Antidote to Infidelity (45 page)

I hold out my arms,
giving him an
‘
I
’
m-fit-as-a-fiddle
’
twirl.

“
How
’
s Will?” he asks.
“The last thing I wanted to do
was piss him off, we had a fab time at the footie.”

“
Gone,
”
I snap, unable to hide my
irritation.
“
Not long after you,
actually. He took off but don
’
t worry, it
’
s his party trick. He
’
ll be back, he
’
s like a boomerang. To be
honest, Mike, I’m past caring.”

Nodding
understandingly, Mike reaches into his pocket. Pulling out his wallet, he
nudges me towards the tills, signalling for the kids to join us.

“
C
’
mon,
”
he says.
“
This little lot
’
s on me. And
then
, if
you don
’
t have any prior
engagements, I
’
d like to buy you
lunch.
Please
. Your call Sally, anywhere you want.
”

Oh. Decisions,
decisions. To dine or not to dine? Surely I
’
d be better going
home - alone - and sticking name tags on this lot? After all, it is school on
Friday. Plus, after last night, Will would blow a gasket if he caught me in the
same county as Mike, let alone at the same table.

I hover in debate.
Mike watches me. His indigo eyes say,
‘
Please Sally, please
come
’
.

Oh, what the hell?

Against my better
judgement, I gather the kids and, half hypnotised, place a tin of Altoid mints
on the conveyor. As the monotonous beep-beep-beep of the till rings in my ears,
I convince myself I
’
m doing nothing
wrong if I say ‘yes’.

Which, of course, I
’
m going to. Will
’
s
the bad guy here,
not me.

If my husband can
’
t be present, he can
’
t possibly dictate who I lunch
with, now can he? If
he
doesn
’
t want to dine with
his family, well, that
’
s
his
loss.
We
’
ll just stick two
fingers up to his latest disappearing act and dine with someone who
does
.

***

Forty minutes later,
despite having taken a
‘
no, don
’
t do it, Sal
’
call from Rowan, I
’
m tucking into a Caesar salad
at Piccolo Flo
’
s, Goldwell
’
s new
‘
fun-for-all-the-family
’
play pub.

With a
humungous
tots
’
zone complete with
ball pits, pirate ships and enough curly slides to keep the kids spinning for
months,
it
’
s the place parents
flock to for good food, fine wine and, more importantly, peace!

The twins and I are
frequent visitors. Mike, it seems, has never set foot in the place in his life.

“
Mmmm. It
’
s certainly
different
,
”
he comments, slicing through
his fillet steak.

I sense he
’
s nervous. Edgy even, but then
again, so am I. It
’
s the first time I
’
ve been out with another bloke
on my own for six long years. I
’
m well aware it isn
’
t a
date
or anything but
it still feels, well, underhand somehow. Wrong and risqué, particularly with
the kids in tow, but at the end of the day, it’s just
food
. Innocent,
platonic food.

Yeah,
like last night.
And look how well that turned out . . .

Oh, it’s probably
just because Will
’
s gone AWOL and my
friends are waving the warning flags. Yet here I am, dining with a
ridiculously
cute guy who makes my stomach flip and my hubby so jealous he can’t decide if
he wants to SAS-stalk him or knock him into the middle of next week.

I
’
ve got butterflies. They feel
like kestrels. I can
’
t help but wonder:
is
this
how it began with Will and Becky? Is this the way all affairs
begin? A chance encounter followed by steak and small talk before being overcome
by such raw, unadulterated passion you
’
ve no choice but to
give in and
get
a room?

Mmm. Excellent train
of thought, Sally. Very motherly.

***

After sending
extravagant ice creams to the buzzing kids, who are boinging six feet into the
air on the
‘
jungle jumper
’
, Mike slides down at the
table, this time next to me.

“
Would you like some wine?
”
he asks genteelly, noticing my
empty glass and nodding to the barman. When I shake my head as, of course, I
’
m driving, he orders me a
mineral water instead before leaning in close.

“
Just for the record,” he says.
“That
’
s
not
how I
wanted things to end last night.
”

Feeling
self-conscious due to my bruises which, although healing, are still prominent
close up, I shy away.

“
I know, me neither.” I confess.

Wondering if his
thoughts are anyway in tune with
Amy’s
vivid imagination – ie chips and
dips followed by a three-way romp in the rosebushes - I try not to blush. I’ve
clearly lost the plot.

Cursing the rampant
kestrels, I whisper,
“
What
were
you
expecting, Mike? Because it
’
s . . . oh
God,
it
’
s difficult.
”

As a gum-chewing
Tinkerbell deposits my Evian and flutters off, he laughs nervously, massages
his forehead and pulls away.

“
Jesus Sally, if you only
knew
,
”
he says, poking at the
burnt-out candle, deliberately avoiding my eyes.
“
Usually
when I want someone I pull out all the stops and go for it, but
you
,
”
he glances up, staring at me
for what seems like
eternity
before sighing,
“
you
take me right out of my
comfort zone.
”

Feeling a sudden
rush of adrenaline, I give his hand a gentle press. He tugs free. Drumming his
fingers on the table, he draws a long breath.

“
I
like
you, Sally, I
really do,
”
he admits.
“
That’s the problem, I’m holding
back. The thing is, I
’
ve been caught in
the middle of a marriage before and I
’
m in
no
rush
to go there again.
”

Oh wow. This is a
first. I
’
m not used to
hearing such honesty from a man. No, the norm for me is being fibbed to,
shouted at and stormed out on.

If it
’
s a line, it
’
s having the desired effect. I
could quite easily take my revenge
right now
by dragging him across to
the Travelodge, pulling off those
obscenely
tight jeans with my teeth
and letting him have his wicked way. All afternoon.

But I won
’
t. Of course. That would be
just plain
wrong
.

“
I know you
’
re miserable, Sally. Both of you,
I can see it in your eyes,
”
he breathes.
“
Why don’t you just call it a
day? Show him the road. Then things would be so . . .
”

Just as he says
“
different
”
, a rosy-cheeked Goldilocks
skips across the busy bar hand in hand with the twins. Bending so her elbows
grace the table, she rests her annoyingly pretty head on her fists.

Briefly smiling at
me, she flutters inch-long falsies at Mike.

“
Hi sir,” she squeaks, “Sorry to
interrupt but these two cutie pies seem a bit spotty for the fun house, I
’
m afraid.
”

Not missing a beat,
Mike gives her
the look.

“
I see,
”
he says casually, folding his
arms.
“
What if, Miss Locks,
I could give you absolute medical assurance that they
’
re not contagious?
Then
would they be allowed to continue playing?
”

As she hum-hums
dreamily, Mike follows through with his polar-ice-cap melting stare, turning on
such confident, knicker-twisting charm that, had I been a bloke, I
’
d have been straight up to the
bar to buy him a pint.

“
Yes, the children have
chickenpox,
”
he says, winking at
Ryan before turning to Goldie and expertly holding her gaze.
“
I, however, can give you
absolute medical assurance that as soon as they
’
re
spotty, they
’
re safe.
”

Flashing a
deal-sealing grin, he adds,
“
Trust me, I’m a
doctor.
”

Giggling as Goldie
blushes fuchsia (no doubt through hands-free orgasm, the frisky little madam),
Rosie pokes Ryan and whispers,
“
Wow, he
’
s gooood,
”
before dragging her
nursery-rhyme nanny back to the woods.

The aftermath is a
sight to behold. As she disappears into the bedlam, Cinderella, Alice in
Wonderland and Little Miss Muffet peer eagerly through door for a glimpse of
the
‘
gorgeous doctor
’
with the ‘amazing eyes’. Mike,
unaware he
’
s now being
ruthlessly stalked by half the female contingent of fairytale land, just sips
his wine and sighs.

“
Phew. Women. Sorry about that,
Sally. Where were we?
”

But it
’
s too late. He might be
‘
in there
’
with the soft-play brigade but
he
’
s shot himself in
the foot with
me
. Because I’ve seen it with my own eyes. The charm
switch flicked on and off to get his own way and
I
’
m
not falling for it,
no siree!

“
Mike,
”
I say, remembering I
’
ve got a burning question I
need to ask before I, too, fall back under hypnosis.
“
I don
’
t mean to pry but I
’
m going to. Have you ever slept
with Bi?
”

“
I, what? Who?
”
he splutters, taken aback.
“
Whoa now, that
’
s a bit direct. Who
’
s Bi?
”

“
Bi,
”
I repeat impatiently,
“
is my good friend Bianca. You
met last night. Said it was a pleasure.
”

“
Aaah,
”
he chuckles, relaxing.
“
Then the answer is no.
Absolutely not.
”

“
You’re
sure
?
”
I press, relieved but not
quite convinced.

“
Certain,
”
he insists.
“
One hundred percent.
”