It had been nearly six months since the split and I was starting to recover my sanity. I was fifty two and single again, but for the first time in a while I was starting to see a future -- a way forward, maybe even a new relationship. Still, the memory of that final night with her remained vivid and painful.
With both our kids through university and living miles away, our relationship had changed fast. Being together so much with none of the usual distractions had revealed how little we really had in common and we had grown apart. Jen had compensated by throwing herself into her own pursuits -- her job, her friends, her entire social life. Meanwhile I had become more withdrawn -- not unhappy exactly, but I missed having the kids around. I worked from home as a freelance architect and the house seemed suddenly too big, too empty. Over the months leading up to that night I'd also had virtually no work on and we were feeling the pinch financially.
I'd had my suspicions about Jen for a while -- the late finishes at work, the growing number of 'girls nights out', the immediate dash for the shower whenever she got home. And our sex life had all but ended. She never actually feigned a headache but would happily engineer an argument if I showed any interest. On the increasingly rare occasions when she was drunk enough to respond, she would invariably end up coming as one of us used a dildo on her -- a somewhat oversized, nasty looking thing we'd bought for fun years back and which had suddenly come out of hiding again.
As I say, I had reasons to be suspicious... But in the final few weeks I began to really check up on her -- I noted that her cell-phone call/text history was constantly deleted and that she'd opened a new email account. She'd also started generally dressing better and wearing more make-up, and there was always new underwear tucked away at the back of her drawer -- thongs and frilly things that weren't her usual style.
Then, on that Friday night I found myself getting, bitter and angry. She hadn't even told me she'd be late, her phone was off and none of her immediate friends seemed to know where she was. One of them -- Celia -- had been particularly evasive.
"Hi Bill... what can I do for you at this hour?"
"Sorry Celia -- lost track... is it late then?"
"Not really -- just gone eleven... I just decided Frank's out for a late one and I was off to bed. No problem though -- what can I do for you?"
"It's nothing really... I was wondering if you'd seen Jenny tonight... can't seem to get hold of her..."
There was a pause and I heard her sigh quietly.
"Sorry Bill... haven't seen her in a couple of weeks. She texted me a while back -- said she'd been... well, working a lot I guess, y'know... yeah... pretty busy it seems. Just like Frank -- the guy's never home!"
Celia was a couple of years older than any of Jenny's friends and pretty much the only one I could stand. She was honest, direct, unpretentious. And of all of them, despite the others' expensive attempts to hang on to their looks and figures, she was the only one that always struck me as genuinely, naturally attractive. She was tall and narrow-waisted with a classic hour-glass figure that she knew how to accentuate with simple, fitted clothes and tailored suits. She had poise. I knew that right this second, in an empty house with no one to impress, she would be looking elegant, feminine, gorgeous.
I could never quite understand the way Frank played around when he had her at home. But he had a real reputation with 'the guys' for being a bit of a stud -- a big guy with a big dick who liked to share his good fortune with the ladies. Jenny had told me that Celia knew all about his infidelities but had decided to tolerate it -- at the time Frank was already bringing home well over a hundred and fifty grand a year.
"Yeah... well thanks anyway Celia. Looks like we both had a crap Friday night!"
"Got that right... Give my... my love to Jenny... when you see her. Yeah, tell her Celia says to take care and sends her love OK? You take care too, Bill."
