My husbands mistress was stunning, really. Honestly, if I were a man, I probably would have chosen her myself.
You know the typethose women who know their worth. They walk with their heads held high, meet your eye unflinchingly, and really listen when you speak. Their movements are calm, never hurried or flustered. They dont need to flash skin to draw attention; theyve got a quiet, regal confidence and never seem rattled.
And she, well, she was the complete opposite of me, which made sense, really. If I had to pick someone, perhaps Id pick someone so very different from myself.
Because what am I like? Always rushing around, barking at the kids and at Benmy husbanddropping things, never on time, forever drowning in work, my boss breathing down my neck. I live in jeans and jumpers, because lets be real, ironing a dress or a blouse is a mission and a half. Ive barely touched anything frilly or ruffled in ages. Thank heavens for the latest tumble dryer; it practically smooths out the clothes for me, so I hardly need an iron at all.
But his mistressmy word, she was gorgeous. Figure, posture, legs, hair, eyes, faceshe was almost breathtaking.
And honestly, I’ve been out of breath ever since I found out. Or saw it, really. It happened by chance, when I had a work errand in a far-off corner of London. I popped into the nearest café for a bite. The job was finished, and my stomach was rumbling. Managed to find a free seat in a packed little place, sat down, grabbed a menu, and looked upand there he was. Id have known the shape of my own husbands back anywhere. And there she was, with him.
He was holding her hands in his, kissing her fingers of all things. I thought, good grief, how cornysomething out of an old romantic film. But even then, I couldnt help but notice how lovely she was. Objectively striking.
It felt odd, really. Like getting a burnyou see the red mark on your skin, know the pain is coming, and those few seconds beforehand are thick with dread. You almost start blowing on your skin, bracing yourself for the sting that hasnt kicked in yet.
It should have hurt. But inside, I felt nothing. Just empty.
Ben came home on time, as always. Hes always been so calm, in good spirits. Im the one always rushing, wound up, pushing everyone along. But Benhes your classic optimist: steady, grounded, with a wicked sense of humour.
His sense of humour would have come in handy right now, but mine just didnt quite fit this situation.
All evening, I had to fight the urge to just blurt it out, completely deadpan: So, hows your mistress? Ran into you two at the café today, shes quite something, isnt she? I get it, really. Id probably do the same.
And then just watch the sweat bead on his forehead while he tries to keep his cool, going all red. I almost wanted it.
I couldve kept it going: So what now? Introduce her to the children, maybe? Might as well get them used to their new step-mum. And mewhats the plan? Is she bringing her own place or moving in with us?
Of course, I said none of it. Ben hugged me in bed, pulled me close, and was fast asleep in moments.
Maybe nothing physical has happenedyet, I thought, sliding over to my side of the bed. And, honestly, that thought made me silently laugh. Here I am, thinking like a woman who’s quite literally seen the evidence, but telling everyone else its nothing.
Maybe nothings happened between them at all. Maybe its still just attraction, emotional connection, meeting of minds and hopes. But Bens goodhes practically a secret agent. Not one word or sign.
I tossed and turned all night, dreams full of wild flowers and unfamiliar women in red dresses.
Woke up with a heavy head, moving slower than usual, but got the kids ready for school without a fuss.
All the while, my mind was racingwhat should I actually do now? What do English women do when they catch their husbands out like this? Should I Google it?
Google was no help. And I didnt have any answers myself. Try to just keep going?
But what else is my option? I am keeping going. Life rolls on as it always hasthe same routines, Ben coming home on time, no lipstick smears, no strange perfume, kids dashing about, Sunday film trips. No changes, nothing at all. Even the same sex, faithfully twice a week. Three, if Im counting properly.
Maybe I was wrong at the café.
But I wasnt. Called Ben at lunchtimehe didnt pick up. So I grabbed a cab, headed right back to that café. Sat in the back, made up some work excuse for the driver about waiting for a parcel. Bens car was parked right opposite. He and his mistress walked out together, got into his car, and drove off.
I went pale, asked the driver for some water, and pretended to phone someone, shouting into my mobile: Oh, forget it! I cant wait for your package any longerIm heading back to the office now!
Funny how I still cared what the cabbie thought of me.
Knowing about the mistress shifts your world, turns everything upside down. Divorce? Maybe, probably. Whats the alternative? Pretend nothing happened? But why?
I remembered a few years ago, when a family we know went through this. The husband tried to hide it, but his wife somehow found out. Big row, loads of evidence, and still he denied itclaimed hackers, jealous rivals, the works.
And Ben said back then, all firm and righteous: Id never lie like that. Its pathetic. If youre caught out, confess. If you care about your family, finish it. Or, if not, leave and provide for everyone, like a man should. I was dead proud of him. What a stand-up bloke, I thought.
So easy to say when its not you, from the outside, at a safe distanceno skin in the game.
But right in the middle of it? When you can see both your wife and your mistress sitting across from you? All that courage evaporates in a flash.
I walked up to their table at the café and sat down. His mistress looked up in surprise. Ben froze, then started shifting in his seat, deeply uncomfortable. No one spoke. Watching them was almost entertaining. I think she knew who I was. Maybe shed always known.
Ben tried to say something, but I stopped him with a raised hand: Lets be honest, this is probably exactly what it looks like, right? Theres nothing shocking about this. These things happen. But now youll have to figure out what to do. There are kids to think about, weve got the house between us, and both sets of parents getting on in years. Youre clever, youll work it out.
And with that, I stood up, took my time, and walked out. That freshly ironed dress actually suited me. Pity I didnt wear it more often.
