**Betrayal**
Peter raised his 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, tears suddenly spilling over.
“Mum, whats wrong?” Her son appeared in the kitchen doorway, frowning. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she murmured, ashamed of her weakness. “Just a bit low, thats all. Missing the boys. Jonathan and Christine are at Grans.”
“No,” David said firmly. “You dont cry like that over a mood. And you talk to the boys every day on the phone. Im not a kid anymore, Mum. I know when somethings off.”
Rosemary looked at her sixteen-year-old, already taller than her, and the words spilled out before she could stop them:
“I think your fathers going to leave us.” At Davids stunned silence, she added, “Hes been lying to me. For months now…”
David froze. Hed expected work stress or a row with a friendnot this. His fists clenched, anger flaring. His mother noticed.
“David, dont. These things happen between adults. Your dads a good man, but even good men make mistakes.”
She didnt believe her own words. Part of her wanted to scream, to smash thingsyet here she was, telling their eldest to *forgive* him. Davids jaw tightened.
“Let him go then! Well manage without him. Whys he even still here?”
“Love, you say youre grown, but youre acting like a child. Everyone has a right to stumble, hasnt they? Your dad will realise this is just a fling. His family*us*were what really matters.”
“Mum,” Davids voice cracked, suddenly sounding younger, “how could he do this? Ill never respect him the same way again.”
“Itll work out,” Rosemary squeezed his hand. “Just dont tell your brothers, alright?”
“You neither,” David wiped his eyes. “They shouldnt lose faith in their big brother yet.”
She checked the clock. “Arent you late for football?”
David jerked up. “Blimey, I am!”
Alone, Rosemarys composure crumbled. Talking to David had steadied her, but nowaching and furiousshe sobbed into her hands.
*How could he throw away everything we built?*
When shed first met Peter, hed been a charmer, always surrounded by girls he called “little birds.” When Rosemary refused to be another, hed vowed, *”Why another? Youll be my only. For life.”*
And like a fool, shed believed him. Seventeen years, three children, joys and sorrowsand still, hed betrayed her.
It started six months ago. Maybe earlier, but shed missed the signs. His nephews weddingRosemary couldnt go, but shed urged Peter to attend. Later, scrolling through photos, she spotted a woman glued to his side. When shed joked about it, Peter had brushed it off: *”Her? Just the brides mate. Not even my type!”*
Shed believed him. The woman *wasnt* his usual type. But then came the odd callssilence, then hang-ups. *”Probably some girl pranking David,”* shed told Peter. The calls stopped, but only later did she connect the dots.
Other changes followed. Peter, a jeans-and-jumper bloke, suddenly wore suits and cologne. Late nights piled up. *”Critical project at work,”* hed explain. *”Once its done, well holiday wherever you fancyget you that fur coat, David that dirt bike.”*
Then weekend “work trips” started. Rosemary itched to find that woman, drag her by the hairbut she never dug deeper.
Six months of this turned her into a mess. Around others, she held it together; alone, she unraveled. Today, after talking to David, she resolved: *Ill confront him. Before resentment poisons the boys.*
But Peter beat her to it. He called, suggesting dinner. *”We need to talk. Without the kids listening.”*
Rosemary smiled bitterly. Of courseno scene in public.
At first, she vowed to go in her gardening clothes. Let him be embarrassed. Then, last-minute, she changed. *”No. Ill look my best. Let him see what hes losing.”*
The cabbie studied her in the mirror. At the drop-off, he said, *”Pretty thing like you shouldnt be so down. Chin upitll sort itself.”*
The kindness lifted her mood slightly. Entering the restaurant, she even managed a smile.
Peter stood, holding a rose. *Why, if hes leaving? A farewell gift?* The thought almost made her laughmorbid humour wasnt her style.
Dinner was small talk. Inside, Rosemary coiled tighter, bracing for the blow. Finally, she broke.
“Peter, you said we needed to discuss something.”
He nodded. *”Right. Short versionhowd you feel if we skip the holiday? No fur coat, no dirt bike.”*
She bracedbut he continued: *”Got nearly double pay today. ThoughtDavids sixteen now. Why not invest this? Buy him a flat by eighteen. His independence sorted. What dyou reckon?”*
Rosemary blinked. *”A flat? What flat?”*
*”Bloody hell, youve not heard a word! Lately, youre miles away. Whats going on?”*
Then *he* shouted. Outside, fury unleashed: *”Mad, are you? An affair? I explained the project! You never objectedI *bragged* about my understanding wife! And this is your understanding? Accusing me over *nothing*!”*
Walking home, she listened to his ranteach complaint music to her ears. At their doorstep, he finally calmed. *”Didnt I *once* say you were my only? Have I *ever* lied to you?”*
—
Davids day had been rubbish. His mums confession threw him offlate to training, a bollocking from the coach, then a row with a mate over nothing. Hed wandered, half-hoping for a fight to unleash his rage.
Returning home, he spotted themhis parents, kissing by the door. His mums coat was unmistakable. His blood boiled. *Cheating on her, and shes?* Fists clenched, he stormed forward.
“Ohson!” Peter looked sheepish. “We were just…”
…Well. Alls well that ends well, eh?
