarily tightened her grip on the 
wheel, the only outward sign of her irritation. 

A few minutes later, they pulled up at the Bell and Crown on the
riverside at Chiswick, being a fine evening, it was bustling, but 
Maggie surged ahead, forcing her way through until she found the 
others. 

Drat. 

Karen Jeffries, Tony Miles' partner. Maggie barely disguised her scowl.
False accent, false airs and graces, tried to act posh even though she 
and Tony lived in a flat on a council estate in Acton. Looked down her 
nose at everyone. How Maggie wished she could punch that nose out of 
shape. 

“Karen,” Maggie acknowledged as she switched her attention to the
others. Decent enough crew. Tony wasn't so bad, though something was 
amiss if he could put up with Karen. The older guy, Don Shepherd and 
his wife, Theresa, Maggie was okay with them, and then Will Freeman, 
big mouthed and ignorant.  Maggie could picture herself shaking Will's 
hand and crunching it. Matter of fact, she could imagine putting one 
arm around Karen's neck, the other around Will's, and summoning all her 
power. 

But alas, this wasn't the time or place. 

“I'll get the drinks,” Bill said, dragging her out of her thoughts. 

“Fruit juice, Mags?” 

Maggie nodded. “Thanks.” 

“Maggie likes to keep in shape,” Karen remarked knowingly, “as you can
see.” 

Maggie cut her eyes to the blonde woman – dyed she supposed – “It's
natural. I've always been this way,” she said, already simmering below 
the surface. “Just that alcohol doesn't agree with me.” 

“Me neither,” Theresa said, a hand caressing her grey hair, “but my, it
is so lovely, this stretch of the Thames.” And that was something they 
could agree on with Maggie silently thanking Theresa for her timely 
change of subject. 

“Except,” Karen persisted, “there appears to have been a particularly
nasty incident whereby an innocent bystander was viciously beaten up by 
a deranged woman. 

Innocent bystander! Maggie fumed. 

“The Strand-on-the-Green Strongwoman,” Don Shepherd remarked, “Wouldn't
want to get on the wrong side of that one.” 

Maggie felt Karen's brown eyes on her, felt like flexing her muscles but
managed to stifle the urge. It mattered not, however, because Bill 
returned with her fruit juice and she raised the glass to her lips, 
causing her arm to swell considerably. 

Thankfully, however, Karen's efforts to return to the matter of the
Strongwoman were thwarted when conversation turned to other things, but 
nonetheless, Maggie bored with the proceedings, excused herself for the 
restrooms. 

Except that wasn't where she was headed. Maggie strode outside, looked
westward to the point of her attack on Mark Saunders. She stepped down 
to the river's edge, the evening breeze sweeping her ginger hair around 
her powerful shoulders. With her back to the pub's drinkers and diners 
on the riverfront patio, Maggie thought she could sense eyes upon her. 
Probably it was purely imaginary, possibly not. Because the 
Strand-on-the-Green Strongwoman had attracted much publicity owing to 
her confrontation with Mark Saunders, and there would be many who would 
be aware of characteristics that matched hers. 

And then a hand clamped down on her shoulder, and Maggie reacted
instantly, elbowing her would-be assailant in the midriff, spinning 
swiftly around and snatching the hand that had accosted her. 

“Hey, hey ... hang on ... for fuck's sake – I didn't mean nothing – just
came out for a fag for fuck's sake, give over!” 

Maggie smiled. Will Freeman – how she'd thought about busting his hand a
few minutes ago. Now she had the opportunity, and with her power, it 
would be child's play, but there were other factors to consider. The 
way the clientele on the patio were staring, some already on their 
feet, the likely connections they'd form between her actions here and 
those of the Strand-on-the-Green Strongwoman just a short while back. 
The similarity in the reported assailant's appearance and her own. 

Fighting back her urge to break Will's bones, she let go, slapped him
playfully on the arm. “Will, what the bloody hell – you really 
shouldn't creep up on people like that.” Maggie sighed and then smiled 
as widely as she could. “Hope I didn't hurt your hand.” 

“A bit.” He wrung it, then reached into his jeans pockets for his
cigarettes. “Some strength you've got there.” 

That was nothing, but Maggie didn't voice her thoughts, conscious of the
clientele on the patio, her blue eyes sweeping over them. They seemed 
convinced that it was a misunderstanding and appeared to have lost 
interest in the incident. She noticed no lingering looks at any rate. 

Maggie glided past them, her head turned away in case there was the odd
inquisitive soul. 

Whether Will would bring this up when he returned inside, she didn't
know. Didn't much care. After all, it was Will who had crept up on her, 
and in the end, she'd refrained from violence. Barely, it had to be 
said, but that act of restraint was surely enough to avoid any unwanted 
consequences. 

As it happened, Will said nothing about the incident on his return, only
occasional rubbing his hand, which had Bill turning to Maggie with 
narrowed eyes, something she innocently shrugged off. Bill's idea of a 
mini pub crawl taking in all three of Strand-on-the-Green's riverside 
pubs didn't materialise, mainly it seemed the women present were happy 
enough making do with one pub and didn't favour moving on, and for her 
part, Maggie had been non-committal, although internally there was 
relief that she could avoid putting herself in the public eye by 
extending their evening elsewhere. However, Maggie soon found out that 
the incident with Will Freeman was far from over and done with in 
Bill's eyes. 

The friendly outgoing demeanour he'd adopted that evening soon changed
as she drove them home. Initially, there was an uncomfortable silence 
penetrated by gruff sighs from Bill. Maggie's patience running low, she 
finally said, “Okay, out with it, what's up?” 

Bill sniffed, looked her way, frowning. “What happened out there between
you and Will Freeman?” 

Maggie shook her head, her adrenaline rising. “Nothing. Just a little
misunderstanding. He crept up behind me, slapped a hand on my shoulder, 
and I panicked. “As soon as I saw it was him, I ...” 

“Let him have it,” Bill cut in. “Come on, Maggie, don't try to pull that
one on me. You never panic ...” 

“Look!” Maggie pulled over, slammed on the brakes. Bill shot forward,
restrained by his seat belt. “I don't give a fuck about what you think 
happened. That's just how it was. If I'd wanted to beat him up, I would 
have done it, and he wouldn't have been able to finish off his fag, 
walk back in, and sit down.” Maggie raised her index finger. “If you've 
got a problem with that, get out. You always talk rubbish after a few 
pints anyway.” 

Bill was livid. Maggie could see that. But he was also aware that she
was up for a fight, ready to set about him, and with her strength that 
would be dangerous. She'd never physically attacked him, but things 
were getting worse and quickly. 

Being thrashed by your partner also carried a humiliating factor, and
although none of his friends and colleagues had a wife or partner 
anywhere near as powerful as Maggie, the effects on his psyche would 
have been devastating. 

So Bill kept quiet as Maggie wrenched the car into gear and drove home
at a speed barely inside the speed limit.  


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