If you like lots of hardcore action in your stories, then pass on to the next offering. The sex in this story is less overt, and more implied. If, on the other hand, it's the story, the characters and the emotion that you like to explore, then read on -- and I hope you enjoy it. I love getting feedback -- both positive and negative, so don't be shy and drop me an email. Thanks for taking the time to read my stuff!
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It had been a good day. No, it had been a bloody brilliant day. When I'd set off to work after giving Sandie a hug -- she has every other Friday off, so she was still not dressed -- I had been hoping we'd win the contract. But it wasn't just that I'd been part of the team that won the biggest contract in the company's history -- and the bonus that would go with that. Oh no, my ear to ear grin was because I had also got the new Director of Projects job. Yes, it was truly a most excellent day.
So as I drove the last half mile to my home, my thoughts were all decisions; a 7 series or an A8? The Seychelles or Hawaii? What a great fortieth birthday present that would be for Sandie. Having the twins young had meant we'd struggled a lot early on -- but they were now coming to the end of their first year at Uni, and studying hard (that and getting gazebo'd half the time). So things were really coming together. We'd have money, and the time and space to enjoy it -- and each other.
I pulled up outside the house. Sandie had obviously assumed I'd be home at my usual seven o'clock and not halfway through the afternoon; her car was parked at angle so the drive was blocked. I parked round the corner, collected the champagne and flowers from the back seat, and headed off to surprise the love of my life.
Little did I know that I was the one in for a surprise.
I smiled to myself. Parking round the corner meant that she wouldn't have seen me coming. I could sneak in the back door and give her a real surprise. I raised my eyebrows when I saw that it was ajar. Then I noticed a pile of washing, still only half hung out to dry. So she'd obviously been interrupted and gone inside. Gently pushing the door I stepped inside as lightly as I could. I could hear her voice coming from the study. She was laughing. Then she was silent for a few seconds and I heard her laughing voice again:
"Oh Sal, of course I love him. He's ... he's ... just everything to me."
So, she was on the phone to her sister. But as the conversation was about me I decided to listen. And you know what they say about eavesdropping ...
More silence -- well, Sally can certainly talk.
"No! Of course not. He's a great dad, a fantastic husband, and like I said he's everything to me. It's just that ... well, this is just ... you know ... different."
Oh fuck! This had better not mean what I think it does ...
My thoughts screamed at me in the silence as Sandie listened to Sally.
I'm putting two and two together and getting five. I must be.
I could feel my insides start to churn. Anticipation, fear, anxiety. I was dragged back by Sandie's voice.
"Yes, I know my situation is nothing like yours. I know Alan's great and nothing like that arsehole you saddled yourself with. God, we've been together since I was nineteen. It's just this is ... somehow ... oh, you know ... exciting."
The churning was turning into physical sickness. For a moment I thought I'd have to go out or risk throwing up into the kitchen sink. But I was paralysed, riveted to the spot: unable to move or make a sound. I wanted to hear more. I wanted to know who it was. I wanted to torture myself with all the gory details.
"Oh Sal, you worry too much. I just want a bit of excitement with Simon."
Simon! Simon? Who the hell is Simon?
"And Alan need never know. So no harm will be done."
I could imagine Sally's half of the conversation. Telling her big sister not to be an idiot. Not to risk everything. I looked at the spots of rain starting to appear on the windows, and the greyness that had clouded my sunny day.
"Listen Sal, I gotta go. I've got some washing out and it's starting to piss it down."
Oh Christ! She's hanging up!
Laden with flowers and bottle I got out of the door as quickly and as silently as I could. It was only when I got back to the car I realised that while I was listening, I must have been gripping the flowers so tightly that I'd crushed the stems.
Crushed! Hmph -- not the only thing!
I sat in the car and tried to make some sense out of the heap of jumble that was my thoughts. All I could see were questions. Who was Simon? How long has she been seeing him? Have they done it yet? Will she, if she hasn't? What does it mean for us? Should I confront her? Should I leave her? Should I divorce her? What would I tell the kids?
Every question increased the size of the pit in my stomach. The desire to vomit had receded -- but not by much. I wanted to run away. But in a funny kind of perverse way, I wanted to know all the details. Where did they meet? How often does she see him? Who else knows besides Sally? Does everyone know except me? Is he better at it than me? Is he bigger than me? Am I a laughing stock, with people sniggering behind my back: "That's poor old Alan, his wife's shagging Simon senseless every Wednesday night and he hasn't the faintest idea!"
Oh God! What the hell am I going to do? Decisions, decisions.
Slowly, the jumble sorted itself out.
No, I wouldn't leave her -- yet! I had to know more. To find out who this Simon is and what he's got that I haven't. What's the excitement he brings to her life? Am I that dull?
And I had to find out the details -- how long, how often and -- most importantly -- how far has it gone?
I was just starting to feel like I was getting it together when the passenger door flew open. Sandie's face was all concern and worry:
"Are you okay? What's going on? Ted said he walked past the car quarter of an hour ago and saw you on his way to the shops. He was surprised to see you still there when he came back. He knocked and told me. Are you okay? What's the matter? You look horrible."
By this time she'd flung the flowers into the backseat she was holding my hand, just like she'd done for twenty years. All I could think about were those brown eyes staring at me. And her perfume filling my head and bringing back memories of her. Memories of a time when there was only me and no Simon.
I mumbled something about feeling a bit rubbish. Saying I had probably just eaten something I shouldn't have. I smiled at her, don't ask me how, and told her the flowers were for her and that we'd got the contract and I got a promotion.
"Alan, that's great. But I think we'd better get you inside."
The next hour or so is all a bit of a blur. I remember going off to bed and Sandie fussing over me. But I just didn't want her near me, so I sent her off to make some tea while I crawled under the sheets.
Why don't I want her to touch me? In a sense, nothing had changed. She's still my loving wife of twenty years. She said she loves me, I heard her. The only thing that's changed is I know she wants to ... to what? Have a fling I guess is the best way to put it.
The cup of tea arrived, and I sat up cradling the mug in both my hands so I wouldn't have to touch her, to touch the woman I loved. She stroked my brow and I forced myself not to recoil.
I have never understood men who hit the women they profess to love. But to my eternal shame, at that point, I came within a whisker of slapping her and calling her a lying bitch. But I didn't -- truth? I think I was probably a million miles from doing it -- but at that moment I wanted her to feel the same hurt that I was feeling. But Instead, I just looked at her with a weak smile. It was my eyes that betrayed me I think.
"Alan? What's the matter?"
Decisions, decisions -- do I confront her?
I smiled weakly again and opened my mouth, trying to phrase the next words....I felt the lump in my throat, and the tightness in my chest. Then the words came out:
"You'd better ring Pedro's and cancel the table. I don't think I'm going to make it!"
In a split second, a door had shut and an opportunity to maybe sort out this garbage dump of a situation had gone.
Sandie went to make the call. I lay there ... thinking. My head was going to explode if I thought about this any more. But I couldn't stop. I listened to Sandie talking to the restaurant on the phone. That bloody telephone. I was beginning to think that ignorance was bliss. If I hadn't overheard her, what difference would it make? We'd be drinking champagne and waiting for a taxi to take us to Pedro's. We'd have an evening of laughter and fun, and when we got home ....
If only I hadn't listened. If. If Sandie had parked straight, I would have parked in the drive and she'd have seen me coming. If. If I had made a noise coming into the house, she would have changed her conversation. If. If I hadn't been so bloody vain and wanted to hear what she was saying about me. If. If if if ... oh Christ, what a mess!
I heard her hang up and make her way back upstairs. I decided that feigning sleep was the easiest way out of having to talk to her. For just about the first time in twenty years I didn't want to talk to her. I felt desperately lonely. I wanted to talk to my best friend, but she was the problem.
I heard the door open, a pause, and then close again. Relief. No pretending for a little while. Then the tears started to roll down my cheeks. My head was full of Sandie. I could smell her perfume on the pillow ... the pillow, the bed.
Has Simon been here?
My mind had conjured up a young, muscular stud on top of my wife in OUR bed. Then she was astride him. Oh Christ I was going to go mad if I wasn't careful. I shut the image of the two of them out of my head immediately. I had to get a grip. Put my business head on -- organise my thoughts, my priorities. Get a grip.
Eventually, with thoughts still orbiting my brain, the emotional strain of the past few hours kicked in, my mind finally declared it had had enough and shut down -- and I fell asleep.
