George spent the entire night at his mistresss flat. She lived on the fringes of Manchester, so it took him more than two hours to get therethree, if he was unlucky enough to hit the M60 at rush hour. But he looked forward to those evenings. They were like a mini-holiday from the monotony of home: no mortgage statements to fret about, no wife with a face that had grown softer (and waistline wider) over the years, and mercifully, no endless We need to have a talk conversations over stale tea.
With Amelia, it was all differentgiggling over wine, constant flattery, and the novelty of feeling wanted. She was twenty years his junior and looked at him with those wide, adoring eyessomething his wife hadnt done in ages, unless you counted the time he spilled curry on her new sofa.
That particular night, they got sufficiently carried away with their passions, losing all sense of time. When George finally checked his watch, his heart droppednearly four in the morning. He leapt out of bed, trying to pull on his clothes with the panicked co-ordination of someone attempting to herd cats.
Cant you stay a bit longer? Amelia asked, stretching and lazily clutching at the duvet.
I cant, lovemy wifell be home, he muttered, fumbling for his belt.
But you dont even fancy her anymore. Why rush home now?
By then, George was already sprinting for his keys, her words fading behind him as his anxiety cranked up several notches. He rehearsed excuses on the drive back: Work emergency? Got stuck on emails? Car broke down? Dog ate my schedule? Since Amelia came into his life, Georges lying had become so smooth, he couldve given politicians a run for their money.
When he pulled onto his street, dawn was just nudging the sky. He tiptoed into his home, tossed his coat onto the nearest chair, and kicked his shoes off in the hall. Yet rather than the usual chaosboiling kettle, telly blaringthere was an unsettling hush.
He paused. Something was amiss.
The bedroom door stood open. Oddhis wife, Margaret, was always militant about locking it at night, as if hoards of marauders were planning to steal her slippers. George crept closer, holding his breath. There, in the middle of the immaculately made bed, wasnot Margaret, but a note.
Hands trembling, he picked it up.
Ive known for ages. I kept quiet because I loved you. But Im finished now. Dont call me and dont try to find me. My solicitor will be in touch.
That was it. Not a single tear-stained confession. Not even the satisfaction of a guilt trip.
In a panic, George lunged for the safe fitted in the wardrobe. Password enteredalmost the right one on the third trydoor swung open.
Empty.
Gone was every penny of his savingsover a hundred thousand poundsvanished. Documents, cash, spare bank cards, all nicked.
George slumped on the edge of the bed, not quite believing hed been well and truly outfoxed. Only then did the horror finally click: Margaret hadnt just left. Shed planned every bit of it.
And for the first time in years, George realised that his night with Amelia had cost him a great deal more than he bargained for.
