My wifes lover was stunning. If I were a man, Id pick someone like her for myself.
You know the sort of women who know their own worth. They walk with dignity, look straight ahead, listen intently. Theres no frantic gesturing, no need to flash a bare back or a low cut to get noticed; theyre regal, calm and never panic.
She would have chosen her, tooshes the exact opposite of herself.
Why? Because Emily is forever in a rush, shouting at the kids and at me, dropping things left and right, never managing to finish a task. Work is a pile of paperwork, the boss is never satisfied. Shes always in baggy trousers and a sweatertshirt. Ironing a dress or a blouse is a Herculean effort. Shed forgotten the last time she ironed those ruffles. Thankfully the newmodel tumble dryer smooths the laundry so well that the iron is almost unnecessary.
The lover, Claire, was pure luxury. Her figure, posture, legs, hair, eyes, faceshe could take ones breath away.
She hadnt breathed easy since she saw him. By chance, on a work trip to a distant part of the city, she ducked into the first café she could find for a bite. The job was done, but hunger was no joke. In the packed bistro a quiet corner opened up; she sat, opened the menu and looked up. No, it wasnt a trick of the light. She recognised her husband at oncefrom his back. And she saw Emily too.
He was holding her hands in his palms, kissing her fingers. How vulgar, she thought. Your fingers smell of incense, she imagined. Yet the woman was objectively beautiful.
Claire ordered soup and a salad, ate it without tasting anything, and then lingered, waiting for them to leave. She feared being seen. It was pointlessJames wasnt interested in anything beyond the moment.
It felt like the seconds after a burn, when you see the mark and know the pain is coming. In those seconds you try to cool the reddening skin, hoping to lessen the hurt. It should have hurt, but inside there was only emptiness.
James returned on time, his mood even and pleasant as always. Emily, always halfspeed, hurrying everyone along, contrasted with his steady, sanguine nature and his dry wit.
She could use his humour now; it didnt suit her situation.
All evening she imagined asking him, in a deadpan tone, Hows your lover? Saw you both at Café Red Lion earliershes lovely, I get it. Watching his forehead break into sweat, his cheeks redden, trying to keep composure. Then shed follow with, What now? Introduce the kids, make them like the new mum, and where do I fit in? Do I get a flat, or will you bring me over?
She said none of that. James wrapped her in his arms in our bedroom, pulled her close and fell asleep straightaway.
Perhaps they werent having sex yet, she thought, sliding onto her side of the bed. She laughed silently. Now she felt like a woman caught cheating on the spot, yet still insisting it was all a misunderstanding.
Maybe they were still in the first stageflirtation, breathless thoughts, a shared rhythm. He was a secret lover, flawless, without a word or a twitch.
She tossed about in bed, slept in fragments, dreaming of bright flowers and other mistresses in scarlet dresses.
She woke with a heavy head, moved slower than usual around the flat, calmly got the kids ready for school. All the while she wondered what to do. What do women usually do when they catch their husbands with a lover? Google it?
Google gave her nothing. She had no answers herself. Keep living? Whats there to try? She was already doing thatsame routine, husband arriving home on time, no lipstick on his shirt, no hint of another perfume, the children bouncing about, Sunday cinema outings. No change in behaviour. Sex twice a week, sometimes three times if she paid attention.
Had she simply misidentified the café in the outskirts?
She hadnt. She called James at lunch; he didnt answer. She hailed a cab and raced back to the same bistro. In the taxi she spun a plausible story for the driverWere waiting for a parcel, its workrelated. Jamess car was parked opposite. He and Claire got out together, slipped into his car and drove off.
She turned pale, asked the driver for water, pretended to make a call and shouted into the void, Fine, Im done waiting! Im off to work!
She cared a bit about the drivers opinion of her.
Knowing a lover exists can turn a life upside down. Divorce? Probably. How else to live? Tolerate it? Why? For what?
She recalled a friends husband who had a mistress a couple of years back. He hid it, covered his tracks, but his wife eventually pieced it together. There was a huge row; he denied everything even when faced with saved messages on his phone. He claimed rivals were framing him.
Then her husband had said, Id never lie. If Ive messed up, Ill own it, quit the affair if the family matters, or leave but make sure I provide. Shed been proud of his forthrightness. Easy to judge from the outside, especially when youre not the one in the mess.
When youre in the middle of the drama, seeing both wife and mistress at the same table, courage evaporates in an instant.
She walked to their table in the café and took the empty seat. Claire lifted her surprised eyes. James froze, then slumped into his chair. Silence. She found it amusing to watch them.
Claire instantly knew who she was, or perhaps she already did.
James seemed about to speak. She raised a hand and said, Thats not what I thought, is it? Nothing about this is shocking. It happens. Now think about how to sort itkids, shared flat, elderly parents. Youre smart, youll manage.
She left unhurriedly, her freshly pressed dress fitting her perfectly. Shed been saving it for a special occasion.
