Cheating At Cards Ch. 03

INTRODUCTION FROM CHAPTER 02

"You mean you'd like to come with us? Oh... that's brilliant, Patsy! There's just the three of us tonight and we'd love to have you along! Please say you'll come... we're meeting up at the Regency bar at seven and...."

I picked up the note my husband had left.

Underneath the bit about having a meal out tonight), I scribbled:

"I've made other arrangements. Don't wait up!"

CHEATING AT CARDS CH 03

"Where the hell have you been 'til now?" was the greeting I received on Sunday afternoon.

Geoffrey, I guessed, had probably been watching through the front room window for my arrival, and must have seen me paying the taxi driver. He was ready and waiting for me in the little hallway and the words were out of his mouth the moment I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.

I didn't bother to reply as he carefully looked me over – obviously taking in the fact that I wasn't wearing a bra and my legs were bare. He may not have been the most observant husband in the world, but he knew me well enough to know that I'd never dream of going for an evening out without tights or bra. He also had enough time to notice that my make-up had been quickly and carelessly applied and that my long, blonde hair hadn't been brushed properly.

"Well?" he demanded as I kept my head down and brushed past him.

"I've been out!" I replied and, without looking back, headed for the bathroom, saying; "You can put the kettle on, if you like... I'm just going for a quick shower."

I'd no idea what the reaction was to that because I went in and locked the door. By the time I'd removed my watch and earrings and stripped off the only clothes I was wearing – my skirt and jumper – I could hear him knocking on the door.

"Patsy... we need to talk...."

But I'd turned the shower on to full power by then, so I just called out: "I can't hear you! I'll have a coffee... a large one! I won't be long." Then I stepped under the powerful spray of hot water and hoped it might help to ease the tension from my complaining limbs. A hot bath would have been better, but there simply wasn't room for one in our tiny bathroom.

When I'd finished and was drying off, my nerves were starting to get the better of me but, reasoning that there was no way of going back now, I took a deep breath and slipped into the dressing gown I'd left hanging on the back of the door the previous afternoon.

Geoffrey wasn't, as I'd expected, waiting outside; I could hear the sounds of him pottering around in the kitchen, so I went into the bedroom to use the drier and brush my hair properly. I'd just finished when I heard him ask where I wanted the coffee, so I called back: "In the front room," and conducted a final assessment of my appearance.

Was the underwear plain and boring? Check! Hair tied back in a severe-looking bun? Check! No make-up; shapeless and unflattering dressing gown, along with incredibly ugly, fluffy slippers with a raised image of Minnie Mouse on the toes? All present and correct.

Let the mind games begin, I thought.

The front room was warm and cosy with the curtains drawn and the lighting dimmed. Geoffrey was sat in an armchair, sipping what appeared to be a glass of his favourite tipple. He was also doing his damndest to appear relaxed, at ease and in charge – but his tension was palpable.

"Thank you, Dear," I trilled brightly as I picked up the mug of coffee he'd prepared for me and then, when I'd made myself comfortable in the armchair opposite his, I nodded in the direction of the blank TV screen and said: "No sport on tonight?"

It was so much like watching a dog's hackles rise that I almost expected him to bark but, taking a deep breath to control himself, he gritted his teeth and snapped: "I'm waiting for you to tell me where you were last night. And don't say your mum's house, because I called her!"

Now that, I thought, was like an unnecessary waste of a trump. No wonder he didn't win his whist games very often. I blew on my coffee as if it was scalding hot (it was little better than lukewarm by then), sipped at it and then, deliberately keeping my eyes lowered, answered:

"I went out. I had a night out with a few friends... okay?"

"And stayed out all fuckin' night!" he snapped angrily, "Where the fuck were you?"

"There's no need for that kind of language," I declared sweetly, then paused to take a deep swig of my drink before it cooled too much before saying, "We went to a few pubs and clubs... had a bit too much to drink... stayed out late and enjoyed ourselves. It was a lot of fun!"

"Fun? FUN?" he practically roared, "So where did your 'fun' end up? Where did you sleep?"

"That's none of your business," I declared coolly, then took another long swig of coffee.

"None of my... I'm your husband!" he bellowed. He was clearly getting close to breaking point, so I responded in a deliberately low and measured tone.

"You're my husband... really? Well... maybe we have different definitions about that? I mean, I would expect someone who claimed to be my husband to leap to my defence when I'm being groped by some absolute pig of a man! In fact, I'd expect my husband to intervene when I was clearly in danger of being raped. Is that too much, d'you think? Or do you think it's more reasonable for a husband to just smile and grab a beer... leaving the rapist to get on with it while he disappeared to nurse his hard-on?"

Okay, the 'hard-on' bit was just a guess, but the way he flushed with embarrassment was enough to tell me that I'd struck gold.

"You're exaggerating!" was the best response he could manage, and even that was a barely heard mumble. He tried to get his inquisition back on track (it clearly wasn't going the way he'd expected it to), by saying; "Anyway... we're talking about you... and what you were up to last night."

"Are we? Okay, then," I said, "What if I told you that I rang Calvin and went over to his place? What if I told you we had sex in every way imaginable... alright? What if I told you that, eh?"

"I'd know it wasn't true," he declared with certainty.

"Oh? And how can you be so sure?" I asked.

"Because Calvin was here with me, Patsy! We went to the match, had a few beers... and then he came back here. He slept on the couch!"

"Why? I thought you wanted to go out for a meal. If you were expecting that... why did you bring Calvin back with you?"

"I don't know! Maybe he wanted to apologise, y'know? I mean... maybe he wanted to say sorry for whatever happened the other night... how would I know?"

I had never seen Geoffrey look as shifty as he did at that moment: he fidgeted; he looked intently at the blank TV screen, and then he reached for the bottle of Lamb's Navy rum to top his glass up with a hand that was clearly trembling.

You know the expression 'my blood ran cold'? Well, I'd never thought about it before but, as the cogs met and drove everything into place in my mind, I understood it.

"He was lying in wait for me... wasn't he?" I managed to whisper.

I watched the shake of Geoffrey's head, saw him struggle to find the words he needed, but all he could manage was very hoarse, "No... of course not," before taking a very large swig of the brownish liquid. But I was seeing the picture now. I could see the pair of them, possibly a bit worse the wear, deciding it would be a good idea to try to make peace with me – Calvin probably insisting that he wanted to tell me, face to face, that he hadn't intended to hurt me and hadn't meant what he'd said.

Then they'd found the note and things had changed. Calvin (because I'd no doubt that he was the driving force between them), had seen an opportunity for something else. I could see him picturing me coming home after possibly drinking too much (he'd have been right about that!) and, knowing full well that Geoffrey wouldn't interfere, being able to force me into submission. I felt my stomach churning at the thought of it, but my husband was just staring into his glass as if it held the answer to all the mysteries of the universe as the silence continued until I couldn't stand it any longer.

"You spineless bastard!" I said, very slowly, and saw him wince as if he'd been shot in the back. "You were sitting here with that... that animal! You were waiting for me to come home... and you were quite prepared to let him... no, to watch him... fuck me! You were... weren't you? Well? Answer me, you pathetic streak of...."

"No!" he suddenly yelled as he threw his glass to smash loudly in the empty fireplace. "It wasn't like that! He was certain that you just needed a bit of gentle persuasion. He said he can see that you fancy him really... that you just need... you just...." And then the burst of anger subsided as quickly as it had arisen and he slumped back in the chair.

I had to push aside the uninvited thought that the shattered tumbler had been part of a set given to me as a wedding present by pupils at the school (it's amazing the things that invade your mind when you're stressed!) and concentrate on the matter in hand.

"So... while I was out enjoying myself with my friends," I said, trying not to let too much venom creep into my voice, "you were helping Calvin to set an ambush for me."

"No... it wasn't... I mean it..." he whimpered and then, "You don't understand, Patsy... you just don't understand."

At that moment, I felt the utmost contempt for the man I'd shared five years of my life with. In fact, I couldn't really recognise the person I'd fallen in love with at all; was this the husband I'd trusted with all of my hopes and dreams and ambitions, the man I'd given total freedom to explore and enjoy my body and whose own body I'd welcomed so joyfully into mine? They were thoughts that suddenly made my flesh feel as if it was crawling and it was difficult to drag my mind back to the present to make the final pieces slot into place.

"What kind of hold has he got over you, Geoffrey?" I asked, deliberately keeping my voice as calm and as even as I could.

"Nothing... no... it's not like that. It's..." he began to say, with no conviction whatsoever.

"Please, Geoffrey... I can't help if you won't tell me. And I can't stay here if I'm under threat of assault... or worse... from Calvin."

I gave him plenty of time to absorb what I was saying but, when it didn't succeed in drawing a response, I gave a very loud theatrical sigh and said; "Okay... if you can't tell me... and I know you won't protect me... you don't leave me any choice." And I started to get up.

"Where're you going?"

"I'm going to pack a bag... then I'll be heading over to my mum's house," I informed him, trying to inject a note of deep resignation into the words.

"You can't! Please, Patsy... don't! You can't do this to me!" he said, his voice rising into anger as he followed me to the bedroom saying; "For God's sake! You haven't even told me where you were last night!"

"Does it matter?"

"Are you kidding?" he was shouting by this time, "When you come home with no bra... no knickers... no tights... and a bloody great love-bite on your neck. Then you're straight into the shower as soon as you get home!"

"It's quite a small love-bite, actually," I corrected him as I pulled out a holdall and began to load some clothes into it, feeling glad that my appearance had been effective enough to make him rummage through the washing basket to see if there were any knickers there (another good card wasted). "Anyway... if you're determined to keep a secret about whatever it is between you and Calvin, then whatever happened last night is going to remain my secret. Okay?"

By that time I'd piled enough clothes in the bag so I removed the dressing gown and started to pull on a roll-neck sweater and a pair of trousers. While I bustled around he continued to plead with me to 'be reasonable,' as I began to bundle my lotions and creams into the bag. Then I went to the bathroom and emerged to say:

"I've only taken my toothbrush, hairbrush and birth control pills. Mum'll have anything else I need."

I think it was the way I brandished the half-empty strip of tablets that really got to him. He tried, just once more, to beg me to stay – but it was a feeble effort.

"Listen, Geoffrey," I told him as I was reaching for my coat, "as long as Calvin has this hold over you... whatever it is... I can't even begin to feel safe here; you must understand that. When you tell me about that... whatever it is... it may give us a chance to sort it out. And then I'll be prepared to tell you what I got up to last night... but not before!"

"Alright!" he practically yelled and then, after a pause to quieten down, "I'll tell you... but you've got to tell me first!"

I laughed, of course, because it sounded exactly like the kind of arguments I heard in the school playground almost every day as we batted responsibility back and forth until, eventually, I came up with the compromise I'd actually planned to use.

"Very well, Geoffrey," I conceded, unintentionally slipping into the tone I regularly used with some of my more difficult pupils, "If that's what you need, I'll start... but here's what I'm going to do. I'll tell you the plain and simple truth about the first part of my night out and then, when I reach a certain point – I'll let you know when – I'll stop."

He looked puzzled and distinctly worried, for which I could hardly blame him, so I hurried on: "And then I'll give you two very different versions of what happened after that... without telling you what the truth actually is...."

"But... what?"

"...Then, if you tell me the truth, we can sort things out and...."

"I'm not sure. I don't think...." He tried to say, but I insisted that it was a simple 'yes' or 'no' and I knew he wouldn't be able to refuse because, for the first time, I was seeing just how weak he was.

Fifteen minutes later we sat facing each other across the kitchen table, both of us now supplied with fresh coffee. He had attempted to persuade me to unpack the holdall, but that was still intact on the hall table. As I'd told him, if he tried to renege on his part of the bargain – or if I had the slightest suspicion that he was lying, or holding out on me - I'd be gone.

"Right... well..." I began, "we all met up at the Regency bar and...."

"Errm... who's we?"

"Oh, right... sorry. Well, there was Alexa. She's a fairly new teacher at the school and she's still young. She's quite attractive, but she's also a little bit wild... and she tends to wear the kind of clothes that scream 'come and get me,' if you know what I mean. As a matter of fact she's had to be reminded about the dress-code at school a couple of times.

"Then there was her friend, Susan. She works in a lawyer's office. She's about my age but she's a lot like Alexa; a real party girl... and she soaks up attention. They're both single, free to do whatever they wish... and making the most of it, I suppose. The other member of the group was Muriel. She's a year or two older than me and she's married... well, she was, but she's separated from her hus...."

"Muriel?" Geoffrey gasped with a look of absolute horror on his face, "You don't mean...?"

"The very same," I smiled, trying not to look to self-satisfied and hoping I hadn't played an ace too soon, "The lady who left Calvin and tried to scuttle back to her husband when 'divorce' was first mentioned!"

I saw his face fall as he began to worry about how much I already knew and I felt the big card had been played correctly, but I let him stew in those thoughts as I continued to carry out my side of the bargain.

"Yes... she's moved into an apartment since her husband threw her out. She's okay financially, as far as I can tell... she's a chartered accountant and earning good money... but I think she's a bit lonely now that she realises there's no way back in her marriage.

"Anyway... we had a bottle of white wine between us in the Regency, and then we shared a taxi into the city. We started off at the Queen's; then we moved on to the Prince of Wales and finished up at Murphy's bar. I stuck to white wine while we were in the pubs because I knew I'd have to pace myself very carefully.

"It was really good, y'know? I mean, I haven't had a girls' night out for a very long time and I enjoyed the chatter and everything. Anyway... while we were in Murphy's, before we decide on which club we were going to, both Alexa and Susan made it clear they were looking to 'pull' later. It was just to let me and Muriel know not to worry if they suddenly did a disappearing act. I think Muriel looked a bit sort of 'wistful' when they said that. I think she'd already worked out that I wasn't looking for any kind of adventure.

"So we moved on a little bit after eleven... before the queues built up outside the clubs... and we were able to get into 'Diamonds' and get our own table before it became too crowded.

"But... oh, my God! Have you been in one of those places lately? No... of course you haven't... but let me tell you something; I'm not even thirty yet... but I felt like a grannie in that place! They were all so young! They're supposed to be at least twenty-one to get into that club but... sorry... anyway, we got ourselves another round of drinks and Alexa and Susan were up dancing almost right from the off.

"Muriel and me tried to chat... but the noise level was unbelievable. Honestly... it's a wonder no one ends up deaf! The trouble is, of course, that when you're just sitting there and watching you tend to go through the drinks too quickly... and I know I had more than I should have done. What made it worse was that drinks just kept appearing in front us because the guys that were chasing Alexa and Susan were being made to send them over for us.

"Of course, the girls got us up to dance a few times, but the floor was so crowded you could hardly move. Mind you... I did have my backside felt a couple of time, but I couldn't see who was doing it!" I recalled with a grin.

"It was getting late and I dare say the drinks had loosened me up quite a bit... I was definitely having fun, anyway. We were down to two – the others must have 'pulled' – when the DJ announced 'last orders' for drinks. I guess it must have been around three o'clock because they want everyone out by half-past.

"I was dancing... not with anyone in particular, just a gang of females strutting their stuff – when they started to play some slow numbers to wind it all down. The crowd was starting to thin out and I was just about to head off the dance floor when I heard someone say: "Well... if it isn't Miss Frosty herself! What are you doing here, Patsy?' and when I turned around I found myself looking at Jimmy Murdoch.

"I don't know if you remember him... but you met him at a couple of school functions when he used to teach PE. He was the really big, good-looking guy with the gentle, Irish voice? No? Well, he went somewhere else when they offered him a department head's job.

"Anyway, we started having a dance together. It's the first time I've been happy to let another man put his arms around me since the day you and I got together! He told me he'd been out with a gang from the rugby team he plays for, but they seemed to deserted him, so we had a few dances and a bit of a talk about old times... and then he escorted me back to the table.

"And that's when I found that the glasses had all been cleared away and there was no sign of Muriel!"

I paused in my narrative then and looked to see how Geoffrey was taking it. To be honest, that was difficult to judge; he looked a bit worried, but it was also clear that he was fascinated – possibly excited – by what I was telling him.

"And that's where the simple truth ends," I told him. "This is where I start to tell you two different versions of what happened on my night out. Are you ready? Do you want me to continue?"