**A Hasty Farewell: A Carpark Goodbye and the Walk of Shame**
He stepped out of the car, kissed his mistress tenderly goodbye, and set off home. When he arrived, he lingered by the building for a moment, mentally rehearsing how to break the news to his wife. Up the stairs he went, fumbling with the key before finally unlocking the door.
“Hello,” called Oliver. “You in, Beatrice?”
“I am,” replied his wife, utterly indifferent. “Hello. Should I start frying the steaks?”
Oliver had promised himself hed be directbold and unwavering, like a proper Englishman! It was time to end this double life before his mistresss kisses lost their spark, before he was swallowed whole by the drudgery of domestic routine.
“Beatrice,” Oliver cleared his throat, “Ive come to tell you we need to part ways.”
Beatrice took the news with surprising calm. Shed always been unflappable, which was why Oliver affectionately called her “Frosty Bea.”
“Really?” Beatrice asked from the kitchen doorway. “So, no steaks then?”
“Your choice,” said Oliver. “Fry them if you like, or dont. Im leaving. Theres someone else.”
Most wives wouldve thrown a vase at this point. But Beatrice was not most wives.
“Oh, Oliver, ever the drama queen,” she sighed. “Did you pick up my boots from the cobblers?”
“No,” Oliver faltered. “If its that important, Ill fetch them right now!”
“Ah, Oliver,” Beatrice muttered. “Send a fool to fetch boots, and hell bring back the old ones.”
Oliver bristled. This separation announcement was not going as planned. Where was the emotion? The theatrics? But what did he expect from a woman nicknamed Frosty Bea?
“Beatrice, are you even listening?” Oliver cried. “Im leaving! For another woman, and all you care about are boots!”
“Right,” said Beatrice. “Unlike me, youre free to wander. Your boots arent at the cobblers. Nothings holding you back.”
Theyd been married for years, yet Oliver still couldnt tell if she was being serious or sarcastic. Back in the day, hed fallen for Beatrice precisely because of her steady natureher knack for dodging arguments and her economical use of words. Not to mention her domestic skills and undeniable charm.
She was solid, loyal, and ice-cold, like an anchor in a storm. But now, Oliver was in love with another. A burning, forbidden, intoxicating passion! It was time to dot the is and start a new life.
“Beatrice, Im grateful for everything, but Im leaving. I love someone else, not you.”
“Oh, shocker!” Beatrice scoffed. “You dont love me? My mother fancied the neighbour, my father loved dominoes and whisky. Look how I turned out.”
Oliver knew arguing with Beatrice was pointless. Every word was a dead weight. His resolve was crumbling, and he had no energy for a row.
“Youre brilliant, Beatrice,” Oliver said, resigned. “But Im madly, recklessly in love with someone else. Im going. Understand?”
“Someone else?” she asked. “Is it Emily Whitaker?”
Oliver recoiled. Hed had a fling with Emily a year ago, but he never thought Beatrice knew!
“How did you?” he began, then stopped. “Never mind. Its not her.”
Beatrice yawned.
“Then it must be Sophie Aldridge. Fancy shacking up with her?”
A chill ran down Olivers spine. Hed dallied with Sophie too, but that was ancient history. If Beatrice knew, why hadnt she said anything? Ah, rightiron-willed as ever.
“No, not Sophie or Emily. Its another woman, the love of my life. I cant live without her, and Im leaving. Dont try to stop me!”
“Must be Sarah then,” Beatrice muttered. “Oh, Oliver rubbish at keeping secrets, arent you? Your dream woman is Sarah Henshaw. Thirty-five, one child, two miscarriages Am I warm?”
Oliver clutched his head. Shed nailed it! He was indeed having an affair with Sarah Henshaw.
“But how did you know?” he stammered. “Did someone tell you? Were you spying?”
“Its simple, Oliver,” said Beatrice. “Im a gynaecologist. Ive examined nearly every woman in this town while youve only managed a handful. It didnt take much to catch you out.”
Oliver stiffened.
“Fine, youre right! Even if its Sarah, it changes nothing. Im going.”
“Youre daft, Oliver,” said Beatrice. “You couldve at least asked me first! Honestly, theres nothing special about Sarahsame as the others, and I say that as a doctor. Have you seen her medical history?”
“N-no” Oliver admitted.
“Right. Go shower. Tomorrow, Ill call Dr. Thompsonhell squeeze you in at the clinic, no waiting,” said Beatrice. “Then well talk. Honestly, a doctors husband picking such an irresponsible fling!”
“What should I do?” Oliver asked, deflated.
“Ill fry the steaks,” said Beatrice. “You go shower and do whatever you like. If youre after a perfect, problem-free muse, ask meIve got recommendations.”
