Chapter 3
The last few hours had passed in a blur. Sarah had finally made meaningful contact with Mark and a meeting had been arranged for the next day.
The nerves had well and truly kicked in and Sarah was unable to remove the significance of the meeting and potential what was hanging on the outcome. She wasn't materialistic but she also wanted the comfortable lifestyle. She had made mistakes but she wasn't stupid.
It took an enormous amount of will power to not message her mum to gloat that her and Mark was still together. She decided that to antagonise the beast was probably not the wisest choice given the tight rope she currently was teetering on.
Instead she settled on the next best option, in her mind, which was a celebratory drink. Confidence surged through her as she knew deep down in her heart that the major obstacle had been overcome, namely that all important first contact. She knew that she would be able to win Mark back now that dialogue had begun. Of course she also knew that if he was wavering then she could always call in her big guns.
The next morning had dawned, and with it a red tinged hangover. In the last week or so she had been accustomed to hangovers and the cure was either a fresh layer of alcohol or to lurk in bed.
Her eyes slowly forced themselves closed and sleep reached out it warm comfortable paws to drag her back down into its embrace once more when the thought tickled into her mind that Mark was coming round today.
Like a surge of lightening Sarah was up and moving. She had so much to do and now so little time to do it in.
The house had become a mess and needed tidying. That much was apparent from the empty glasses and bottles dotted around the various rooms and the piles of laundry would also need attending to. This meeting had to go perfectly and it couldn't very well take place in a dirty house.
The bedroom needed some serious attention too. Clean bedding was dressed to the bed and the windows were open to air. A pang of doubt crept in. What would Mark say if he saw the sheets were in the process of being cleaned? Would he assume that she had been shagging overnight?
She pushed the thought away. Paranoia would serve no purpose today. With the house cleaned, hoovered and tidy once more she had an hour to get ready herself.
A quick shower with a very thorough and intimate cleaning, just in case it was needed, and she set to work drying her hair. Sarah always wished she had the courage to try a different hairstyle but at every decisive point of change she had relented and kept her bob. She was convinced that she had read somewhere that it frames a face to make it look less chubby.
The next step was to get dressed and Sarah hit a very large wall. What to wear? Joggers wouldn't be right for something as important as this and the extreme opposite of a formal dress seemed to be trying a little too hard.
A glance at the clock told her time was running out. The last thing she wanted was for Mark to knock on the door and her to appear in a state of undress.
The choices were simple in the end. Jeans and a top or a skirt and a top. The top was easily decided upon. A generic black tee shirt which stretched across her boobs. Her mind whirled as she tried to make this simple decision. The curse of over thinking began to overrun every logical thought. If she wore a skirt and things were going badly she could allow it to ride up slightly to tease a flash. The jeans presented a natural barrier against any unintended activity.
The skirt was chosen. Now that task was at least on its way to completion she began the process of selecting underwear. Nothing too bright to draw attention to and nothing too shabby, just in case. She settled are a white bra and brief set that at least looked like an effort had been made. Of course if it wasn't required then it looked like it was just her normal day to day panties. Absently she questioned that line of logic. Who would know in the end?
With five minutes to go Sarah shrugged her tight fitting jeans over her plump ass, deftly flicking the now unchosen skirt into the wardrobe with her foot before artfully sliding her feet into a pair of sandals. She really wished she had taken time to paint her nails but the time for that had passed.
She hurried downstairs and tried to make it seem as if she had been casually waiting for nothing more severe than the morning post.
Mark was now one minute late and Sarah could feel her heart rate begin to rise. She felt he wasn't coming. He had changed his mind. She began to fidget as nervous energy coursed through her system. Her mind surged as thoughts and scenarios raced to find pole position amongst her rising anxiety levels.
The doorbell rang.
Sarah, her mouth dry from nerves, skipped down the corridor to the front door. Relief pounding though her temples. Abstractly she felt her tits trying to escape from her bra as she bounced down the hall. She skidded to a halt at the door and took a second or two to make herself that little more presentably. She smoothed her hair and crucially she took time to wrangle her huge knockers back into the holding pen that was her bra cups. She kneaded the flesh into what felt like the correct shape and opened the door.
Mark stood in the doorway with an expression on his face split between scowl and profound sadness. Sarah's heart broke anew and in spite of herself the tears came.
Somehow the stricken couple pushed their way into the hallway and the door was closed. Something which may have started out with the intention of language passed between them but the exact words ruined by the tears but the meaning was pretty easy to determine.
Eventually Sarah recovered her composure enough to invite her husband into their kitchen. She began the routine of preparing a cup of ted the both of them and only then did she dare to turn to look at her husband.
Her eyes found his face again and in particular those sad yet angry eyes and the tears came again. This time the pair embraced, or more specifically Sarah draped herself across Mark who in turn placed a cursory arm across her shoulders. Even in her near hysteria Sarah could feel the reluctance in the gesture, the awkwardness palpable. She could also feel the hardness of Mark's crotch pressing into her belly area. The survivalist part of her brain registered that at least fifty percent of those actions were in her favour.
The embrace, for what it was, broke and attention was again focused on the tea making. With her back to him the pair exchanged small pleasantries, enquiring after how each other had been. Sarah had brewed the tea and had passed the cup over to Mark.
The quietness settled on that kitchen. The world seemed to drop away as silence engulfed the small space on the earth. The longer it went on the less certain Sarah was of what to say. The nerves crept in along the edges again and when she glanced into his eyes the same stern expression remained fixed there.
The weight of her betrayal was absolute. The shame bore down on her making her eyes feel heavy and drawn to the ground. She knew if she was to start to speak then all the words would come out in a jumble of babble that she might not be able to stop.
A thought leapt into her mind; take him to bed. It made the perfect sense. Half a second later the rational part of her brain caught up and dismissed the idea. She noted wryly that the reason was because the underwear she had on was plain. Sarah began to suspect that her logic centre was askew.
"I need to get this out of the way Sarah."
Mark's voice cut through the clash of thoughts.
Sarah nodded dumbly. She wasn't even sure what she was nodding for but it was a least an acknowledgment. She felt her bottom lip had crept under her top teeth at some point and she hated that it made he look childish and vulnerable.
"I don't know what you want out of all this," Mark continued gesturing around with one hand, "But if we are to do anything together as a couple, if we are to have any kind of future then we have to get all this out of the way now."
Sarah fought that elation rising in her chest. The fact that Mark was talking about them getting back together again gave great hope.
"Yes, yes I agree" she responded hurriedly.
"I need to know everting that you two did" the statement while not unexpected, delivered so bluntly felt like a slap to the face. Her jaw began to ache with phantom pain from Anya's punch a week and a half ago.
"What do you need to know?" she asked slowly.
"I need to know everything you two did together. In bed" The awkwardness in the delivery spoken volumes about the fragility of Mark' emotions but the fact it was voiced at all let Sarah know how important it was.
"Why?" she questioned nonetheless.
"If we are to go forward together then I can't have any little surprises coming up and biting me. I don't think I could take that." He responded. "It's a chance to get an even keel again based on trust again."
Sarah had a sinking feeling in what direction this conversation was going to go. Somehow she always knew that it was a conversation she would have to have at some time. That being said she still wasn't looking forward to it.
"What do you need to know?" she offered, resolving that it was better to get it out of the way sooner rather than later.
"Did you get in contact because of the money or because you wanted to get back together?" Mark asked.
The question momentarily wrong footed her. "To get you back," she blinked. "I love you and I care for you so much. The money situation is something else entirely. Something that can be used to build our life together."
Sarah hoped that Mark would accept what she was saying. She searched within herself and was satisfied that she was telling the truth.
"Ok," Mark replied "But I still need to know."
"What do you need to know?" Sarah asked feeling the old feeling of exasperation lurking at the edge of her mood. She knew what he wanted to know but if he wanted to know it then he should ask.
Mark fixed her with his gaze. The moment stretched away for what felt like an age.
"I need to know what you two did when you were fucking."
That actual elicited a flinch from Sarah. She of course knew that's what she and Davey had been doing but somehow she had draped herself in the blanket of romantic tragedy. With the blanket ripped away the cold realities were laid bare.
"We got drunk one evening and had sex. It was a drunken thing and it meant nothing I swear." The words rushed out and were in danger of becoming babble.
Mark regarded her for a moment. His eyes flicking upward for a moment as if he was struggling to regain his equilibrium following that head shot.
"How many times?"
Sarah of course knew the answer to that and found herself standing on the edge of a chasm. She and Davey had fucked at least six times a week for the last four months. Here was a chance to come clean and to get this load off of her chest. Of course she didn't believe that Mark knew this information and it may make things worse.
