The mistress of his husband was stunningso radiant that any man would have chosen her for himself.
You know the kind of women who know their own worth. They walk with poise, stare straight ahead, listen intently. Their movements are unhurried; they dont have to flash skin or shoulders to be seen. They sit like queens, calm, never panicking.
She would have picked her, tooan exact opposite of herself.
Because who was she? Perpetually rushing, snapping at the children and at James, dropping things from her hands, never finishing anything. Work was a mountain of files, the boss perpetually frowning. She spent her days in baggy trousers and sweatershirts, because ironing a blouse felt like a monumental task. Shed long forgotten the feel of smoothing ruffles; the new dryer in the hallway took care of the creases, leaving the iron almost unnecessary.
The other woman exuded luxury. Her figure, posture, legs, hair, eyes, faceevery detail was breathtaking.
She hadnt breathed easy since she first saw her. By chance, on a work trip to a suburb of Manchester, Emma slipped into the first café she could find for a quick bite. The job was done; hunger was not a polite guest. In the crowded eatery she claimed a solitary corner, opened the menu, and lifted her gaze. It wasnt a trick of lightshe recognized James from behind, and there, seated across from him, was the other woman.
He cradled her hands in his palms, kissing her fingertips. Disgusting, Emma thought. Your fingers smell of incense. Yet the woman was undeniably beautifulobjectively so.
Emma ordered soup and a salad, ate them without tasting, and lingered, waiting for them to leave. She feared being seen. The fear was pointlessJames was, at that moment, oblivious to anyone else.
A strange sensation settled over her, like the seconds after a burnseeing the red mark, knowing the pain will soon flood in, and trying desperately to fan the skin to ease the coming ache. It should have hurt, but inside her was a hollow void.
James returned on time, his mood even and good as always. He was the steady sanguine, measured, reliable, with a dry wit. Emma, forever in halfspeed, chased everyone, shouted at the kids, the husband, the world. He, a rock; she, a whirlwind.
She could have used his humour now; it didnt fit her situation. The whole evening she imagined him, deadpan, asking, Hows the mistress? after seeing her in Café N. Shes fine, hed say, Id be tempted, I admit. Shed watch beads of sweat form on his brow, his cheeks flush, as he strained to stay composed. Then shed add, So what now? Introduce the kids, make them like the new mum. And me? Where do I fit? Do I get a flat, or am I just an afterthought?
She said none of that. James slipped his arms around her in bed, pulled her close, and fell asleep.
Perhaps they werent even making love yet, she thought, sliding onto her side of the mattress and laughing silently. She felt like a woman caught in the act of betrayal, yet still insisting it was all imagination.
Maybe they were in the first stage: flirtation, breathless thoughts in sync. He was the hidden lover, silent, motionless.
She tossed in the bed, dreaming of vivid flowers and strangers in scarlet dresses. She awoke with a heavy head, moved slowly through the flat, calmly bundled the children for school.
All the while she wondered what to do. What do women usually do when their husbands are caught with mistresses? Google it? The search gave nothing, and she had no answers of her own. Keep living? Whats the point of trying? She already didsame routine, the punctual husband returning home without a trace of foreign perfume on his shirt, the perpetual chatter of the kids, Sunday trips to the cinema. No change in behaviour. Sex twice a week, sometimes three if she paid attention to the details.
Had she misidentified the woman in that distant café? No. She called James at lunch; he didnt answer. She hailed a black cab, raced back to the same café, concocting a story for the driver about waiting for a work parcel. Jamess car was parked opposite. He and the mistress stepped out together, climbed into his vehicle, and drove off.
Emmas face went ashen. She asked the driver for water, pretended to make a call, and shouted into the empty line, Damn you and your parcel! I cant wait any longerIm off to work! She cared little about the drivers opinion of her.
Knowing theres a mistress always shatters a life. Divorce? Probably. Endure? Why bother? Whats the point?
She recalled a friends husband who had an affair a few years back. He hid, covered his tracks, but his wife eventually uncovered the messages on his phone. He denied everything, blaming rivals, until the evidence was laid bare. He finally admitted, saying, I would never lie. If Ive caused this, Ill own up, leave, or provide for the family.
Shed once been proud of James for that honesty. Easy to judge from the outside, especially at a distance, with no responsibility to bear.
Now, standing in the middle of the drama, facing both wife and mistress, courage and steadiness fled her.
She walked to their table, slipped into the empty chair. The mistress lifted surprised eyes; James froze. Then he slumped onto his seat. Silence reigned. Emma found a twisted amusement in watching them.
The mistress instantly knew who Emma wasor perhaps she always had.
James tried to speak. Emma raised a hand, stopping him. This isnt what I imagined, is it? she said. Theres nothing shocking about this. It happens. But you need to think about how to sort it outchildren, shared flat, aging parents. Youre smart; youll manage.
She rose slowly, the freshly pressed dress hugging her figure. Shed been avoiding that dress for far too long.
