Foreword
This is a story of a wife who cheats on her husband and the consequences for the broken family as they seek to extract their lives from the wreckage. I plan to publish about weekly, or when I can, in four parts, with Part 3 fitting in the Romance section. Sex occurs, but relationships, why they work and fail, provide the focus. And don't expect me to end by bringing on a bunch of Mafiosi cousins to dole out restorative justice to all and sundry in a final, uplifting bloodbath. So if this is not what you're looking for, try something else.
A lot of work goes into a story of this kind and I welcome feedback. The postings on my previous story, The Duel, which surprised me the most were from readers who disliked the characters or found the subject matter depressing. I can only protest that I write stories as I see them, and I honestly thought The Duel was an uplifting tale of redemption. However, this time, I hope there is sufficient upbeat material to counterbalance the bad behaviour and that you can empathise with my characters and even like them. Or, at least, some of you.
A word about Brighton. Brighton is a real English town on the south coast which has two universities and is famous for its pier and Regency Pavilion. Parts of this story take place in a town called Brighton which is consistent with the real place, but the university in the story, for reasons of my own, could be neither of the real universities.
Copyright MortonGrange 2013
Part One
Jack is running to outpace the gale and the race has come to its bleakest moment, the end far from sight. He's running fast, doing his best to reach the point of exhaustion where thought is lost in the physical response. The rain and wind, when it arrives, turns a bright evening instantly into night. At the crossroads he follows a path across a field, the leaves from the oilseed crop snagging his ankles, the blossoms staining his flesh with dirty yellow pollen and smelling like death, the rain running down his legs into his shoes. Now the wind is on his face and his extremities are cold, numbing the pain. Eventually he reaches the shelter of a hedge and his feet carry him faster along a grassy bridleway, mind escaping body. He wants to keep running, but knows he must go home. Time will reveal what he must do.
It's dark and very late when he arrives home and he hopes Caroline is asleep, but he finds every light burning and his wife in the kitchen. She looks up and he wonders what he sees in those big, brown eyes: relief, panic, regret, pity, contempt, impatience with his histrionics? She comments on his bedraggled appearance, but he turns to the sink and without taking a cup bends his head and drinks from the running tap as if from a waterfall. Then he showers and goes to bed. There's no room for self pity and life will look better tomorrow. But for now he can't think how his life can ever be right again.
***
Tuesday was Damien's day. Caroline woke thinking about their meeting and it occupied her thoughts while she got the children out of bed, dressed them for school and sat them down to eat the cornflakes and eggs laid out in the kitchen by Jack, who had already left for work. There was little time for her own preparations, but she went through her routines with as much care as she could: shower, makeup, hair and her newest business suit. Then she got the children into her car and sped across town to Amy's school. As always, Amy rushed off happily into the playground without a backward glance. Then on to Ben's school, where he joined the throng of arrivals with a visible reluctance, but without protest. Motherly duties done, Caroline did her best with the traffic to get to work on time, determined to put in two hours" work until it was time.
She more or less succeeded, concentrating furiously as she reviewed the wording of a contract and fervently hoping she was hiding her excited manner from her colleagues. At 11.30 she left work, taking her iPad so that she could stay in touch via email. Damien lived in a modern complex in the centre of Dixborough, a small town five miles out of the city and she drove along the clear road with her pleasure lifted by every familiar sight along the route.
Damien waited for her at the door of his modern three-storey town house, tall and slim and dressed in a colourful check shirt. They fell straight into one another's arms with almost nothing said and she frogmarched Damien backwards into the bedroom. Time was precious.
Damien was fit from rugby and gym workouts and the sex was straightforward and energetic. They had a pattern which they followed, stripping off their clothes, falling on the bed and getting to grips with little foreplay. Caroline marvelled at his strength and the beauty of his body and orgasmed without difficulty more than once before he was done. Then they cuddled and caressed one another before making love again, with less energy and more sensitivity. Afterwards they showered, dressed and ate a lunch which Damien had prepared earlier β a salad with smoked salmon, prawns and avocado. It was delicious as always and she only wished she could have a glass of wine β but not only had she to drive back to work, but she was determined to keep her wits about her with everything to do with Damien. Details and discipline mattered in handling this major complication in her life.