My wifes been seeing someone else, you know?
That ringing on my phone stayed in my ears all the way home, buzzing like an annoying fly you cant swat away with a slap or a shout. I was crammed in a stale train carriage, staring at the dark window where my own weary face stared back, feeling anger and doubt settle inside me like lead, clutching my throat with cold, hard fingers.
It all started on an unremarkable Friday thats since been stained in my memory with black grief. My brotherinlaw, Tom, a straightforward bloke, slipped a slowacting poison into my life with a single chat, and now, coming back, the world I once knew refuses to settle into its familiar, cherished shape.
When I got home I stood on the cool balcony of my flat, elbows on the rail, ready to go. My navy suit fit like a glove, the tie knotted perfectly, and two theatre tickets were tucked in the inner jacket pocket. A cigarette Id smoked in nervous anticipation was long ashfilled in the heavy glass ashtray, scattering ash that mirrored my current feelings. Inside, Emily was still in the bedroom, behind the closed door. I could hear the soft rustle of her dress and the light tread on the parquet. When she finally stepped into the doorway, illuminated by the warm glow of the crystal chandelier, I forgot everything for a heartbeatToms whisper, the gnawing worm of jealousy. She was as dazzling as ever. Losing her felt like choosing perpetual winter over sunshine.
Emily, were late, how long are you going to dawdle? I asked, the impatience in my voice edged with the bitterness Id been trying to hide.
She floated onto the balcony, that mischievous, familiar smile playing on her lips, the one that once drove me mad.
Look, Ben, your favourites, she chirped, eyes glittering with merriment.
Gracefully, almost like a ballerina, she slipped a slender leg out from beneath her evening dress, revealing delicate scarlet pumps on an impossibly thin heel.
I hid them in the back of the wardrobe, swore I wouldnt wear them until my main audience got home, she said, as if reading my dark thoughts, casting it like a protective charm, a promise of loyalty.
I watched her in silence, the memory of Toms uncertain, mumbling voice looping in my head.
Shes turned up there far too often the echo rang in my temples, blending with the citys din.
Later, behind the wheel of my car, the familiar grit of the steering wheel under my palm, I replayed that fateful conversation again. Tom, after the usual small talk about work, fell silent and then started spitting out vague, dragging sounds, each one slipping a sliver of my wifes nameEmilythrough like shards of glass.
Spill it, all of it! Dont leave me hanging! I snapped, weary of the agonising pauses that clearly hid something nasty.
Tom gathered his courage, as if leaping off a cliff into icy night water, and blurted out: Emilys been visiting that Simon fellow a lot. Simon, the bearded, longhaired guru of some trendy health movement and newage spiritual practices.
I laughed loudly into the handset, relieved to hear a voice I recognized.
Ah, that backyard philosopher! Hes got three kids he chases around like a hen on a frenzy, his house has a garden, a little farm Not our city hustle at all. You should keep an eye on your own wife, not someone elses!
Toms voice then dropped, hoarse, as he whispered, guiltladen:
My sister Lucy also went to his sessions for a while. Now she tells me Simons not what he seems. Hes been flirting with her, using some joint meditations, some guruish rituals Hes giving her obvious attention.
The raw honesty in his whisper made my bravado crumble. Long trips, an empty house when I wasnt there, my frequent absences That was the crack in what I thought was a solid world, letting a nasty worm of doubt crawl in.
Tom, gaining confidence, told me Emily sees Simon three or four times a week, as if it were a job. In all that time she never once visited her elderly mother who lives in the same town. And our son, now a regular guest in that incensefilled house.
His minds sharp, he knows psychology inside out, Tom pressed. I tried to speak to him, give a proper mantoman warning. He looked at me with those clever eyes, said things that made me feel ashamed of my rustic suspicions. Maybe its nothing, just gossip, but look how the women stare at himwideeyed, spellbound
How do they stare? I asked, feeling the solid ground beneath me give way, my heart trembling.
Ive given you all the facts I have, Tom said gravely. Ive already told my sister to stay home. You decide what to do with this. Ive done my part.
Paranoia, Tom, youve taken this seriously, I tried to deflect, making one last desperate attempt to set things straight. You think Emily and our son are going to his blackmagic sessions or some affair? You always look for a snag, see the worst in everything.
But that tiny, lethal parasite of doubt, seeded by that Fridays call, stayed alive. It hid deep inside, in the secret corners of my mind, and now, slowly but surely, it kept pricking me. I caught myself, as the city lights flickered over my wifes clear profile, thinking she was a stranger, an enigmatic beautiful woman I no longer trusted. In three days Id be away again
Stupid me, I muttered, feeling shame flush my cheeks. I leaned over and kissed Emily on the crown, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume. She answered with a warm brush of her lips against my cheek and nudged me toward the door.
Come on, open up! Lucy wont wait forever, she said.
Lucy and Tom were wrestling with the back of their old Ford sedan, hauling enormous wicker baskets piled high with rosy apples, the bounty of their own orcharda tradition the family always shared.
Youre taking ages to get downstairs, Lucy chided, handing me the tiniest, neatest basket meant for Emily. Cant you tear yourself away from your lovely?
She glanced at me, asking why Id returned from my assignment so early. I couldnt fully sort my tangled feelings. The earlier resentment, that fierce, selfinflicted hurt, was gone, but peace still eluded me. My emotions were a kaleidoscope, swirling like a tiny river caught in a whirlpool, unable to break free into calm water. One thing I now knew for certain: Toms accusations were baseless, born from my own jealous imagination.
With a nearanimal fear, I waited for the dreaded conversation about Simon to start again. Lucy, hoisting the biggest basket onto her hip, marched toward the entryway.
Alright, lads, get moving, dont linger! she called over her shoulder, her voice carrying that familiar commanding tone. Talk more, youll have time later.
The men stood in a heavy, awkward silence, each waiting for the other to speak. Then Tom slammed the boot shut with a thud and pulled a battered pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
Want a proper American smoke? he asked, leaning toward me with a feigned nonchalance. Got a whole unopened pack. One mate brought it back from a trip.
No thanks. Ive got my own, I replied dryly, pulling out my own pack.
By the way, Im feeling better. You know, about eightyfive percent of divorces are blamed on women, usually because of a simple affair Tom inhaled a long drag, letting the smoke curl into the cool evening air.
He fell silent, and I thought maybe Id finally get a breather. Yet, seizing the moment, he whispered more fragments about his rival, insisting on his own innocence while feeding me a steady stream of dark tidbits. He listed, in rehearsed fashion, every alleged sin of the imagined homewrecker, ending with what he considered the most damning evidence.
People have no conscience these days, Tom lamented, slapping his thighs, leaning in. Your Emily, that longhaired devil, rolls around the whole city in his car. In yours! And the worst partshe didnt mind taking little Milo along. Hes only two years old!
She took Milo for a massage, I managed through clenched teeth. He had a leg issue that wouldnt heal, and Simons a good bonesman for people like him.
A thick, oppressive silence fell over us, enough that even Tom, usually relentless, felt its weight. He kept gesturing, but his movements grew sluggish, as if shielding himself from an unseen threat.
In that quiet, I was back in the town of Kettleby, racing there out of jealous fury, and before I even reached my own house Id bolted to the outskirts, to the cottage of that Simon fellow. At the station, buying a ticket, I hadnt imagined any rash decisionI wanted to think clearly, not act on impulse. Yet once in the taxi, something like a devil tugged at my tongue; I blurted out the address of Simons place, gripping my house keys like a lifeline.
A tall, slim woman with tired but kind brown eyes opened the door. She smiled calmly and told me her husband wasnt home, and that when he returned, shed know nothing. He had left early that morning with a young mother to see a renowned healera specialist who couldnt fix their childs congenital dislocation. The woman sighed, a hint of sorrow in her voice, and said shed long ago given up on her husbands eccentricities. He was a softhearted, wellmeaning man, always ready to help, even if he sometimes neglected his own kids
Am I arguing with you? Tom finally retreated, his gaze heavy on me. You can say whatever you like, even if shes his lawful wife. Did you check all that? Did you check yourself?
I did, I said quietly, biting my lip as if tasting the bitterness of recent turmoil, then added with a deep, heartfelt tone: Its enough to make me want to punch you, Tom. Its enough to drive me mad.
Now youre cursing? Tom asked, halfassertive, halffearful, stepping back. Dont get angry, brother. Im just speaking the truth, as I see it What I saw, I told you. Now you see for yourself, and you can finally rest easy.
I gave no answer. I stood there, listening to the distant city hum, feeling the last tension drain from my body. I no longer regretted my recent, stormy, nervous adventure. Id lived these years in comfortable certainty, and suddenly it all proved fragile, ghostly, fleeting. All that I thought unshakable could shatter like glass and slip through my fingers like sand. This time, though, I got lucky. Thank God, I got lucky. Happiness will be mine now, even if it came at the price of a blackFriday of nerves, a bitter but vital lesson. I believe it.
