They say that if you marry a remarkably clever man, hell never cheat on you, hell be endlessly devoted, and hell know the meaning of love and care. Thats what my mother and grandmother never stopped telling me. So, reaching what most would politely call a mature age, I never once considered settling down with a man whose hobbies were anything more suspicious than collecting postage stampswhy bother, really? Then, as fate would have it (and isnt fate always up to something?), I was introduced to Philip at a mutual friends garden party. Philip was a sharp chap, a graduate of some notable technical institution, all goals and drive.
As for me, Id been to university too, though I emerged a card-carrying member of the philology brigade. Despite our different backgrounds, conversation flowed as easily as the rosé. We started spending time together, chatting away, and I found myself properly taken with him. A year on, he got down on one knee (in classic English drizzle, no less) and proposed. I said yes. We set up camp in the modest one-bedroom flat my gran had left mea perfectly pleasant shoebox, as long as it was just the two of us.
Then came a baby boy, and a year later, a baby girl. If the flat felt cosy before, now it was practically a sardine tin. Money was as tight as Philips old school tie. Thats when Philip dove into the world of business. Meanwhile, I was at home, an unpaid expert in childcare, always in his corner. There were times when our bank account was as empty as a pub before opening timewe were truly down to our last penny. Still, hope wouldnt budge, and we kept believing wed make it in the end.
After a few years of knuckling down, our little business began to flourish. Life turned sunny. Our kids went off to the best schools, then on to the next big thing. Suddenly I had time for gardening, pottery, yoga, you name it. Philip had his own interestsman weekends hiking in the Lake District with his mates and golf trips that, frankly, hurt no one. I didnt mind; as provider-in-chief hed certainly earned a bit of leisure. Love and respect remained the bedrock of our marriage. In short, things were rosy. Never in my wildest nightmares did I imagine itd all turn on its head in a flash.
One weekend, Philip came down with something nasty. The ambulance whisked him off, and within hours, he waspoofgone. Vanished. It was as if hed disappeared into thin air. Grieving his loss was torment enoughbut as if that wasnt sufficient, another cruel surprise awaited. It turned out that for the past five years, Philip had been carrying on with a young woman young enough to be our daughter. Thats where his golf retreats had led. And he left every last thing to her: business, house, the cottage in Cornwall, even the car. The lot. The kids and I were left with nothing but the Queens tears and our shock.
To say Im reeling doesnt begin to cover it. How could he do such a thing? How could he walk the earth knowing his own family would soon be without shelter or a penny to our names? I havent the faintest idea how Im meant to carry on from here.
