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| Infidelity | |
| By teddy | ||||||||||||||||||||||
| 08 November 2007 | ||||||||||||||||||||||
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Comments much appreciated. Thanks. I was only twenty-one when I met him. With some twelve years extra life-baggage, sturdily handsome and a spark of wit in his eyes, it didn’t take him long to chase away all the glorious ambitions I’d excitedly loaded myself up with when, freshly graduated from the architectural school, I joined my dad’s practice. ‘Nice guy,’ my dad had warned me, ‘but be careful, girl, he’s got an eye for the ladies.’ Rubbish, I rushed to brush-off his worries, my Mike’s nothing like that. By the next autumn, we were married, another few months on and I was expecting our first child. Now, ten years and another two kids later, as I’m standing with my back tensely slanted against the study door, a ready-to-overflow bucket of tears jammed somewhere at the back of my eyes, I can’t stop thinking I must’ve been blind all this time. From behind his desk, Mike’s staring at me confused. ‘Well,’ I can’t restrain the tremor in my voice, ‘are you, Mike?’ Leaning back in his chair, he takes off his glasses and squints at me. ‘Honey! What are you talking about? What affair?’ His answer rubs more salt into the wound. Hypocrite! Until this morning, I’d had my doubts, but nothing concrete. Last minute, business allegedly, trips to Brighton, secretive phone calls suddenly terminated every time I’d come near him, his stubborn refusal to join me and the kids on my family’s annual fishing trip this summer... I mean, ok, a week with my parents and their other offspring’s family can turn into a bit of a nightmare when stuck with them on a boat in the middle of nowhere, but it’s traditional and he knows the kids love it. ‘Who’s Mary-Anne Washbrook?’ Under my grimly scrutinising eyes, his face changes colour. ‘How,’ he gulps deeply, ‘did you find out about her?’ I glare at him. ‘I might have strayed away from any intellectual work for the last ten years being busy looking after you and the kids, but I can still read a bank statement, you know,’ I say bitterly, fluttering in the air the sheets of paper my hand’s had hidden behind my back. Four payments of five thousand pounds each wandered off from our joint account in less than three months. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mutters with an awkward look in his eyes, which says it all. My stomach churns in horror, my legs go jellylike. Sorry? Is this all he has to say? Bastard! For a second, I feel like plunging my nails into his face to give him something to feel sorry about. The next one, I break down in shuddering sobs. ‘Honey!’ He jumps off his chair; his arms tighten around me when I struggle to push him away. ‘I thought you love me,’ I snivel resignedly a moment later. ‘Shhhh,’ he smoothes my hair, ‘of course I do.’ ‘Then why?’ ‘Dunno.’ He shrugs. ‘You weren’t meant to find out like this,’ he carries on bluntly, stretching across the desk and turning his laptop towards us, an arm still looped around my waist, ‘but, you tell me, how could I’ve possibly resisted her?’ Through wet lashes, I stare, speechless, at the picture displayed on the screen and a deep sigh escapes my chest. She looks stunning as she is shamelessly exposing her slender naked beauty to the sun, her name, Mary-Anne, artistically tattooed across her body. ‘You wait until I tell the kids,’ I snuggle up to Mike’s chest, the tears glimmering on my face all merged into a big smiling one by now. ‘Their own fishing boat? They’ll go mad.’
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