Who Has Been Sleeping in My Bed and Messed It Up A Story
My husbands mistress was only a little older than our daughterround, childlike cheeks, innocent eyes, and a nose ring (which hed forbidden our own daughter, Charlotte, to get, scolding her terribly when she asked). It was impossible to feel angry at herEmily looked at the girls pale bare legs, her cropped jacket, and she wanted to say something biting: If you plan on having children with that idiot, invest in a proper coat and wear tights under your jeans. Of course, she didnt say anything. Emily simply handed the keys to Amy, grabbed two bags with the last of her things, and walked to the bus stop.
Mrs Palmer, whats that thing under the kitchen counter? shouted Amy after her. Is it for storing dishes?
Unable to resist, Emily threw back:
I usually hid the bodies of Georges mistresses there, but you can wash plates in it if you like.
Not waiting for an answer, nor looking at Amys startled face, Emily, satisfied with herself, went down the stairs. Well, that was thattwenty years down the drain, it seemed.
It was our daughter who first discovered Georges affair. Shed skipped her lessons at school, came home thinking the place would be empty, and found a young nymph sipping cocoa from her favourite mug. Considering the nymph wore little more than underwear and Dad was making noise in the shower, clever Charlotte put two and two together and called Emily:
Mum, I think Dads got a girlfriend, and shes wearing my slippers and drinking from my mug!
Just like in a fairy tale, Emily thought, recalling how Charlotte was more upset by someone handling her things than by her fathers betrayal. Whos been sleeping in my bed and crumpled it
Emily took it all much more quietly than her daughter. Her pride was wounded, naturallythe girl was so young and pretty, while Emily herself was fighting middle age and its marks. But at the same time, she felt reliefall those years of mysterious midnight calls, erratic work hours, receipts from cafés her husband never took her to Emily had never caught him red-handed; George always covered his tracks, leaving Emily feeling guilty for even suspecting him.
This is the first time, George lied shamelessly. Some sort of eclipse, like a meteor landed on my head.
The meteor turned out to be a hotel worker where George stayed on a business trip. She was twenty and, aside from a pretty face, had little else to offer. Not much in the brains department either, apparently, since shed followed George to London, renting a grubby room with her savings. So their rendezvous were always at the flatthere she could shower, wash her clothes. Emily wondered why her washing machine always defaulted to quick cycles instead of the usual mixed fabrics!
The flat belonged to Georgeleft to him by his father before their marriage. Since Emily decided to file for divorce, she and Charlotte had to move back to Emilys own flat on the outskirts of London, her grandmothers old place. Charlotte protestedhow would she get to school?
Well, come live with us then, George said, and received a round of insults. At least their daughter could speak her mind.
It wasnt easy at firstnew bus routes, new shops, a trek to work and school taking an hour each way. But they adapted. Emily eventually found new work, and Charlotte got into a college that was half the distance away. There was no time for sadnessbetween house repairs and final exams, they hardly paused. And once the struggle eased, neither really wanted to mope.
Amy called Emily a few timesasking how to bake pies in the oven, where to put the tablet in the dishwasher. Once she even visited, bringing forgotten photos Emily needed for Charlottes graduation. George couldntor wouldntbring them himself; Emily was home with a cold, and Charlotte flatly refused to step foot in the old flat, certain it would send her mental health over the edge, and she still had her computing exam to worry about.
Very cosy here Amy ventured, glancing at the faded wallpaper and old-fashioned lamps.
Emily just smiledthe place was cosy, yes, what else could she say? As for the flat Amy now hadmodern and convenient. Emily had spent twenty years making it so. Well, let them enjoy it.
That visit would come back to haunt hera year after that memorable day, one evening, the doorbell rang.
Is it for you? Emily asked Charlotte.
Her daughter just stared.
On the doorstep was Amytearful, mascara streaked down her cheeks, clutching a sports bag.
Has something happened to George? Emily asked, worried.
Oh yes! sniffled Amy. I caught him with his secretary! I thought Id surprise him since he was working late, and
She broke down again, sobbing childishly into her hands.
So what are you after? Emily asked, eyeing the bulging sports bag and guessing her meaning.
Can I stay the night? Ive got no money left. Tomorrow Ill go to my mums by train.
Howll you get there if youve no money?
I was hoping you might lend me some.
Emily didnt know whether to laugh or cry.
Charlotte decided for her.
Get out! she snapped, adding a few choice words shed never used before in front of Emily.
Emily frowned at her daughter.
Come in, Amy, she said instead. Its lateyou cant sleep on the street.
Then it got tricky.
Charlotte was so cross she declared, Its her or me. Emily shruggedher daughter was an adult, she could decide. Go to your fathers if you want.
I dont need your father! Im going to Natalies!
So Emily called her daughter a cab to stay at her friends for the night, then made tea and tried to calm Amy, who, after a year in London, had made no friends or found a jobjust a new piercing in her tongue. Emily lent Amy the moneywhat else could she do? She certainly didnt want her living there long-term. She even took her to the train station to make sure she wouldnt get lost.
Amy thanked her profusely, apologising and vowing to start overto study and steer clear of married men.
Mum always said I was hopeless. Turns out she was right.
Emily didnt wave her onto the train. That was unnecessary. She and Charlotte made up quickly, though her daughter still couldnt understandwhy would her mum let that homewrecker into their flat? Emily stroked her daughters soft hair, smiled gently, and said,
One day, youll understand.
George rang a week later. He said hed seen the error of his ways, left Amy, and was ready for a joyful reunion.
Run out of clean shirts? Emily asked tartly.
Well, actually, yes, sighed her ex. She doesnt know how to wash. Ive been wearing stained ones for a year.
Of course, Emily didnt go back. She didnt even gloat. But the truth washer outlook had changed completely: there was a new lightness in her heart and mind, a smile more often gracing her lips. She adopted a dog and enjoyed evening walks. She met a kind neighbour, ten years her seniornot that it mattered; Emily wasnt a girl anymore herself. Life carried on, with its daily joys and small adventures.
And as Emily learned, even after years lost to disappointment, there is always space for new beginnings, for kindness, and for choosing forgivenessfirst and foremost, for yourself.
