Antidote to Infidelity (55 page)

Overcome by a burning urge to
give him symmetrical cheek bones, I raise my hand to slap him but he just
sniggers, shooting me a warning ‘don’t try it bitch’ glare.

“Men,” he leers, “are
special
.
Particularly
straight
men. They take time. Pursuit. Persuading. It’s
such a
buzz
to break them in. Like being the first astronaut to stick
your flag in the moon.”

Ignoring the outraged gasps, he
adds, “Women, oh, women are
easy
. No hunt, no chase, nothing. Feed ’em a
few lines, buy ’em a drink and - boom! They’re on their back in the hot seat.”

Realising he’s referring to the
dentist’s chair in his car, I heave, amusing him all the more. Reaching over to
rub my bare shoulder, he whispers, “Hey, don’t be blue. If I’d not met your
better half and you’d not been covered in puke, who knows? We might have given
it a whirl on the way home . . .”

“
Don
’
t bet on it,
”
I seethe, shoving back my chair
and standing up.
“
You stay away from
me, stay away from my kids and most of all, stay away from my husband. Got it?
”

As I snatch up my
jacket and start for the exit, he shouts after me,
“
Sally. Hey, Sally. Wanna see
miserable, do you?
Take a
good, long look at your husband.
If
you can fucking find him.
”

True colours
transparent, he greedily swigs red wine from the bottle, belching loudly as a
bouncer seizes his shoulder.

“
Poor old Will,” he growls as
he’s hauled to his feet. “Works his handsome nuts off twenty-four seven for a
nagging, selfish
bitch
who does nothing but whine, whinge and sponge off
him for two delinquent
brats
. Not to mention offer herself on a
plate
to the first guy who so much as
winks
at her. If that
’
s wedded bliss give me
hell
.
”

Ohhhh . . .

Paralysed by his
uncensored spite, I just can
’
t believe this is
the same sweet guy I
’
d been prepared to
gamble my marriage on, that those snarling lips were
ever
locked to
mine. What’s
wrong
with me?

Staggering for the
door, overwhelmed by nausea, vertigo and a desperate need for air, I’m steadied
by the concerned head chef who
’
s slipped in behind
me, wisely deciding I might need catching.

I glance back just
once more.

“
Just for the record,
”
I say defiantly,
“
I
’
d
never
have slept with you.
”

“
Yeah. Right,
”
he scoffs arrogantly, waving
me on my way.
“
Whatever gets you
through the night.”

Tearful, traumatised
and utterly ashamed of myself, I shove away the enormous Galaxy being touted
under my nose and turn to face the wall, sobbing inconsolably into a scrunched
up tissue.

Wrapped in a fluffy
white robe, I
’
m seeking solace on
a way-too-comfy couch, surrounded by pale blue ambiance lighting, the soothing
sound of gentle waves lapping the shore - and my friends. All of them. Even Bi
who, despite my inexcusable outburst last night, I
’
ve been bawling my heart out to
for the best part of ten hours.

It
’
s getting close to opening time
and another hectic day at Bi Unique. But rather than boot me out, she
’
s just cancelled four lucrative
appointments and stuck a
‘
Sorry, Closed for
Lunch
’
sign on the door.

God, I love Bianca.
And you know what? She loves me.

“
Sal,
”
she says gently, coaxing me
round with a steaming cuppa.
“
Enough now, hon.
Come on, buck up, it
’
s done
with.
The main thing is you didn
’
t sleep with him.
That
would
have been something to cry about.
”

“
I
couldn’t
have done
it,” I sob, wiping my streaming nose. “Oh, I
’
m
such an
idiot
. Why am I such an idiot? I was just a sprat, Bi, to catch
the mackerel. Do you know how that makes me
feel
?
”

Stirring the pot of
bubbling wax she
’
s warming up for her
legs, Bianca nods.

“
Like shit,
”
she says flatly.
“
The same way you feel when you
catch your limp-dicked hubby at full mast, midway through his Sunday spanking
session. Howie couldn
’
t get it up for me
but for
Doc Cock
, I swear, it was like a fuckin
’
flagpole!
”

Trying not to giggle
as Bi proceeds with her finest erect penis impression, Amy throws her arms
around my neck and squeezes, followed by a queasy-chopped Rowan, Liselle and
finally Bianca, resulting in a warm five-way hug.

***

Last night, shortly
after calling Bianca a jealous cow, I called her in desperation from a
ramshackle phone booth that reeked of stale pee, begging forgiveness as lashing
rain pelted off the tin roof like frozen peas.

Cowering on the
chewing-gum ridden floor in the choking clutches of a full-blown panic attack,
I had a racing heart, a broken shoe and a dead mobile phone as I waited
anxiously for the cavalry to arrive.

It didn
’
t help that a passing tramp
kept trying to tempt me out with a half-eaten meatball Sub. Nor did it help
that I saw Mike saunter across the road with a satisfied smile on his
punched-up face.

Lingering beneath a
parasol, he scanned the marketplace for prey, immediately hitting the jackpot:
a ridiculously good-looking guy in a baseball cap and blue chinos. They
laughed, joked and back-slapped for about five minutes before Mike, grinning
like a Cheshire cat, hailed a cab and sped off into the night with his burly
new buddy.

By the time Bianca
arrived, my lips were blue, my confidence shot and my airless lungs on their
last gasp.

“
Call me . . . an ambulance,
”
I begged between sobs as she
dropped to her knees and joined me amongst the soggy cigarette butts.

“
Okay. You
’
re an ambulance,
”
she said sarcastically, giving
me a short, sharp slap.
“
Now snap out of it,
Sally. One, two, three - up!
”

Half an hour later,
thanks to Bi
’
s strict,
no-nonsense tactics, I was in the sanctuary of Bi Unique, sipping brandy and
sobbing buckets as she held me close and smoothed my hair.

“
We
’
ll stay here, shall we? Settle
in?
”
she whispered,
wrapping me in a robe.
“
My house is a bit
overrun at the mo.
”

“
Overrun?
”
I sniffed.
“
With what?”

“
Monks,
”
she said brightly.
“Can’t
shift
for ’em!
You do pick your
moments, Sally.
You owe me
big time
.”

Apparently, she
’
d been about to plunge into her
king-sized waterbed with the entire order - better known locally as Dan, Ash
and Dave, The Whistler
’
s submissive
sub-editing team - when she suddenly remembered
where
she
’
d seen Mike before.

As well as being a
seedy bat-swinger, it turns out he was
also
crafty old Howie
’
s ‘private’ physiotherapist,
treating him all summer for tennis elbow of all things!

And so, as the
twisted truth unravelled, I - the repulsive man repellent - lay torturing
myself on the couch whilst Bi bathed her glowing fist, absorbing the closure
she didn
’
t
think
she
needed but secretly, desperately did.

At first light,
following a Bi-instigated ring-around, two became five and I had to re-live my
nightmarish night again, waiting for the admonishing glances and the smug
‘
I told you so
’
s
’
.

But of course, none
came.

Although Will was
immensely in favour and I
’
d been pig-headed,
blinkered and downright rude to them on
numerous
occasions, I knew deep
down I could always count on the girls, because real friends don
’
t kick you when you
’
re down.

***

Now, with a medley
of mini muffins, croissants and Starbucks Mocha Lattes that Rowan and I just
can
’
t stomach, our
Saturday morning summit is in full swing as we dissect my disastrous evening.

“
What
’
s
happening
to the
world?
”
Amy asks, staring
at the spinning ceiling fan philosophically.
“
Since
when do you have to be weary of fit blokes pinching your fella? It
’
s just plain
wrong
.
”

“
Since last November,
”
Bi smiles dryly.
“
I learned
my
lesson then.
It
’
s no longer enough
to keep the Horny Opportunist Hookers in check, you
’
ve got to have eyes in the back
of your head for the bi hubby-ogglers bringing up the rear!
”

I want to laugh, I
really do. But although Bi
’
s wit
is
rib-tickling, it
’
s excruciatingly
accurate. Fishing women will
always
be a threat, yes, but bisexual guys
hitting on husbands? Fathers? What
’
s all that about?
Whatever happened to the sanctity of marriage? Am I really that far behind the
times? Is it
really
such a jungle out there that the divides have been
destroyed, making it a mass, no-morals free-for-all? It certainly seems that
way.

Bianca may be joking
but that’s just a coping mechanism. My near miss with Mike doesn’t even
compare
to her ordeal. He actually
ended
her marriage, so whichever way you look
at it, I’ve had a lucky, lucky let off.

Replacing the waves
with a Robbie Williams CD, Bi pulls down the door blinds, slumping into a
leather bean bag by the radiator.

“
I really don
’
t think things would have
kicked off like they did if we hadn
’
t forced his hand,
”
she muses, wrapping an
ice-filled tea towel around her fist.

“
Oh,
his
hand doesn
’
t need forcing,
”
I shudder.
“
I’m
sure
he was reaching
for more than the Sat-Nav on New Year’s Eve!
”

“
Seriously, Sal,
”
she continues, skipping tracks
to Angels
. “
Cornered dogs bite.
If
I
hadn
’
t belted him and
you
hadn
’
t chucked half the
restaurant at him, I genuinely think he
’
d have kept up the
act, bided his time for Will . . . and
you
’
d
have been the next
notch on his bedpost.
”

“
I
wouldn
’
t
,
”
I insist.
“
You know me, I
’
m all talk. I
’
d
never
have actually
done it.
”