Merry Widows

MERRY WIDOWS

“So, tell me all about Rosemary.”

         I can see he’s impressed; he can’t take his eyes off her.

         “Well, she’s one of a family of around two hundred and originates from Chile. She’s about five-years-old and quite a bit bigger than average.”

         “She certainly is a fine specimen. Her colouring and markings are very distinctive. Is she easy to handle?”

         “Oh, Rosemary’s very docile, I’ve looked after her since she was born and there’s not a thing I don’t know about her.”

         “She really is a beauty. Best I’ve seen all week.”

         I reach into the terrarium and proudly stroke her abdomen. Hard to believe how naturally it comes to me after all those years of being a phobic.

         “She’s been reared in the finest surroundings and fed only the best crickets. I’ve spent a long time studying the Theraphosidae family and without sounding arrogant, I know my stuff.”

         “Where did you study?”

         I smile and begin my well rehearsed reply; he doesn’t need to know everything. The truth is I became an expert on spiders during the time I spent inside, at Her Majesty’s pleasure. In fact, being in jail was probably the best thing that ever happened to me in a perverse sort of way and it certainly cured my phobia.

         Through regressive hypnotherapy I learnt my father was to blame. I had a very dull, frugal upbringing; reared on the by-products of milk and never allowed to explore much in the outside world. My father was a Reverend with some very weird beliefs, to say the least. He insisted that keeping spiders in the house prevented gout and deliberately brought in the largest, hairiest ones he could find. Childhood ailments were treated with spider dung and urine, my obvious distress and repulsion dismissed as immature tantrums. Regression stirred long-buried memories that explained my overwhelming arachnophobia. Like the day my father went berserk because I left a stain on the best rug in the house.

         “Patience, where are you?” he yelled as he stalked through the front door.

         Cowering in the corner I managed a whispered “Here.”

         “What’s the matter with you girl, and where’s my dinner? I come home from church to find you idling on the floor and …what’s that?” His steely grey eyes bulged from his beetroot-red face as he pointed a rigid finger at the mess on the rug.

         “Please don’t yell Daddy. I was eating my supper when a massive spider climbed onto my stool. It frightened me and I dropped my bowl when I screamed. Don’t be angry daddy, I hate these spiders. Why do we have to keep them?”

         My father’s answer to that was to lock me in the cellar for a week, ensuring I had the minimum of sustenance and the maximum of gross arachnids for company. I never dare mention my feelings after that but my phobia intensified by the day.

         At sixteen I married the first man prepared to protect me from anything on eight legs. My father conducted the wedding and I’m convinced he was secretly glad to see the back of me. Probably turned my room into a spider sanctuary as soon as I moved out; I’ve never seen him since.

         The marriage wasn’t perfect by a long way, but at least there was always someone around to dispose of any unwelcome creepy crawlies. Until that disastrous September night, that is.

         We’d been to a friend’s birthday party and arrived home in the early hours completely rat-arsed. Hubby fell into a coma almost immediately, but just as I was dozing off I noticed something in the half light scuttling across my pillow. Alcohol had done nothing to dampen my paranoia but no amount of poking, thumping and pleading could wake my partner from his stupor. Fighting paralysis, I slipped from the bed and returned with the largest frying pan in my kitchen. I’ll never forget the sound as I crashed it down on the intended enemy, but even in my inebriated state I realised no spider could bleed that profusely.

         The jury was lenient and the prison staff most understanding. Appreciating I was no vicious murderer they put me through a desensitisation programme to help overcome my arachnophobia. Pictures and books to start with, then videos and films, followed by plastic replicas until at last I was ready to face the real thing.

         If my father had explained to me the fascinating facts about spiders I don’t think I’d have developed the phobia in the first place. The more I learnt, the more I came to respect these canny creatures, eventually becoming totally absorbed. Any species that’s survived over three hundred million years deserves admiration.

         So, as I served my sentence, the staff encouraged and helped me to become an expert. Starting with the common garden spider I studied their anatomy, habits, moulting, feeding, web construction and mating. The day I watched my first five hundred spiderlings ballooning away from the prison yard was the day I realised I’d become addicted to spiders.

         Over the years I’ve studied and bred hundreds of different species, come to love them all for their unique ways and intriguing behaviour. The staff presented me with my beautiful ‘Grammostola Cala’ tarantula, Rosemary, on my release and even helped fund this trip.

         “And is she a good breeder?” The voice interrupts my thoughts.

         “Oh yes, in fact I’ve just returned her last brood to the Chilean Preservation Society. They were all perfect specimens.”

         “And the father?”

         “Erm, to be honest we didn’t rescue him from the terrarium fast enough after the mating. Rosemary made a meal of him so to speak, but to be fair he wouldn’t have lived much longer anyway. The males die shortly after breeding, whereas Rosemary here could live another twelve years.”

         “Well, I think we need look no further. Welcome to Hollywood Mrs…”

         He offers a hand of congratulation, his eyes settling on my wedding ring.

         “Sadly, like Rosemary, I’m a widow and have reverted to my maiden name, Ms Muffet, but you can call me Patience.”

         So now Rosemary’s landed the starring role in the remake of ‘Arachnophobia’ and I shall devote my life to the conservation of spiders.