Antidote to Infidelity (52 page)

“
Oh, I don
’
t know, Ms Lawrence,
”
Amy purrs, popping out her
cherry fizz pop with a cheeky wink.
“
You tell me.
”

As the raunchy head
glares at me, Bi scoffs,
“
I fail to see what
she
’
s moaning about, I
really do. If you ask me, she wants a good slap.
”

“
Who, Liselle? Or me? God, what
have I done now?
”
I squeal, sinking
behind a cushion.

“
No,
goat girl
, Bridget
Jones,
”
she laughs.
“
No husband, no kids, a fit as
fuck boss who
’
s into rear entry
and casual shagging. Sounds like the perfect existence to me.
”

Good old Bi. That’s more like
it, I knew she wouldn’t let me down.

“
Bianca!
”
I giggle, throwing my pillow
at her before answering my ringing mobile with a giddy,
“
Hello? Mike?
”

“
Good guess but no, me,
”
Will snaps.
“Sorry to disappoint.
You
certainly sound
like you
’re
over your trauma.
Amazing, isn
’
t it? Can I speak to
the kids?
”

“
No,
”
I tell him, bluntly.
“
They
’
ve gone to Splash Landings with
your parents. You know, on the birthday trip
we
were supposed to be
taking. Ring any bells?
”

As my friends pipe
down and pretend to watch the telly, I stomp into the kitchen, closing the
door.

“
I
needed
you earlier
Will,
”
I hiss.
“
Really, really needed you and
you weren
’
t there. You
’
re never bloody there. Where
are you? What’s going on? When are you coming home?
”

There
’
s an agonising pause before he
responds with,
“
When my wife doesn
’
t answer the phone with another
bloke
’
s name.
”

Ahhh.

When I don
’
t hit back, he softens, adding,
“
Look Sal, don
’
t worry about the school thing,
today should never have happened. I’m on it, I
’
ll
sort it. Just trust me, okay?
”

Trust him? Trust
him? Huh, that’s rich.

“
Oh, you’ll sort it will you?
”
I ask.
“
And just
when
do you
propose to do that, Will? When they get to eight and still can
’
t read and write?
”

“
Sally,
”
he says. “Do you
really
think I’d miss something as important as my kids’ first day at school? Not in a
million years. I’m working my
bollocks
off to give you what you want,
but you’re too busy flirting to care. Mike this, Mike that . . . I’m wasting my
time.”

Too busy flirting?
Ooooh . . .

“
You know what, Will?
”
I snap.
“You’re right.
I
don’t
care
.
I don’t care where you are
or
what you’re doing b
ut I can tell you
one thing. If you don’t come home
right this minute
so we can talk, I’m
going to . . . I’m going to . . .”

“Going to
what
,
Sally-Ann? he says calmly, cutting me off. “Screw Mike Foster? Huh? If that’s
what you really want, go ahead. Do it. Then maybe we can get on with our
lives.”

Stung, I’m about to
tell him that’s
not
what I was going to say. At all. I was
actually
going to say ‘tell your mother’, but he’s slammed the phone down. Again.

Oooooh! Screw Mike
Foster? How dare he, self-righteous son-of-a-bitch!

I walk back into the
lounge, positively
steaming
.

“
I take it Will
’
s not joining us for tea, then?
”
Rowan says sarcastically,
flicking through the pages of a glossy copy of Bump.
“
You shouldn
’
t bait him like that Sal, it
’
s no wonder he goes off on one.
You
’
re practically
rubbing his nose in it that you
’
re gonna shag
another bloke. He won
’
t stand for it, you
know.
”

Scowling down at
Miss-Prim-and-Pregnant, elbows on the coffee table, I just want to
scream
.
Who the hell is
she
to tell me how best to deal with my adulterous
husband, when shagging another bloke is
exactly
the way she
’
s dealt with
hers
? It
’
s too hypocritical to tolerate.

“
I didn’t say a
word
– he
did!
”
I thunder,
snatching the Pringles off Amy and shoving a handful into my mouth.
“
But you know what, that
’
s
exactly
what I
’
m gonna do. You can all stay on
Will
’
s bandwagon and say
whatever you like,
’cause
I really don
’
t care anymore. You
’
re just a bunch of hypocrites
.”

Showering Liselle in
part-crunched crisps, when no one takes the bait, I fume on,
“
You warn me to steer clear of
Mike, yet I
’
m just doing what
you
all
told me to do. You
told
me to level the score. Take a
dip, sow my wild oats, try a frigging
toffee
. . .
”

“
I didn
’
t!
”
Rowan and Liselle squeal
simultaneously, adding petrol to my already raging inferno. Amy and Bianca just
shrug guiltily, scrutinising the carpet.

“
Oh no -
you
didn
’
t, of course
you two
didn
’
t,
”
I spit.
“
No, I
’
m supposed to do as you say,
not as you do, right? Heaven forbid! Bianca might be a
whore
but at
least she
’
s upfront about it!
”

As Rowan marches out
in a huff, slamming the door behind her, Liselle whispers,
“
It
’
s only been three weeks, Sally.
Just three weeks. You
’
re bound to be
hurting
.
You
’
re lashing out
blindly. It
’
s still early days .
. .
”

“
You need
closure
,
”
Bi butts in, clearly taking
the
‘
whore
’
comment as a compliment.
“
But you
’
re not gonna get it by screwing
around.
I
should know. That
’
s not
you
,
hon. You need to thrash things out with Will.
”

“
And cut off all contact with
Mike,
”
Amy adds, patting
my penguin slippers sadly.
“
He
’
s no
good
for you, Sal,
you
’
re playing with
fire. You
’
re like Eve with the
snake. You don
’
t need temptation,
you need your
husband
. Surely you can see that?
”

“
What I need,
”
I tell them, choking back
tears as the phone rings again,
“
is for you to go.
All of you. Follow Rowan. Just go home and leave me alone. Okay?
”

“
Sally, we
’
re only trying to help,
”
Liselle frets, picking up her
grey duffle.
“
We don
’
t want to see you get hurt.
”

“
I
’
m
already hurt,
”
I snap, tossing Bi
her boots and shooing them towards the door.
“
So
stop pretending to care and just go, yeah?
”

“
Fine,
be
like that. But
do yourself a favour,
”
Bi bristles,
gesturing to the phone.
“
Unless that
’
s Will, don
’
t pick up. Don
’
t . . .
”

Slam!

Kicking the door
closed before she can finish, I snatch the hall curtains shut and settle on the
stairs, accepting the call with shaking hands.

Who does she think
she is? Who do they
all
think they are? I
’
ll
tell you who they are, they
’
re the prissy,
irresponsible parents who tell their children not to smoke, then chuff
forty-a-day right under their noses.

Well, I
’
ve made up my mind. I
’
m done listening. Done. Except
to compassionate medical professionals, of course.

“
Hello? Sally? Are you there?
”

“
I
’
m
here,
”
I say, inhaling my
first tantalising drag.

“
Good. I was beginning to think
you didn
’
t want to talk to
me.
”

“Oh, I
do
,
”
I assure him, calming.
“
I was just shoving someone
immensely
annoying out the door, that
’
s all.
”

“
Who, Will?
”
he asks quickly.
“
Is he back?
”

“
No, not
him
,” I sigh.
“And no, he
’
s not. Not coming
either by the sound of it.”

“Ahhh.”

The line falls
silent before he adds, “In that case, what say you and I hit the town for a
chat? How do you feel about dinner? Name the place and I’ll be there.”

Uh-oh. Dinner. Does
he mean actual dinner or is that code for something else?

“I’m not sure,
Mike,” I say hesitantly.

“Not sure what?” he
asks. “Not sure
where
you want to go or
if
you want to go?”

“Both,” I confess.

Oh, what should I
do? It
’
s obvious he doesn
’
t want to step on
Will toes, which is commendable. But Will
’
s being a total dick and in my defence, surely
invisible feet are impossible to step on? Maybe it’s now . . . or never.

Heading up the
stairs, I glimpse my reflection in the landing mirror, wondering how long I
’
ve got to transform the
desperate housewife staring back at me into alluring married mistress material.

Not . . . long . . .
enough. This is a bad, bad idea Sally. Nip it in the bud now.

“Okay, deal,” I say
finally, blotting out the Voice of Reason. “And
don
’
t worry about Will,
h
e
’
s
probably roaming the streets ringless as we speak.
”

Ignoring the acute
pang of guilt I feel as the bitter words tumble out, I add,
“
How does Sinatra
’
s at nine sound?
”