Antidote to Infidelity (46 page)

Exhaling, I nod,
feeling half better. Only
half
though - one down, one to go. Keeping my
eyes trained on his in a bid to spot a fib, I decide to get all my digging over
and done with whilst I
’
m on a roll.

“
What about Becky?
” I blurt, catching him off
guard.

Groaning, he leans
across the table, head in hands, peaking at me through his fingers.

“
Gaahh. What is this, the
Spanish Inquisition? Who
’
s Becky?
”

“
Your
nurse
,
”
I say acidly, hating her more
with each mention.
“
Well, not
your
nurse obviously, but the pretty blonde thing who stitched me up with you on . .
.
”

“
STOP!
”
he demands, holding up his
hands in surrender.
“
Yes. I have. Not
that it
’
s any of your
business, but yes. We had a fling in the summer but it fizzled out.
”

Nooo. Oh no. I think
I
’
d sooner him have
slept with Bi. Because that would mean naff all, he’d just be in the national
majority.

Crushed, I blink
back tears before realising I
’
m being pathetic and
composing myself.

“
Can I ask
why
?
”

“
Why
what
?
”
he says, circling the rim of
his wine glass, making it hum.
“
Why I slept with
her? I would have thought that was pretty obvious.
”

Ouch! Another
stinger. To my credit, though, I sidestep it.

“
No, no, I mean why did it
fizzle out?” I ask. “I
’
m curious, that
’
s all. For reasons I
’
m sure you know all about
without me having to elaborate.
”

As Rosie and Ryan
scurry back to the table armed with rainbow balloons and colouring sheets, Mike
beckons me towards him.

“
Will told me in Manchester,” he
admits. “A red-card offence if you ask me. With
me
and Becky it was
pretty clean cut. Too young, too blonde, too easy. Not my type at all.”

I
’
m about to pass comment when my
phone barks in my bag. Yes,
barks
, Bi
’
s
been fiddling with the settings. Before I can answer, Rosie - cleverly spotting
the word
‘
Daddy
’
on the caller display -
snatches it up excitedly, dancing round the table.

“
Daddy? Yay!
”
she crows.
“
Where
are
you daddy?
We
’
re
having tea with
Uncle Mike, he
’
s great. He
’
s bought us
massive
chocolate sundaes with marshymallows and a reeeaaally long spoon with a banana
on it!
”

Shit! Big gob.

Wrestling the phone
from her hands, I place it to my ear just in time to hear Will fume,
“
I see. Fantastic Rosie-Posie.
Put mummy on a sec, yeah?
”

“
It
is
me,
”
I say defensively, shaking my
head at Mike.
“
And before you go
off on one, it
’
s only
lunch
.
We just bumped into each other in Asda and decided to . . .
”

“
I’m not interested, Sally-Ann,
”
he spits, meanly cutting me
off.
“
You just go right
ahead and do whatever the hell you like. You usually do.
”

Click.

Before I can respond
he slams down the phone, leaving me feeling caught out, humiliated and, oooh so
help me, ready for pulling the trigger.

 
“
So, let me get this straight
Sal, run me through Saturday
just once more
. The night
’
s going well. The alcohol
’
s flowing. The kids are asleep
and you
’
re cavorting
in
a dimly-lit room with two strapping, red-blooded fellas who
both
fancy
the pants off you. How can it
possibly
not end in multiple orgasms
?
You
’
re hopeless!
”

She
’
s right. I am.

Having already been
read the riot act by Bi for being
‘
grossly insensitive
’
and not keeping my
‘
big trap shut
’
regarding my mixed-up feelings
about Mike, I know she
’
s pulling my leg but
I
’
m in no mood for
smutty sarcasm.

Normally, at the
thought of Will and I partaking in an illicit menage-a-trois, she
’
d have been stripped to her
lacy garter begging me to make it an even quartet!

But no. For some
reason, since New Year
’
s Day, the corrupt
sex kitten
’
s u-turned on her
mission to get me laid, and as far as Mike and I getting horizontal is
concerned, the answer
’
s simple:
NO
.

Hands off, steer
clear, you
’
ll be sorry Sal, bla
bla bla . . . I just can
’
t understand the
sudden change of heart. If she
was
guarding her territory, fair play, but I know she isn
’
t. Mike assured me, in not so
many words, that he wouldn
’
t touch her with a
barge pole.

Normally second in
line (behind my mother, of course) for a bit of bitchy Will-bashing, Bianca
just isn
’
t taking the bait,
even though I
’
ve thrown her
plenty
.
Instead, she
’
s so pro the
bad-tempered-berk all of a sudden, she
’
s practically
coo-chi-cooing his cheek.

As are Amy, Rowan
and even Liselle come to think of it. Bloody renegades. He just can
’
t put a foot wrong. Unlike his
poor, abandoned wife who
’
s getting earache
left, right and frigging centre for lunching with the enemy.

***

It
’
s raining - again - and we
’
re slumped in leather slouch
pods in the upstairs bay window of
MaxAroma
coffee house, supping tall
cappuccinos with a shot of caramel whilst the twins colour happily in the
DiddyDepot behind us. The Square below is relatively calm, probably because the
council
’
s erecting new
traffic lights and no one in their right mind wants to get caught up in the
bedlam broken signals will create during Monday morning rush hour.

“
Don
’
t tease, Bi,
”
I beg, fidgeting as the chair
moulds to the shape of my bum.

“
I feel bad enough as it is. I
keep wondering what would have happened if I
’
d
just let Mike play his gallant hero card and whisk me off. At least I
’
d still have a watchable DVD
collection.
”

Handing me a chunk
of Galaxy, which I immediately dunk in my coffee, Bi grins.

“
Naah, you did right staying
put,” she says. “Will would have
decked
him. Ripped him limb from limb
and rightly so too! I didn
’
t know Mr Placid had
such a fiery temper. I
like
it!
”

“
Well I bloody don
’
t!
”
I snap. “
I’m
convinced
it’s that
crap he’s taking at the gym.
It
was like a scene from Asylum. Mind you, I can’t say
I
was an angel.”

Rolling her eyes, Bi
reaches into her bag, producing a hot-off-the-press copy of The Whistler.

“
Oh, you don
’
t half exaggerate!
”
she laughs, turning to the
sports section.
“
Here, get a load of
this. There
’
s no by-line on your
hockey report. That
’
s
lame
.
”

She
’
s spot on. It
is
lame.

Still smarting from
my dawn ear-bashing, I flick through today
’
s news, tomorrow
’
s fish and chip wrap, noticing
Rowan
’
s shock exposé on
underage sex has made the front page. Good for her!

“
That
’
s
’
cause I
’
ve been fired,
”
I say sourly.
“
With
immediate
effect.
Even though I quit on Friday night, Gerald felt the need to sack me again at
six o
’
clock this morning.
Just for good measure.
”

“
Fired
?
”
Bi echoes.
“
How can they fire
you
?
”

Entranced by Wade
’
s hairless mug on the Strikers
’
team snap, which (whoops,
silly me, forgot to cancel) is plastered across the back page beneath the
heading:
‘
Wallace: Hair Today,
Gone Tomorrow?
’
,
I almost giggle.
Only
almost
, though. I feel too sorry for myself.

“
Allegedly, I
’
m ‘a loose cannon who brings
the good name of the paper into disrepute’,
”
I tell her, mimicking Gerald.
“
So I
’
m now officially husbandless
and
jobless. Oh, happy days.”

Busy stacking sugar
cubes on her coaster, Bi couldn’t look less concerned.

“So what
’
s the plan?
”
she asks, catching a faller.
“
What
are
you going to do
when the kids are out of your hair and you
’
ve got all that
lovely time on your hands?
”

When her tower
topples, she drums her acrylic tips on her mug, offering,
“
You could always work with me.”

Naah, I’d soon get
bored telling agoraphobic undertakers to smile more, stop slurping their soup
and refrain from wearing Disney ties on blind dates.

Smiling, I feed her
the old
‘
thanks, but no
thanks
’
line, plopping
three stray sugars into my drink.

Mmm. What am I going
to do now that I
’
m destined to be an
unwitting lady of leisure?
Plenty. That
’
s the plan.

As soon as Rosie and
Ryan are settled in their new class, I
’
ve decided: no more
moping round the house like a premature Hilda Ogden for
me
. I
’
m spreading my wings and taking
flight!

In truth, I
’
m bored. To the back teeth.
Mind-numbingly
.
Bored with Goldwell, bored with being at home and bored with taking money from
a joint account I
’
m not putting into.
Sure, we agreed in the beginning that whilst the twins were tiny, Will would be
the main breadwinner. But with Rosie and Ryan all set for school and no dynamic
career ideas on the horizon, I
’
m beginning to feel
like I
’
m dragging my heels.