Short Story: Muddy Shoes

The following extract comes from a writing prompt which gave the first line of "He sounded perfectly convincing, until she noticed his muddy shoes."

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He sounded perfectly convincing, until she noticed his muddy shoes. Yes, it was true, everything that Mr Wilson had told his wife about his whereabouts on the evening sounded plausible. Stating his night with the lads. Talking about the usual football games and sports that plays in the background of the Old Creek pub down the road. His anecdotes and over explaining the events of sports was all very ordinary. And the fact Mr Wilson came home an hour late let his wife know, he was behaving as normal.
But then, when she looked down, his shoes were muddy. Why were his boots full of filth? The Old Creek is only down the road. It’s a simple turn of a corner and you’re practically there. Even a tipsy idiot such as her husband couldn’t get that lost. So why was there mud on his shoes? And why was he treading it all over the house. He knows the rules about shoes in the house. But does he listen, no.
Mrs Wilson usually trusted her husband. She has never had a reason not to. He is a faithful and respectable husband. Sure, sometimes he is a bit overwhelming for her with his insistent bad jokes. And he occasionally losing track of time on a Saturday, forgetting to pick up the girls from dance class. But Mrs Wilson had questioned him about the mud and for once she didn’t believe him. What could he be planning? She thought to herself.
This question plagued on her mind for the rest of the night. Pestering her whilst washing the dishes, nagging her as she said goodnight to the kids. Even poking at her mind when carrying out her nightly routine of taking off makeup, cleaning herself and folding her clothes into a neat pile onto the wooden chair at the bottom of the bed. As Mrs Wilson waited in bed, she tapped her finger on the soft cover book she was in the middle of reading. This tapping continued as Mr Wilson climbed under the covers and sat up, taking his bed tray and propping up his phone to watch some DIY video.
The question plagued her more and more. Driving Mrs Wilson insane until she could hardly contain her frustration. Bursting out of her with a frantic frenzy, hitting her husband in the arm with her book. “Why! Why was there dirt on your boots Tom?!” She snapped thumping his arm once more. “Ow! What was that for?” Mr Wilson asked in pure confusion.
“Your shoes, Tom, There was dirt on them earlier. I asked you and you said it was nothing. But I can’t think of why it was there! You know I cleaned the carpets today and you come waltzing in without a care in the world. Lying to me about your scruffy boots. What are you hiding?”
Tom wore a face of pure confusion, attempting to process what on earth was going on. And more importantly, what had he done now to annoy his wife. “My, shoes?” He asks trying to deduce what the situation was all about.
“Yes! Your shoes. Why was there mud on them?” Mrs Wilson stating in a slow tongue as if talking to a non-native speaker. Mr Wilson ponders the question with full intention, out of fear of getting another bruise. He lets out a deep exhale to helpl him think. Before finally getting to the answer.
“Ah…” He blurts out almost with relief. “Well…” His wife asks impatiently.
“So, the dirt on my shoes was from Jimmy’s house earlier.” Smiling at her as if that explains everything. It didn’t. “Oh right, yeah I went to help Jimmy move his washing machine into the garage earlier. It’s right at the bottom of the garden. Do you know how heavy those things are? Crazy.”
Mrs Wilson looks at him with a mixture of bewilderment, relief and frustration. She takes a deep breath and cams herself before carrying on the conversation. “Tom, why didn’t you say that earlier?”
“I forgot.” Tom responds. “How do you forget that that you moved a washing machine?” She laughs to herself. The two chat for the next hour of so talking about this and that. Mr Wilson explaining the inner workings of a washing machine to his wife. And his wife caressing his arm as a form of apology. Before they call it a night and kiss each other goodnight and turning out the lights on another Tuesday night in the Wilson house.