Its said in my family that if you marry a very clever chap, hell never so much as look at another woman, hell always be loyal, and hell know a thing or two about love and looking after you. That was the gospel according to my mother and my grandmother, repeated so often it was practically the family motto. So, by the time Id reached what can only be described as a respectable age for marriage, I wouldnt have glanced at a man with questionable hobbies I couldnt see the point of even starting with that sort. Why bother?
Then, as it happens, I met Philip through some friends. Philip the proud owner of a technical degree, impressively brainy, with his sights firmly set on the future. Id finished university myself, true, as a literature major, but even so, Philip and I found plenty to talk about. Friendly chatter led to longer afternoons together, and I’ll admit I became utterly smitten with the man. He made me happy in ways Jane Austen would envy. After a year, when he popped the question, I said yes.
We settled into the poky little flat my grandmother had left me. Claustrophobic for a crowd, but perfectly cosy for two. Then pregnancy struck, we welcomed a son, and a year later, a daughter. Suddenly, there wasnt enough space or money, really for all of us. Philip threw himself into business ventures, while I stayed home wrangling children and offering moral support by the bucketful. We had some rough patches honestly, we were down to our last pound more than once but we soldiered on, convinced better days were on the horizon.
After several years of slog, one of Philips businesses finally took off. Life became downright comfortable. The children got into the best schools money could buy, and later, top-notch colleges. I could take up every hobby Id ever fancied. Philip, meanwhile, developed some interests of his own hiking trips with the lads and weekends away. I didnt mind; he was a stellar provider and had earnt his me-time. Our relationship was actually pretty good always love and respect, or so I thought. I genuinely believed wed cracked the code.
Never occurred to me everything could collapse overnight.
One weekend, Philip fell ill. Ambulance swept him off, and within hours, he was gone. Just like that as if hed been spirited away by some Dickensian plot twist. The children and I werent just heartbroken we soon faced a twist that would leave even Agatha Christie gobsmacked. Turned out, for five years, Philip had been carrying on with a woman young enough to be his daughter. Those lads holidays were, in fact, romantic getaways. And in true melodramatic form, hed left her absolutely everything the business, the house, the cottage in the Cotswolds, the car. All of it. The kids and I werent left so much as a tin of beans.
To say I was shocked doesnt quite cover it. How could he do this? How did he walk around for years knowing his own family might end up without so much as a roof? It baffles me. Now, honestly, I havent the faintest clue how to put one foot in front of the other.
