"Isn't that just rumour and gossip though, Mum," I asked.
"No... it certainly isn't!" she replied hotly. "When his company were putting the new bathrooms in on this estate, he tried it on with me!" I couldn't help gasping at that. I mean, you don't think about your mother being attractive to other men, do you? So I asked her when this had happened.
"About ten years ago, Trish," she informed me. "I was over fifty then and he was still in his early thirties... but that didn't seem to put him off. He cornered me in the kitchen when I was making a cuppa and his hands were all over me like a bloody rash! I was trying to push him away and I was shouting a bit... when your dad, bless him, came home! He'd forgotten his flask and was popping in to grab it. There was so much commotion going on in the kitchen that we hadn't even heard his double-decker bus stopping outside!
"Anyway... and I must say I'm glad there weren't any passengers on board it... but your dad saw what was happening. Bob tried to say something about it just being a bit of fun or something... but he didn't get far with that because my Albert decked him with a single punch! I hadn't realised just how strong your dad was until then, because he was always such a gentle person, as you know... but he just picked Bob up by what he called 'the scruff of the neck and the ass of his pants,' carried him down the hallway, and threw him bodily into the rosebush in the middle of the garden.
"Well, the thorns on the roses soon had Bob awake and yelling like a baby... but Albert just leaned over him and told him that if he ever so much as looked at me again he'd rip his... well... y'know, his 'thingies' off him. He could be crude like that, at times, your dad... God rest him!
"Stop catching flies!" she suddenly ordered and I snapped my mouth shut obediently as I realised what she meant. But it was hardly surprising that my jaw had dropped like that; not only had I learned a great deal about Bob and Marje, I'd also found out about a side of my father that I'd never seen. He'd always been such a loving, gentle and quietly-spoken man.
"Anyway," she said, "I can't sit here chatting all day. I've got to go and get the chapel ready for the choir practice tonight." I rose from the chair and buttoned my coat and, as I did, she said:
"There's just one thing more I'll tell you, Trish. If that stupid husband of yours is involved with people like that then you need to get tested for any diseases. I can't tell you who I mean, of course, but there are people 'round your way that get it done regularly... and sometimes have to get treatment for them!"
Afterwards, I drove out into the countryside to sort my thoughts out a bit. I'd already realised that Mum had very carefully avoided giving any information that stemmed from her employment and I had to admire her subtlety about that. She'd also made an appointment for me with the nurse -- a friend whose discretion she could rely on -- to take a blood sample on Monday at lunchtime. I was dreading it, even though it was necessary, because I have a thing about needles; but I remember a pupil's mother telling me to wait until I had children; Then, she'd said, "Your arm'll get more pricks than a cut-price tart!" I wonder what made me think of that.
When I arrived at the layby that was one of my favourite spots -- high up in the hills with a view across a wonderfully verdant glen and a distant waterfall, I unwrapped the meat&potato pie I'd bought along the way and opened the little bottle of Dandelion & Burdoch. They were a rare indulgence and I knew I'd probably get heartburn, but I didn't care.
Some things were already clear: if Geoffrey had indulged in any kind of sexual relationship with Marje -- if he'd deceived me -- the marriage was over. There was no question about that and, if it turned out that he'd brought home any kind of sexual disease then, instead of a straightforward and simple divorce -- two years separation was the customary way -- I would set about taking him apart. I don't mean physically, of course -- but there are plenty of other ways.
I was still finding it all hard to believe because I hadn't, even for a moment, sensed that there had been anything wrong with our relationship. Without being boastful, I thought I'd done a pretty good job as far as being a housewife was concerned: despite having a full-time occupation I'd always been content to do the cooking and cleaning and, if he sometimes gave a hand with it I never failed to show my appreciation. That was the way I was brought up.
Our activity in the bedroom may have slowed down a little since the heady days at the beginning of our lives together, but it was still pretty lively. I may have been 'Frosty' at school -- but I certainly wasn't at home! I had never refused sex without a very good reason for doing so; not because I just wanted to please my husband, but because I loved it. I loved the feeling of closeness; loved having his hands explore every part of my body and loved to arouse him with my touches. I was more than happy to give him blow jobs when he wanted them, perfectly willing to try any position that either of us fancied and freely express the pleasure that he gave me.
I'd even indulged some of his fantasies; buying clothes that he wanted to see me wearing and acting out the parts he suggested, then purchasing sex toys that either he or I could use to pleasure me. I'd even gone along with a little bit of mild bondage (without giving any hint about how much I disliked it) and, when he'd found an Internet site with stories of 'adventurous' wives, I'd helped him act out the ones he enjoyed -- but only behind closed and locked doors!
Now, of course, I realised that the penny ought to have dropped when he started on that -- and even more so when, a few months earlier; he'd asked if I'd ever considered doing anything like that for real. At first I'd just laughed it off but, when he kept bringing it up again, I'd eventually given him 'the frost look' -- big style -- and he'd known better than to ever mention it again. Was that what he really wanted, I wondered? If so, he was asking the wrong person. No matter how much I enjoyed sex, it was something I enjoyed with my partner -- and it was too personal, too important, and too precious to be shared with others.
Now, though, it seemed that he felt differently -- that there was a side of him that I didn't know -- and that was what hurt the most. I knew about temptation; knew how easy it could be to fall prey to it because, over the past few years there had been several males (and a couple of females!) who'd made it clear that they fancied me - and there'd been times when I'd felt my body responding -- but I'd always told my husband about them. I had never kept anything secret and it meant I had nothing to feel guilty about. That was how I'd dealt with any feelings of temptation.
For the first time, I felt a couple of tears trickle down my cheeks. I'm not a tearful person -- and I dislike women who can turn that tap on to get their own way -- but I was completely alone on the hillside so I didn't have anyone to hide from and I let them flow for a little while. Eventually, after blowing my nose on a tissue and repairing my make-up, I pulled myself together took a deep breath and slipped back into trying to deal with my situation.
My first step would be to obtain proof of what, if anything (I still clung to a faint hope!), Geoffrey had been up to on his card nights. If he'd been cheating on me and deceiving me then there was no hope for any future together -- that much was certain. At the same time, I didn't see any reason why the others should get away with it.
For more than two hours I just sat there, occasionally switching the engine on to warm the car, while I tried to devise a plan that would bring retribution not only to Geoffrey, but to Marje and Bob and -- most of all -- to Calvin. I thought of all kinds of things -- many of them based on 'revenge' stories I'd read on the Internet -- my head filled with all the stupid tales of hiring private investigators, using electronic equipment to monitor what people were up to, protecting 401ks (I've absolutely no idea what they are!) and all the other things I'd read about. But they were for a fantasy world and this was real life.
It was starting to rain and I could see a few flecks of snow amongst the droplets. It wouldn't be a good idea to be driving that narrow road if it worsened, so I started the car and began to head homewards - still having no idea what to do.
I tried to concentrate on the realities. To begin with, we didn't have any joint bank accounts -- we'd never seen the need for any. The rent for the bungalow came out of my money, the utilities from Geoffrey's, and everything else was similarly split between us. If our marriage ended, there wouldn't be any financial problems to sort out. We didn't have any children so that, as things stood at that time, a divorce by consent would take two years of separation or, if either party objected, five years. The grounds for divorce would be 'irreconcilable differences' since anything else -- such as adultery or abuse - was normally only mentioned when there were issues involving the division of assets or financial maintenance. If that was to be my course, then it was clearer than the road I was driving along. As the enormity of my thoughts came home to me, I almost began to cry again -- but I took a really deep breath, resolved to be strong and, a few minutes later, turned into our drive.
