Evelyn was in the kitchen preparing supper. Id been craving a seafood pasta, so after work she popped into the local supermarket, grabbed everything we needed, and cooked the whole meal herself. I was a little late, but I arrived with a bunch of roses and called out, Evelyn, look whos waiting for a weary husband! I shouted merrily as I stepped over the threshold. She laughed, took the flowers and set them in a vase.
After dinner we talked through the days little dramas, then settled onto the sofa, turned on a film and slipped into a comfortable evening. Paul and Evelyn had been married for more than ten years. The early passion had mellowed into a warm, steady companionship. We ran a small family business together she dealt with suppliers, I handled sales and the finances. We lived in a nice flat in a tidy block, our house felt full. Children? Not yet on the agenda; neither of us was keen, perhaps when we neared forty.
A few weeks earlier Evelyn had rescued a scruffy, grey kitten shed found wandering the backstreets. I wasnt thrilled. Why did you bring home a stray? Take it to the shelter. If you want a cat, get a pedigree a Maine Coon is all the rage now, or at least a hairless one. This little thing is just a muppet. I grumbled. But Evelyn had already grown attached; she started calling the kitten Whiskers, and the cat became her little tail. I didnt like him, and he seemed to return the sentiment. Quietly I could give him a nudge, and in retaliation hed curl up on my trousers, shedding fur, clawing at my sweater.
One day I shouted, Im getting rid of this cat. Hes ruined my clothes. Evelyn snapped back, Dont fling your stuff about. Put it in the wardrobe. Whiskers doesnt like the mess. I muttered, Whiskers is a daft name, and the cat stared at me with his mysterious green eyes.
Thus began a yearlong standoff between me and the feline. Lately Whiskers mere presence irritated me; whenever I saw him, Id raise my voice, Whats he doing here? Hell cause trouble. Evelyn would calmly soothe, Paul, dont overreact. Hes just minding his own cat business. He isnt a menace to you. Id reply, Evelyn, hes driving me mad. Could you give him away? Shed say, I wont. Hes ours. By the end of the year Whiskers had grown into a handsome, fluffy cat.
One Saturday Evelyn decided to give the flat a thorough cleaning. I was off on a Thursday business trip to York, sorting out a few matters, so shed be alone until Sunday. She scrubbed the kitchen, dusted the rooms, and while she was tidying the wardrobe she noticed Whiskers pawing at something. What are you fiddling with, you little rascal? she asked, pulling a thin folder from the back of the cupboard.
Inside were receipts for hotel bookings, shortbreak holiday packages, pricey jewellery purchases, and airline tickets none of which belonged to Evelyn. There was also a contract for the sale of a car, but the seller was listed as a Natalie Id never heard of, and the payments were in my name. Evelyn flipped through the papers, spotting my handwritten notes on several of them. Id been in the habit of keeping receipts, often routing them through the company to mask the money. This was just another hidden stash.
Evelyn stared at the documents, feeling a knot tighten in her stomach. She wanted to crumple them, shout, call me immediately, but she held back. Whiskers brushed against her leg, leapt onto the folder, and purred a soothing, oddly wise tune. Youve seen it, and youve shown me, Evelyn whispered sadly to the cat. He nuzzled her hand, calming her.
She copied every receipt and document, then in the evening searched social media for the cars owner. She found a young woman posing beside a shiny red vehicle with the caption Gift from my love. The photo showed only a back view and the hands of a man I could recognise the hands as mine. It was clear: I had a mistress and was spending our joint money on her.
I returned on Sunday night, as usual with flowers in hand. Dont you ever greet your husband? I shouted cheerfully from the doorway.
Evelyn answered, Ive caught a cold, my head hurts badly. Her eyes were genuinely red. She ate her dinner, then retreated to a spare room. Should we call a doctor? I asked. No, Ill just lie here. Ive already taken the tablets, she replied.
I fell asleep on the couch, my phone abandoned on the kitchen counter. Later, feeling restless, I picked it up and flipped through the messages. Id never bothered to read my own texts, but this time I saw the chat threads, the SMS, the messenger logs. All my suspicions were confirmed. That night I sent my sunshine a text: Missing you already. Lets meet Tuesday.
On Monday Evelyn sent me off to work, claiming she was ill and would stay home to rest. She gathered the papers and visited a solicitor. She filed for divorce and a division of assets, without telling me a word. Im feeling terribly unwell, Ill be staying at the cottage for a while, she told my colleagues, driving to the countryside once a week, which she could manage from there.
The divorce papers hit me like a bolt of lightning on a clear day. I hadnt expected it at all. I rushed to her flat, breathless. What have you done? Weve been together for years. Ive always provided for you. She replied simply, Ive fallen out of love. See you in court, Paul. She said nothing about the mistress. When the receipts and expenses were presented in court, I was caught off guard. The judge asked, Defendant, did you really spend such sums on a lover? Did you buy her a car? I stammered, Yes, I did. My lawyer managed to secure an equal split of the business assets, a compensation for half the companys value, and also reclaimed half of the money Id spent on the mistress, since it came from the family pot. I didnt contest it.
In the end I kept the flat, Evelyn got the cottage and a sizable cash sum. The cars stayed where they were each of us kept our own. Before the divorce she had already shifted some of her supplier contacts to a new company, and she began her own venture from scratch, taking on both sales and finance herself. She and Whiskers now have a comfortable life, and her business is thriving.
Im left fuming, because my exwife is now a competitor a successful one at that. My bank account has shrunk dramatically, and the new lover isnt the kind of person you settle down with. Its one thing to go on dates, another to build a life. She never brought her new partner into the house; she just drifts in and out, leaving me with an empty flat and a lingering sense of loss.
