Is Your Wife Being Unfaithful? Do You Know?

You know, the phone kept buzzing in my head all the way home, like a stubborn mosquito you just cant swat away. I was in that cramped train carriage, staring out the dark window at my own tired face reflected back, and a heavy, leadweight anger and doubt clawed at my throat.

It all started on an ordinary Friday thats stuck in my memory like a black cloud. My mate Vince, a straighttalking bloke, slipped a slowacting poison into my life with one casual chat, and ever since Ive been coming back to a world that just wont fall back into its comfortable shape.

When I finally got back, I was leaning on the balcony of my flat, elbows on the railings, dressed in a navy suit that fit like a glove, tie knotted just right, and two theatre tickets tucked in my jacket pocket. The cigarette Id smoked while waiting had long since gone cold in the big glass ashtray, scattering ash that felt a lot like the mood I was in. Inside, Ivy was still in the bedroom, the door shut. I could hear the soft rustle of her dress, her light steps on the parquet. When she finally appeared in the doorway, lit by the warm glow of the crystal chandelier, I forgot everything Vinces harsh whisper, the gnawing jealousy. She was as stunning as ever. Losing her would be like walking out of the sunshine into an endless winter.

Love, were running late, how many times do we have to dawdle? I said, trying not to sound impatient, but a hidden bitterness slipped through.

She slipped onto the balcony, that mischievous smile of hers plastered on her lips, the one that used to drive me mad.

Look, James, my favourite, she chirped, her eyes sparkling.

She lifted a leg from beneath her evening dress, showing off the delicate crimson pumps perched on a barelyvisible heel.

I hid them in the back of the wardrobe, swore I wouldnt wear them until my biggest fan came home, she added, as if reading my dark thoughts, casting it like a protective spell, a promise of loyalty.

I stared at her, the words of Vince looping in my head like a scratched record. Shes been showing up there way too often echoed in my ears, blending with the citys hum.

Later, sitting behind the wheel of my old Ford, the familiar gritty feel of the steering wheel under my palms, I replayed that fateful conversation. Vince, after some pointless small talk about work, fell silent, then started spitting out jumbled sounds, each one laced with the name Ivy like a shard of glass.

Just spill it, dont beat around the bush! Id snapped then, fed up with the endless pauses that felt like something awful hiding behind them.

Vince, gathering his courage like someone jumping into icy night water, blurted out: his wife had been popping over to see Graham, that bearded, longhaired wellness guru whos always talking about newage stuff.

I laughed, the sound ringing in the handset. I know that backyard philosopher! Hes got three kids, chases after them like a hen on a mission, lives in a cottage with a garden and a proper farm. Thats not our city hustle. Youd better keep an eye on your own missus instead of poking around other peoples business!

But Vince, sounding crushed, whispered, My Lizzie, the daft one, also went to his sessions for a while. Now she tells me Grahams not as simple as he seems. Hes been flirting with her after those meditation circles, doing all those fancy practices. Hes giving her obvious signs of interest.

There was a raw, honest panic in his voice that made my bravado melt away. Long trips, an empty house, my frequent absences theyd all opened a little crack in my supposedly solid world, letting a nasty worm of doubt crawl in.

Vince, now more confident, told me Ivy was at Grahams three or four times a week, as if it were a job. In all that time she hadnt even stopped by her elderly mothers flat in the same town. Their son, now, was a regular guest in that incensefilled house.

My minds sharp, I hear you, Vince pressed. I tried to have a mantoman talk with him, warn him off. He looked at me with those smart eyes, said some clever stuff, and I felt almost ashamed of my peasant suspicions. Maybe its nothing, just gossip, but look how the ladies stare at himmouths open, like theyre under a spell

How do they stare? I asked, feeling the ground slip from under me, my heart thudding with a painful tremor.

I gave you all the facts I have, he said, his tone heavy like a verdict. Ive already told my sister to stay home. Its up to you now, mate, what you do with this. Ive done my part.

Paranoia, Vince, you really got me, I muttered, trying one last desperate push to bring things back to normal. So you think Ivy and the kid are off to blackmagic séances or some fling? You always see the worst in everything.

But that tiny, deadly parasite of doubt, planted by that Fridays call, stayed alive. It lurked deep down, in the hidden corners of my mind, slowly nibbling at me with a poisonous sting. Now, stealing a glance at my wifes clear profile under the flickering city lights, I felt a chill was I looking at a stranger, a mysterious beauty I no longer trusted? And in three days Id have to head out again

Stupid me, I thought, the heat of shame burning my cheeks. I leaned over and kissed Ivy on the top of her head, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume. She answered with a soft kiss on my cheek and nudged me toward the door.

Come on, open up! Lucy doesnt like waiting too long.

Lucy and Vince were wrestling with the back of their battered sedan, trying to pull out huge wicker baskets brimming with rosy apples from the orchard. The autumn harvest was a family tradition, the fruit from their own Sussex plot, always shared with relatives.

Youre taking forever, Lucy chided, handing me the tiniest basket, clearly meant for Ivy. Cant tear yourself away from your pretty lady?

She gave me a quick, searching look, asking why Id returned from the work trip so early. I couldnt quite sort my tangled feelings. The old anger, that selfignited resentment, was gone, but calm hadnt fully settled either. It was a messy swirl of emotions, like a tiny boat caught in a sudden whirlpool, spinning helplessly in dark water, struggling to reach clear, calm currents. One thing was crystal clear now: Vinces accusations were baseless, born from my own jealous imagination.

With a halfanimal fear, I waited for the inevitable chat about Graham, remembering how Ivys sister, Lucy, had once tried to rope Vince in. Lucy hefted the biggest basket onto her hip and headed for the entrance.

Alright, folks, lets get moving, dont linger! she called over her shoulder, her voice carrying that familiar, commanding tone. Talk later, if youve got time.

The men stood in a heavy silence, each waiting for the other to break it. Vince slammed the boot shut with a bang, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

Wanna try some proper American ones? he asked, flashing a forced grin. Got a fresh pack from a colleagues trip.

No thanks, Ive got my own, I snapped, pulling out mine.

By the way, Im a good lad, you know, Vince puffed, exhaling a cloud into the cool evening air. Did you ever hear that eightyfive percent of divorces are blamed on women? Usually because of a simple cheat

He fell silent, and I thought maybe Id finally get a breather. Yet, he kept whispering bits of gossip into my ear, trying to convince me he was completely uninvolved in the poisonous seeds hed planted. His voice was confident, his list of alleged sins of the potential other woman stretched on, but he lingered on the one thing he found most shocking.

Honestly, Vince went on, slapping his thighs dramatically, your Ivy was seen in a car with that longbearded devil all over town. In your own car! And she wasnt shy about taking little Misha with her. The kids only two!

She took Misha to a massage, I managed through clenched teeth. He had a foot problem, and Grahams a good osteopath, one of those healthnuts.

A heavy, thick silence fell over us. Even Vince, usually the loudest, felt its weight. He gestured wildly, but his movements were now muted, as if shielding himself from an invisible threat.

In that quiet, I remembered the day Id rushed back to my hometown, driven by jealousy, and without even stopping at my flat, I’d bolted for the outskirts, to a place called Kettlebrook. There, nestled among overgrown, almost magical gardens, was Grahams tidy little house. At the station, buying a ticket, I hadnt planned to act on impulse I wanted to think, to sort things out calmly, not to tear down years of buildup in a fit of rage. Yet the moment I got into a cab, something tugged at my tongue, and I blurted out the address of Grahams place. I held my house keys tightly in my pocket, urging the driver on.

A tall, slender woman with tired but kind brown eyes opened the door. She smiled, told me her husband wasnt home and that when he returned, she didnt know when. She said hed left early that morning with a young mother to see a wellknown healer a guru whod been trying to fix their childs stubborn congenital dislocation. She sighed, a hint of sadness in her voice, saying shed long since given up on his oddities. He was softhearted, always ready to help, though sometimes he neglected his own kids.

Are you arguing with me? Vince finally retreated, his voice shaking. What do you want to say? Shes his lawful wife. Did you check it yourself? Did you actually look?

I did, I said quietly, but firmly. I chewed my lip, tasting the bitterness of recent turmoil, then said from deep down: Itll hit you right in the face, Vince. Its hitting me now.

Are you cursing now? he asked, halfconfused, halfscared. Dont be so angry, mate. Ive told the whole truth what I saw, I said. Now Ive seen for myself, and I can finally sleep easy.

I gave no answer. I just stood there, listening to the distant city hum, feeling the last tension melt away. I wasnt really sorry for that stormy, nervous adventure Id had. Id lived all these years in a comfortable bubble of certainty, and suddenly that bubble proved fragile, like glass slipping through fingers. But it was over. Thank God it was over. Id learned a bitter, vital lesson, and now I believed I could be happy again.