Eternity

The sun is blazingly hot, every inch of my body feels like its sizzling, the tinkling of ice on glass tells me my second cocktail has arrived, this holiday is just what I needed, I couldn’t be more relaxed right now. I can feel the heat slowly relaxing me into a semiconscious state when I become vaguely aware of a shadow over my eyes, a cloud maybe?

"Excuse me senorita" a low husky voice penetrates my day dreams, I cautiously open my eyes, letting them re-adjust to the light.

He's tall, but still unfocused; blinking my eyes back to life he slowly takes shape. His tanned skin, his toned body, his wet tousled black hair hanging in curls framing his face, the water from them dripping down his chest glittering against the bright sun.

He's wearing the smallest pair of Speedo’s I’ve ever seen, they are straining to contain his manhood. I quickly look back up to his fine chiseled face, blushing profusely when I realise his sparkling eyes have been watching me clearly while I have been checking him out.

"Err...yes?" is all I can manage.

"Is this taken" he purrs motioning towards the sun lounger next to me.

"Um...no, I err... I don't think so" I sound like I blithering idiot, the slowly reducing blush returns full force as he shoots me a dazzling smile. God this man is hot.

With perfect elegance he drapes himself down onto the lounger, stealing a sideways glance I can see that his whole body is wet and positively glistening under the sun, what I wouldn't give to run my fingers over it. Peeking up at his face our eyes meet, oh no he has seen me biting my lip and ogling over him like a horny teenager.

Quickly averting my eyes before I embarrass myself anymore, I can do nothing but return to my sunbathing. My mouth is dry but I can’t bring myself to move let alone sit up and sip my cocktail which is tantalisingly close. At least when I’m lying down it creates an illusion of a passable body, if I stretch out and breathe in and have my arms reaching above my head....

I stay like this for what seems like a lifetime, feigning relaxation, but in reality I’m so stiff and uncomfortable, with my eyes shut my other senses are in overdrive, I can actually hear his deep rhythmic breathing. It’s probably all in my head but I swear I can feel his eyes burning into me. Don’t be stupid I scold myself; it’s more likely the sun burning you.

This is ridiculous, I’m an adult, I’ve come away on holiday on my own to get away from it all and relax and right now I am anything but. Just get up and walk away my mind says, but my body is reluctant to follow.

Finally I force my eyes open, at least while I’m blinded by the sun for a few seconds I can pretend I’m the only one here.

Standing up, quickly, on second thoughts too quickly as I have to put my hand out to the back of the sun lounger to steady myself stupid shaking hands nearly knocking it over, god that would have been mortifying! Clutching it tight now, I can’t resist and take a quick glance over at the Adonis who is eyeing me intently with a glint of amusement playing across his beautiful face. It takes everything I have to turn and saunter away in what I’m hoping looks f, with my other hand I grab my towel and in a flash wrap it around my body concealing my imperfections, reaching for my cocktail my like a nonchalant / confident manner.

I’m halfway across to the hotel when it hits me...shit! I’ve left my sandals behind....

My husbands at work, my husband is always at work. For the last three months he has spent more and more time working. Overtime, weekend shifts, business trips!? Why would a local office manager even need to take business trips?

To begin with it was nice, a relief even. We were getting on top of each other the smallest thing turned into a ridiculous argument and money was tight just to make things worse. Then he started doing extra hours here and there, staying late on occasion. The space did us good and the thought of the extra money just had a relaxing effect on most of the little mole hills that would normally turn into mountains.

But slowly it has started to increase and it’s becoming more suspicious; the extra money has not materialised and I just cannot fathom a reason he would suddenly be going on weekend business trips when in 10years at the same job he has never once been on one before.

Of course at times I have tentatively questioned these anomalies, but there is always a reasonable explanation, even if it is delivered in an unnecessarily defensive manner.

I hate to think about myself as the suspicious nagging wife, who inadvertently drives her husband to have an affair, but all the signs are there. I’ve spoken in depth with Cassie my closest friend. She has known me only for 5years more than she has known me with Jake, so if anyone has insight it would be her, plus her husband, Phillip, is quite chummy with Jake so I was hoping he might have confided in him, if there was something going on.

As it turned out, he hadn’t, but then as Cassie rightly pointed out over steaming cups of tea and chocolate biscuits, if he was doing anything untoward would he really be stupid enough to broadcast it to my best friends husband?

Ever the optimist is Cassie.

Nevertheless, she makes a good point and she agrees with me, that something is up. Her marriage is far from perfect, but it works, they both work hard at it and the majority of the time they come together as a team rather than rival gangs like me and Jake inevitably are.

So here I am stewing over paranoid thoughts as my ever absent Husband “works”, well works at getting some blonde bimbo into bed I bet!

I need a distraction, if I’m going to make this marriage work I need to trust him.

Here he is working every hour god sends to scrape together enough money to provide a better life for us, to try and improve this rut we have fallen into, and here I am doubting his efforts and destroying anything good that might have come from it.

Right, shaking the dark mist from my head I stand impulsively. There has to be an immediate task waiting for my attention. Granted I feel a little woozy from the second large glass of wine I have glugged down tonight. Drinking on your own of an evening, even with your meal is still a bit sad; But once a bottle of red has been opened it always seems a waste to leave it half full, so it has become a bit of a ritual for me to polish it off while watching bad T.V snuggled under a blanket in our once homely sitting room, that now, without my husband, always feels somewhat cold.

Anyway enough digressing, the wine must be depressing me more than I thought. Washing! There is always a mountain of that to get through, and as far as house chores go that is probably the safest to do when tipsy.

Padding through to the bathroom first, I grab some discarded socks and pants and two damp towels, tucking them under my arm I cant resist running into the hall so I skid across the hard wood floors stopping in perfect form outside the bedroom door. This practice is reserved solely for when I’m home alone; As much as I firmly believe no adult ever grows out of wearing fluffy socks to slide around shiny floors, they tend to resist the urge when in public and so, I too adhere to this unspoken rule.

Just the sight of the washing basket puts me off this idea, it’s packed down tightly and still full to the brim, but I’ve started now, so I’ve at least got to do one load before I relent to the calling sofa.

Dumping the towels to one side I start routing through pulling out anything without a colour run risk and adding it to the pile. Jeans, mine or his, I don’t stop to distinguish the difference, a few t-shirts and some more random underwear bits to fill out the load.

Scooping it all up, bending to repeatedly pick up escaping socks its back downstairs checking back occasionally for any socks on a mission to avoid the wash. And finally stuff it all into the drum. I’m hovering with my finger above the start button with one of those burning senses that you’re forgetting something, but what? Powders in the draw, I re-check the cycle I’ve chosen and it’s adequate, I give the door another push to make sure it’s closed properly, yep. But still this feeling, what? What is it?

“Oh” I mumble out loud, forgot the pocket check. Once, just once, a couple of months back, I didn’t check the pockets of my jeans before I washed them and ended up washing a £20 note to within an inch of its life, Jake went mad, “Why are you so stupid? How hard can it be just to check the pockets? For god’s sake Kaitlin, sometimes I swear you do this just to irritate me!” I mean Jesus, come off it, it was a simple over site, how about calm the hell down!

That was one of our best pointless arguments; It ended in me taking the offending £20 to the shops exchanging it for two bottles of red wine, I think it was the look on my face that stopped the boy behind the counter questioning its disheveled appearance, then hunkering down at Cassie’s for the night getting hideously drunk and thoroughly airing our (mostly my) dirty laundry.

So back to the task in hand, pulling out the jeans I dutifully start checking pockets, the third and final pair of black trousers are Jake's, nothing in the front, nothing in the ba……hold on, I’ve hit the jackpot, if its more than £5 I’m going down to the late night corner shop and treating myself to some high quality ice cream.

Pulling out the folded paper I can see it’s just that, folded white paper, no money, frowning I carefully unfold it. Slumping back against the washing machine I can feel the colour draining from my face
,
“My darling, I wish I could be with you always, until next time….all my love Stacy x x x x x x
”
Her writing is curly and seductive, my mind starts racing trying to piece together an imaginary image of this husband stealing vixen, wait a minute Stacy? Stacy! His secretary?? Oh no, no this is too much of a cliché, is he serious? He’s having an affair with his secretary? Ha! A vicious scoff escapes my lips, next thing you know he’ll arrive home in a sports car, really hammering home the early mid-life crisis.

I’m numb, if it wasn’t so ludicrous I might be angry, upset even, but come on Jake, I would have given you more credit than that, if your going to destroy both our lives you could try to be a little bit more imaginative surely?

Maybe that’s half the problem, I give him too much credit, I expect too much from him, I thought he was better than this. Maybe it’s put too much pressure on him, me thinking he’s perfect when he’s far from it, he is only human after all.

Whoa! Hold on, what am I saying? How can I be so quick to defend him? Even now I am painting him as the injured party. This is not my fault, I have been in this same marriage, dealing with the same arguments and I haven’t had an affair! I need to speak to Cassie, this is too much to process. Glancing to the wall, the clock mocks me, its twenty past eleven, it’s too late to call now, her kids will be asleep. So what now? The wine! I still have a small glass left, I’ll start there, staggering to my feet I feel hollow, like someone has knocked the wind out of me. I’ve been dreading this moment for months now, but yet somehow in my mind I always played it out more dramatically. I’ve imagined myself walking in on him and some model-esk beauty, screaming obscenities at them, reading Jake the riot act while he begs for forgiveness and finally throwing him out, naked, into the street followed by his most precious belongings, via the upstairs window. The reality however, is a real anticlimax.

Standing up I move to the full length mirror in the hall, dressed in old baggy jeans and a faded polo shirt, with a frumpy fleece over the top, I can’t really blame him, this is my standard wardrobe and the sight of it even disgusts me.

My light brown hair has always been thick and difficult to manage, but over the last few years I’ve really let it go; it looks lank, dull, hanging down over my shoulders and the ends are split, all tangled and askew, I can’t remember the last time I actually styled it.