The other woman was breathtaking. If James were a man, he would have chosen her for himself.
You know the typewomen who know their worth. They walk with poise, meet your gaze headon, listen intently. Their movements are unhurried; they dont have to flash a neck or a back to command attention. They sit like queens, steady, never rattled.
Emily would have picked her too, as the exact opposite of herself.
Because what was Emily? Perpetually rushing, shouting at the kids and at James, dropping everything she touched, never catching up. Work piled up, the boss was never pleased. She lived in a tshirt and sweatpants, for who has time to press a blouse? Shed forgotten the feel of ironed pleats entirely. Fortunately, the newmodel tumble dryer smoothed every garment so well that the iron was almost obsolete.
The mistress, Charlotte, was immaculate. Her figure, posture, legs, hair, eyes, faceso flawless you could hardly breathe.
She hadnt breathed since the moment she saw him. Shed been on a job in the outskirts of Manchester, ducked into the first café she could find for a quick bite. The work was done, but hunger was relentless. In the crowded diner a lone corner opened up; she slipped in, scanned the menu, and thenno illusionshe recognized James from behind. Beside him sat his wife.
He cradled Charlottes hands in his palms, kissing each finger. Disgusting, Emily thought, like perfume on a prayer. Yet Charlotte was undeniably beautiful. Objectively beautiful.
Emily ordered soup and salad, ate without tasting, and lingered, waiting for them to leave. She feared being seen. It was pointlessJames was oblivious to anyone else at that instant.
A strange sensation settled over her, like the seconds after a burn when a red line lingers on the skin and you know pain is about to surge. In those moments you gasp, trying to blow away the heat, hoping to dull the ache. It should have hurt, but inside her was a hollow void.
James returned on time, his smile even, his mood as steady as ever. Emily was always the one sprinting, corralling everyone, while he was the calm, measured sanguine with a dry wit.
She could have used his humor now; it suited the situation like a glove to a hand. Instead, she imagined him asking, deadpan, Hows your other woman? Saw you at the Willow Tree Café earliershes lovely, isnt she? Id understand, Id be tempted too. She pictured the sweat beading on his brow, his cheeks flushing as he tried to keep his composure.
Shed have retorted, So what? Introduce the kids to a new motherwhere does that leave me? Do I get a flat, or do you bring me home? She said none of that. James slipped his arms around her in bed, pulled her close, and fell asleep.
Perhaps they werent having sex yet, she thought, sliding onto her side of the mattress and laughing silently. She felt like a woman betrayed right before her eyes, yet still insisting it was just a mistake. It was the first stageprelude, a shared breath, thoughts in sync. James was the hidden lover, his secret sealed without a word or a twitch.
She tossed in bed, slept in fragments, dreaming of vivid flowers and strangers in scarlet dresses. She awoke with a heavy head, moving slower than usual, gathering the children for school with a practiced calm.
All the while she wondered what to do. What do wives usually do when they catch their husbands with mistresses? Google it? The internet offered no answers, and she had none of her own. Should she try to move on? She already wassame routine, husband home at the usual hour, no lipstick on his shirt, no foreign perfume lingering, children bounding about, Sunday trips to the cinema. No change in behavior. The same twiceaweek intimacy, occasionally a third if she paid attention to the small details.
Had she simply mistaken the café in the farflung suburb? No. She called James at lunch; he didnt answer. She hailed a cab, raced back to the same café, fabricated a story for the driver about waiting for a parcel for work. Jamess car was parked opposite. He and Charlotte emerged together, slipped into the vehicle, and drove off.
Emilys face turned pale. She asked the driver for water, pretended to make a call, and shouted into the empty line, Forget you and your parcel! Im off to work! She didnt care what the driver thought.
Knowing a lover exists can upend a life. Divorce? Probably. But how else to live? Tolerate it? Why? For what? She recalled a friends husband who had an affair. He hid, denied, until proofuncut messagespinned him to the wall. He claimed sabotage, rivals. Then his wife said, Id never lie. If youve done this, own up. End it if you love your family, or leave and provide for them. Shed admired his honesty, his responsibility.
Its easy to solve someone elses drama from a distance, especially when you bear no accountability. When youre in the thick of it, staring at both wife and mistress, courage evaporates in an instant.
Emily stormed back to the table, sat in the free chair. Charlotte lifted surprised eyes; James froze, then slumped into his seat. Silence hung. Emily found a dark humor in watching them. Charlotte instantly knew who she was dealing withperhaps shed even guessed.
James opened his mouth, but Emily raised a hand. Thats not what I thought, is it? She said, Nothing here is shocking. It happens. But think about sorting this outour kids, the flat we share, elderly parents. Youre clever; youll manage.
She rose calmly, her freshly pressed dress swaying. She hadnt worn it in ages, but it fit her perfectly as she walked out.
