My husbands mistress was just stunning, honestly. If I were a man, Id probably have chosen her myself. You know those womentotally self-assured, with that unshakeable poise. They walk like they own the street, look you straight in the eye, quietly confident, never in a rush to flaunt anything or show too much skin to be noticed. Those women have a sort of silent grace; nothing seems to fluster them.
If Im being honest, Id have chosen her too, especially as shes everything Im not. See, Im the frazzled typeforever hurrying about, raising my voice with the kids and my husband, fumbling things, always running late. Work is a mess, my boss is perpetually unimpressed, and I live in jeans and a collection of old jumpers and t-shirts. Who has time to iron a dress or a blouse? I cant even remember the last time I bothered with all those frills and flounces. Thank goodness for our posh tumble dryer that practically presses the clothes for me, so I rarely have to bother with the iron.
But seriously, his mistress is something else. That figure, her posture, those legs, the gorgeous hair and eyesshe honestly leaves you breathless, though Ive barely breathed since I found out. Well, saw them. That day, I ended up over in the far east side of London for work and, hungry beyond belief, just dived into the first café I saw. Work was done, and my hunger wasnt going anywhere. The place was heaving, but I spotted a spot in the corner and sat down, glanced at the menu, and looked up. No mistakeit was my husband, even from the back. And there she was.
He was holding her hands and kissing her fingers. I remember thinking, How cliché for a grown man. Like some cringe-worthy romantic film. Still, you had to hand it to hershe was classically beautiful.
The feeling that washed over me was surreal, a bit like when you burn your hand: theres that split-second you notice a mark, brace for pain, and instinctively blow on it, hoping itll hurt less. I expected it to hurt, but I just felt empty inside. Nothing else.
My husband came home at his usual time, like clockwork. Hes always steady as they come. Its me who gets worked up at the slightest thing, always rushing and barking orders. Hes the classic laid-back, grounded blokefunny, too.
Right then I thought, I could really use his sense of humour. Shame mine wasnt doing me any favours just then.
All evening, I wanted to ask him, as neutrally as possible, So, hows your mistress going? Saw you both in that café earlier. Beautiful, really, cant blame you. I’d have struggled to resist, too. And then just watch him break out in a nervous sweat, trying to keep his cool.
I imagined myself carrying on: So, what now? Are you going to introduce her to the kids? Want me to move out, or is she coming here? At least tell me if shes got her own place?
Of course, I said nothing. He hugged me in bed like usual, pulled me close, and nodded off straight away.
I thought, maybe they havent even slept together yet. Crawling to my side of the bed, I had to laugh, though soundlessly. Here I am, thinking like a woman who’s just watched her husband cheating with her own eyes, yet still convincing everyone, including herself, that shes mistaken.
Maybe they havent yet, I told myself. Early daysjust that spark and connection. Hes playing the part well, thoughnot giving himself away at all.
I tossed and turned all night, dreamed vividly of huge flowers and women in red dresses that werent me.
Woke up with a head like a lead balloon, moving slowly through the house, quietly getting the kids ready for school. The question just played in my head all morning: what are you supposed to do, really, when you catch your husband out like that? Is there a guide on Google?
Google was useless. I didnt have any answers, myself. Carry on as normal?
Well, what choice do I have? Life looked exactly the samehusband home on time, no lipstick on his shirt, no strange whiffs of perfume, chaotic kids, same-old trip to the cinema on Sundays. Nothing had changed on the surface. The usual twice-a-week sex. Occasionally three if Im being precise.
Maybe I was wrong about who I saw in the café?
But no, I wasnt mistaken. I rang him at lunchtime and he didnt answer. So I jumped in a cab, went straight back to that same café, cooked up a story for the cabbie about a missed parcel from work. Sure enough, his car was there, parked right outside. They came out together, hopped into his car and drove off.
I went pale, asked the cabbie for a bit of water, pretended to ring someone, and loudly said into the phone, Right, forget it, Im fed up of waiting for your packageIm heading to the office! Like I cared what the cabbie thought!
When you find out your husbands got a mistress, it flips your whole world upside down. Divorce? Maybe. But how do you live otherwise? Just stick it out? Why, though? For what exactly?
I remembered a couple we know who went through something like this; the husband had an affair too. Covered his tracks as best he could, but his wife found out. Huge drama, he denied everythingeven when she had all the proof. Claimed hed been hacked, blamed jealous colleagues.
Back then, my husband had said, Id never lie like that. If you mess up, you admit it. You deal with the fallout, provide for your family if you leave. Lying just makes you look pathetic. I felt proud of him for that! Responsible man and all that.
Its easy to come up with solutions when its someone elses life, isnt it? But when youre the one in the middle of it, staring at your husband and his mistress together, all that courage and resolve go out the window.
So, I walked right over to their table in that café, sat myself down. His mistress looked up, totally shocked. My husband froze. Awkward silence. I honestly found it quite entertaining. The mistress seemed to work out who I was straight awayor maybe she already knew.
He tried to say something but I stopped him with my hand. This isnt what I think it is, right? Look, Im not shocked. These things happen. Just think through what youre going to do next; weve got kids, a shared home, elderly parents. Youre both cleversort it out.
I walked away, not rushing for once. My freshly ironed dress actually suited me. I really should wear it more often.
