Betrayal
Peter raised a hand in farewell:
“Right then, Rosemary, I’m off! Ill transfer the money to Mum, dont worry.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and Rosemary slumped onto the stool, suddenly bursting into tears.
“Mum, whats wrong?” Her son appeared in the kitchen doorway. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Rosemary was ashamed of her weakness. “Just a bit down, thats all. And I miss the boys.” (Jonathan and Christina were at their grans for the holidays.)
“No,” said Dominic firmly. “People dont cry like that over a bad mood, and you talk to the lads every day. Im not a kid anymore, Mum. I know when somethings up.”
Rosemary looked at her sixteen-year-old, already taller than her, and blurted out what shed barely admitted to herself:
“I think your dads about to leave us.” At his stunned silence, she added, “Hes been lying to me. For at least six months…”
Dominic didnt know how to react. Hed expected work stress or a row with a friendnot this. His dad? How? Rage surged, and his mother saw it.
“Dominic, dont. These things happen between adultsyoull understand one day. Hes a good man, but… hearts are slippery things.”
Even as she said it, Rosemary didnt believe herself. She wanted to scream, smash thingsyet here she was, telling her eldest to forgive and understand! Dominic clenched his fists.
“Let him go then! Well manage. Whys he still swanning about here like hes committed?”
“Love, you say youre grown, but youre acting childish. People make mistakes, dont they? Your dadll realise this is just a fling. Were his real family”
“Mum,” Dominics voice cracked. “How could he? Ill never respect him the same.”
“Itll sort itself out,” she patted his hand. “Just dont tell your brothers, alright?”
“You either,” he wiped his eyes. “They shouldnt lose faith in their infallible big brother.”
Rosemary checked the clock.
“Arent you late for football?”
Dominic sprang up.
“Blimey! Im knackered!”
Alone, Rosemary sank into thought. Talking to Dominic had numbed the pain, but solitude brought it crashing back.
“How could he throw away everything we had?”
When theyd met, Peter was reckless, surrounded by women he called his “little sparrows.” When Rosemary said she wouldnt be another, hed sworn, “You wont be another. Youll be the only one.” And shed believed him, the fool. Seventeen years, three kids, “hardship and happiness”yet hed still strayed.
It began six months ago. Or had she missed earlier signs? At his nephews wedding, shed spotted a woman glued to Peter in the photos. When shed mentioned it, hed laughed.
“Who? Oh, the brides mate. No idea why she latched onto menot my type, love. Jealous, are we?”
Shed believed him. The woman *wasnt* his typeshe knew that! But then came odd calls, silences on the line.
“Some woman keeps breathing into the phone,” shed told Peter. “Dominics admirers, I suppose.”
The calls stoppedbut she didnt connect it to their chat. Not until Peter, a jeans-and-jumper bloke, started wearing suits and expensive cologne instead of budget aftershave. Then the “late nights at the office” piled up.
“Strategic project, love!” hed said brightly. “Once its doneholidays! That fur coat you fancied, a quad bike for Dom… Worth the wait, eh?”
Soon, he vanished on weekends too. One minute packing for a camping trip, next
“Sorry, love, work called. Deadlines mad…”
Rosemary itched to find that woman, drag her by the hairbut she refused to stalk her, clinging to dignity.
Six months of this left her frayed. Around others, she held it together; alone, she crumbled. Today, after talking to Dominic, she resolved:
“We need to talk. Before he starts hating his dad.”
But Peter beat her to it. He rang, inviting her to dinner.
“We need to chat. Without the kids.”
Rosemary smirked bitterly. Of courseno scene in public.
At first, shed planned to go in her gardening clothes, humiliate him. Then, last-minute, she changed her mind.
“Ill look smashing. Let him see what hes losing.”
The cabbie eyed her in the mirror. As she paid, he said, “Pretty thing like you shouldnt be sad. Chin upitll sort itself.”
The unexpected kindness lifted her mood. Entering the restaurant smiling, she frozePeter held a rose. Why, if he was leaving? A farewell bouquet? She almost laughed at the melodramatic thought.
They made small talk over dinner. Inside, Rosemary braced for impact. Finally, she snapped.
“You said we needed to talk.”
Peter nodded.
“Right. Short versionhowd you feel if we skip holidays, forget the fur coat and quad bike?”
She braced for the blowbut he continued.
“Got nearly double pay today. ThoughtDoms sixteen, soon off on his own. Why not buy him a flat? By eighteen, itd be his. Smart, no?”
Rosemary blinked.
“A flat? What?”
“Christ, love, youve been miles away lately. Whats up?”
Then Peter shouted. In the car park, restraint gone.
“Have you lost the plot? What affair? I explainedbig project, long hours! Ive bragged about my understanding wife, and here youve painted me a cheating rotter!”
Walking home, Rosemary beamed through his tirade. Every grumble was music now. At their door, Peter finally sighed.
“Didnt I promise you were my one and only? Have I *ever* lied to you?”
—
Dominics day had been rubbish. His mums confession threw him offlate to training, chewed out by the coach, then a row with his mate over nothing. Hed wandered for hours, itching for a fight to vent his rage (though starting one felt wrong).
Returning home, he spotted a couple kissingrecognised his mums coat. His blood boiled. Accusing *Dad* of betrayal, then? Fists clenched, he stormed over.
“Oh, son,” Peter looked sheepish. “We were just”
…Well. Alls well that ends well, eh?
