After dropping my mistress off, I bid her a gentle and fond farewell before driving home. I lingered for a moment by the front door, turning over in my mind everything I might say to my wife. Then I climbed the stairs, inserted my key, and stepped inside.
Evening, I called out. Olivia, are you home?
I am, she replied coolly from the living room. Hello. Shall I get on with the pork chops, then?
I resolved there and then to act with absolute honestydecisive, direct, every inch the proper man! The time had come to put an end to my double life, while my mistresss kisses were still fresh on my lips, while daily life hadnt yet pulled me back under.
Olivia, I cleared my throat. Ive come to tell you that we need to separate.
She took the news unbearably calmly. Olivia has always been difficult to unsettle. Once upon a time, I used to tease her and call her The Ice Queen for it.
What do you mean? she asked, appearing in the kitchen doorway. Should I not bother with the pork chops?
Thats your call, I said, keeping my voice level. Make them if you fancy, dont if you dont. But Im leaving. For another woman.
Most wives would throw the frying pan at their husbands head at such an announcement. Or at least stage an almighty row. But Olivia wasnt most wives.
Honestly, what a palaver, she said flatly. By the way, did you pick up my boots from the cobbler?
Erno, I faltered. If its that important, Ill hop out now and fetch them!
She let out a weary sigh. Thats so like you, William. Send a fool for boots and hell come back with slippers.
Her words stung. Suddenly, my grand speech about ending our family fell flat. There were no tears, no passion, no thrown crockery. But then, The Ice Queen seldom melted.
Olivia, I dont think youre listening, I insisted. I am officially leaving you. For another woman. And all you care about is your boots!
And why not? she replied. You can waltz off wherever you like. Your boots arent at the cobblers. Nothing holding you back, is there?
Wed been together a long time, but I still couldnt tell when Olivia was joking and when not. Id first fallen for her calm, conflict-free manner and her sharp wit. Not to mention her excellent home-cooking andif Im honesther lovely figure.
Olivia was reliable, loyal and as cool-headed as an anchor in a gale. But now, my heart belonged elsewherewildly, wickedly, irresistibly! I had to draw a line under this marriage and start afresh.
So, Olivia, I said, aiming for gravitas and a tinge of sorrow. Thank you for all youve done for me. But Im leaving, because I love someone else. I dont love you.
Marvellous, said Olivia, unmoved. So the loves gone. My mother fancied the gardener, for what its worth. My dad loved his dominoes and his beer. Look how brilliantly I turned out despite them.
There was no point arguing with her; her words hit like dumbbells. Suddenly Id lost my energy for drama.
Youre brilliant, Olivia, honestly, I said, chuckling bitterly. But I do love this other woman. Wildly, wickedly, irresistibly. And I intend to go to her. Do you understand?
This other womanwho is it? my wife asked. Is it Charlotte Parker, perhaps?
I recoiled. A year earlier I had carried on a discreet affair with Charlotte, but never suspected Olivia knew her!
How do you? I started, then thought better of it. No, Olivia, it isnt Charlotte Parker.
Olivia stifled a yawn. Then perhaps Emily Burton? Are you off to see her?
A chill ran down my spine. Emily had once been my lover too, long ago. If Olivia knewwhy hadnt she said anything? But she was unshakeable; youd get nothing out of her.
No, its not Emily or Charlotte, I managed. This is someone truly magnificentthe woman of my dreams. I just cant live without her, and Im going. So please, dont try to stop me.
Well, I imagine its Maya Shaw, then, said Olivia, raising an eyebrow. Classic William. So secretive! The woman of your dreamsMaya Natalie Shaw. Thirty-five, one child, two terminated pregnancies, am I right?
I clutched my head in disbelief. Bulls-eye! It was indeed Maya.
But how? I stammered. Did someone tell you? Were you spying on us?
Olivia shrugged. Its elementary, William. Ive been a consultant gynaecologist for over twenty years. Ive examined every woman in this flipping town, while you, it seems, have only made a dent! Trust me, its clear enough where youve been, you muppet.
I pulled myself together. Lets say youve guessed right, I said stoutly. Suppose it is Maya. That changes nothing. I am leaving for her.
Oh, you silly man, Olivia sighed. You could at least ask my opinion! Honestly, Mayas nothing special. All the same as the rest, medically speaking. Have you ever seen her medical history?
N-no I admitted.
There you go! First, straight to the shower with you. Then tomorrow, Ill give Simon at the clinic a ringhell see you without any waiting around, said Olivia. After, well talk. Imagine! A gynaecologists husband unable to find himself a healthy woman.
What am I supposed to do? I asked helplessly.
Im off to cook the pork chops, said Olivia. You get yourself washed up, do as you please. And if you ever want a woman without any health complications, let me knowIll find you one myselfShe disappeared into the kitchen, not waiting for my answer, her footsteps brisk and unfazedlike thunder that never bothered to bring the rain. I stood there with my jaw slack, my grand declaration ringing hollow around me, stifled by the mingled scents of raw chops and cold indifference. I was uprooted, suspended between two livesone still simmering on the stove, the other raw and uncertain as a Sunday morning after a storm.
I wandered, dazed, into the hall mirror. There I was: Williamthe fool, the philandering husband, the slipper-fetcher. I tried to summon the excitement Id craved, the fire and passion that had driven me to this brink. But Olivias coolness had stripped my infatuation bare; suddenly the other woman seemed impossibly distant, just another story in a town where my wife had already read the ending.
From the kitchen came the sound of a pan heating, a faint sizzle as the first chop met hot oil. Olivia began to hum beneath her breathnot a love song, not a mournful ballad, but the same little tune she always used when making something ordinary and nourishing after a hard day. I listened for anger, for regret. There was nothing but music and the promise of dinner.
At last I hung up my coat, the moment as anticlimactic as a matinee curtain falling in an empty theatre. Tomorrow, I thought, I might call Maya, or perhaps Id let the phone rest quietly on the nightstand while I watched Olivia, carving quietly in the kitchen. I remembered the old joke about the man searching under the streetlamp for his keysnot where he lost them, but where the light was better.
And by the time Olivia called, Suppers ready, I realized Id never truly known the woman standing ten paces from me. The door remained unlocked. My boots, as she said, were nowhere to be found.
Yet I lingered, drawn in by the smell of pork and something elsesomething like forgiveness, or perhaps the simplest of invitations: to sit down, to eat, to admit Id been searching everywhere but home.
