Lucky Man Pt. 01

In desperation I spoke to my father, showing him my business plan and the accounts, showing how much was being drained from the business and projected figures from an expansion in equipment, staff and turnover, while only slightly increasing overheads. Dad was impressed with the work I had done and, after looking over the figures for a week, said he was actually seriously considering loaning me the money and or investing in the business in partnership with me. Wow! That would have been a turn up for the books! It looked like I could be turning into an entrepreneur and it occurred to me that my mother-in-law might one day genuinely be proud of me.

So, dear reader what do you think, are you still with me? They say pride comes before a fall. Boy, did my world collapse around my ears that very moment I thought I was on top of the world!

Firstly my mum died at the age of 80. I was devastated. She had a stroke and died on a trolley in a hospital corridor before anyone could get to her. In the dilapidated state that the once admirable National Health Service had got into during the many decades since we last had an even remotely socialist government, this occurrence was apparently commonplace. I didn't even know she had died for three days, my Dad didn't have a clue where she was. I thought when she was missing for a couple of days that perhaps she had finally left him. After three days of no word I went to the police and a search of the "Jane Does" in the local hospitals and county morgue, enabled us to find her and I made the necessary identification. I couldn't help notice that some bastard had even stolen the rings off her fingers!

My father was ten years older than my mother, although he never looked it, and was still in rude good health. My girls, even Ruth, were saddened by the loss of their diminutive Grandma. Both the girls were devastated and they became very miserable and for some reason were extremely frosty with me from that point on. I was shocked by my loss and even more bewildered by the reaction of the girls.

Then I found myself out of a job. Before I could raise the money to offer to buy the business, the family sold out to a competitor who promptly closed us down. This was followed almost immediately by a turndown in the building trade as the recession bit and scaffolding business was scarce. My business plan had allowed for that contingency, so I am sure we would have survived the recession, but it was not to be. As a condition of my redundancy pay, and I only got the statutory minimum despite the 12 years of service I had put in, I wasn't allowed to set up a rival scaffolding business for twenty-four months. So I had to look for another job outside my comfort zone in a rapidly shrinking market.

This hiatus in my career taught me a salutary lesson. As a director of a company with experience negotiating contracts, you'd think people would be falling over themselves to snap me up. Wrong! I should have supplemented my experience in a very limited field with management courses so I could demonstrate that I could transfer those skills to other businesses but I hadn't, I was too busy with the family, it was Ruth that hogged all the training time. I was stuck in limbo employment-wise.

I found myself out of work for a total of two years. I did a bit of part-time work but nothing in the scaffolding side as I was effectively blacked. Then I thought why not become a school teacher? I had done reasonably well at school, although I never finished and had studied well in my scaffolding evening classes. I had managed teams of scaffolders for years and the majority of the workforce were nothing more than big kids, anyway. I looked into it and took a general teaching course with dual A-level study of English Lit and in 18 months was newly qualified as an English teacher. Obviously, I wasn't able to get a job locally, I had to travel to a rather rough area, a failing, over-crowded, under-achieving school in Dudley in the Black Country, were prepared to take me on as a 42-year-old NQT, newly qualified teacher.

I had to work hard that first year as a teacher. The travelling time involved meant I was leaving before Ruth left in the morning and getting home even later than her most nights. When I was at home I brought a lot more work to do in my own time, marking essays, planning lessons and tests, writing reports. This meant I was able to spend less time with my family, putting a greater strain on my individual relationships with all three of my girls.

Chapter 5. Love lost

Then during the summer vacation, Ruth had to stay in Edinburgh for an AGM of a public company she was financial director of. It was during August and by staying an extra couple of days she would be there for the Tattoo and celebrate her birthday. We couldn't have her alone on her birthday, could we?

Fortunately, Andie and Charlie were at an activities camp that week organised by their school, so it meant I would be free to go up with Ruth. We planned this several months ahead, you needed to in order to secure the accommodation that particular week.

Then my school decided late in the day to book me on a course I needed to attend in Bournemouth at the same time. I couldn't get out of it.

Ruth was furious, she needed to be in Edinburgh for the meeting and, as the room was already booked for the duration, decided to take in the Tattoo and celebrate her birthday on her own. She was angry at me for not going and I was angry at her for going for the full five day, four night trip without me. I sent her a flower arrangement to be delivered to her room on her birthday and tried to ring her but she was out and never replied to my message. It was the first time we had been apart and not danced together on her birthday.

I returned from my course to an empty house a day before Ruth came back from Scotland, so I had time to get the house thoroughly cleaned and cleared out all the laundry baskets, washed, dried, ironed and put everything away. I prepared a fantastic three-course dinner and filled the dining room with flowers and lit candles and scattered rose petals on the bed. After four nights apart I thought she owed me and I was determined to deserve it.

However, Ruth was still spitting feathers at me when she got back in the early evening. No kiss or hello for me. She snarled in my direction, stomped upstairs and threw her bags down in the bedroom. She had a quick shower, changed into a slinky cocktail dress and stormed straight off out, saying she was joining potential clients and work colleagues at short notice for a dinner meeting and she was already late due to the traffic. She was listening when I said I had already prepared a meal for us but her instruction to "freeze it!" was as frosty as the manner in which she delivered it. Ruth hadn't even looked in the dining room. She was only in our bedroom for a minute allowing only enough time to shower and change.

I hadn't seen her for almost a week, the longest time we'd ever been apart and I missed her. In her smart travelling suit she looked stunning, in her cocktail dress she looked even more damned sexy, except he wasn't dressing up for me. No, she was making herself more beautiful for her clients and colleagues, they were so much more important than I was.

Ruth had kept the cab waiting outside, she brought down a small evening handbag from the many she had to chose from and waltzed out the door without even considering pecking me on the cheek, even though she hadn't seen me for almost a week.

I was upset but had no reason to worry. I was just angry at her offhand treatment of me, her loving husband. I am usually calm and collected, always kept my cool when negotiating with clients or persuading a team of weary scaffolders to work an extra shift or carry on to finish a job. On this occasion though I was upset, and feeling more than a little sorry for myself. I could have had a drink, but decided to keep myself busy and wait up for her. I had a light supper waiting for her when she got home and I hoped we could talk and calm ourselves down. I was quite prepared to concede any ground to get back in my sweetheart's good books.

The dining room looked impressive, though I say so myself. I thought about taking a photo of it on my mobile and sending it to her phone, but thought that would come across as being petty. Instead I tapped out a text message telling her I loved her and I would have a light supper waiting for her. She never replied, she must've still been angry with me. I was going to have to put in some serious efforts to restore equilibrium, perhaps look online for tickets for a West End show the next free weekend.

Firstly, I put out the candles in the dining and decided to leave them in place for supper later. Same with the place settings, we could use those for supper, or tomorrow night if necessary. I finished off the cooking and served up a couple of light suppers to cover with upturned plates, the rest of the food was allowed to cool for freezing later. The draining salads were bagged and stored in the fridge. I washed up and cleared away all the cooking utensils and crockery.

There was still at least a couple or three hours before Ruth was expected to put in an appearance. From my experience, these business meals usually went on for some time, the clients always seeming to want to get the full works. I thought I would have my shower now and get changed into something more comfortable.

As soon as I got into the bedroom I almost fell over her bags. She had left in a hurry, keeping the cab waiting. It wouldn't have surprised me if she had been called by her firm while in the cab. Ruth was always prepared to put herself out for the company, she had won the promotions and was very well paid, so I accepted that I had to share her with her career most of the time.

I decided to unpack her bags, sort out her clothes and wash what need washing and either hang up in the wardrobe or bundle up anything needing dry cleaning. It never ceases to amaze me how much stuff a woman takes with her for just a few days away. I know, I have had to carry enough of her heavy bags, while I could get most of what I needed in a carrier bag.

Then, distorting an elegant pocket in the jacket of one of her expensive business suits, I found the bills and receipts and other papers from the Edinburgh Hotel she was staying in. I unfolded them and smoothed them out and put them on her dressing table, leaving them for her to sort out tomorrow. However, I noticed the bill on top was the final itemised bill from the hotel, made out at the top to "Mr and Mrs Newlands". Oh bugger, I thought, that is another reminder that she was alone in Edinburgh. I guess looking at that when she checked out had put her back in a bad mood, the original booking made several months ago was in our joint names and it was only recently that I had to cry off.

I was about to turn my attention back to her bags, when the incongruous inclusion of the word "cigar" jumped out of the page and bit me on the arse. I picked up that top page, it was actually two leaves stapled together at the top with a credit card slip on one corner under the wire stitch. I ran my eye down both pages. There was the usual stuff, calls made, drinks bar consumables, but there were entries which pieced together an interesting story at some variance to what I understood the planned itinerary was to be.

There was of course the room, that was booked in the names of Mr and Mrs Newlands. That was understandable, that was how it was booked originally and Ruth may not have bothered to advise them that she was now supposed to be travelling and staying in Edinburgh alone. However, this didn't explain why pairs of tickets both for the ballet and a theatrical play were charged to the room. Why Ruth had happily signed and clearly paid for seven cigars, when she didn't even smoke cigarettes, was puzzling at least. And this was not for a gift box bought as a gift, as the itemised bill showed that the cigars were charged to the room individually, usually around meal times or late at night, spread through the five days and four nights that my loving wife was supposedly in residence alone.

The absolute killer for my marriage though was the last couple of sheets in the bundle. A communication from the airline company apologised for the loss of "Mr Newlands' luggage" and in consequence approved the replacement of the clothes within reason. A classy Edinburgh menswear outfitter had produced an itemised bill which was charged to and paid for by Mrs Newlands' credit card, as evidence by the attached slip. This itemised bill showed a list of expensive men's shirts with 18.5 inch collars, a couple of long jackets with 48 inch chest measurements, trousers, underwear, socks, the list went on. Clearly Mrs Newlands' partner, named as "Mr Newlands", had lost his personal credit cards along with his luggage. Happily, for whoever he was, my wife picked up the hefty bill and would no doubt be recompensed once Ruth had forwarded this bill of sale on to the airline when Ruth eventually got around to sending it off. There was no ambiguity, the hotel room number on the bill for delivery of the clothes was the same as shown on the hotel bill.

I sat down on the bed, our marital bed still covered in aromatic rose petals, for half an hour or so, stunned by what I had read. Surely there must be a logical innocent explanation?

Maybe she travelled up with a fellow accountant or was meeting with an important client and Ruth had naturally helped them out. She was paying, so it was delivered to her room. But I knew she wouldn't have a colleague from the firm. She was attending the AGM of a company that she was a director of, there wouldn't have been a colleague present, nor did she inform me at any point her intention of meeting a client in Edinburgh, the holiday was for us. The trip was simply to attend a formal public afternoon meeting in order for Ruth to be re-elected to the board and answer any financial questions from the floor. Our original plan was to be that the rest of the time was going to be for ourselves and celebrate her birthday.

I noticed that none of her bathroom stuff was in her bag. She had just chucked her bags down and hadn't stopped long enough to even wash, let alone to shower, so where was it? I am not in the habit of searching my wife's drawers. I never felt the need to before now. This time I was on a mission and I searched everywhere.

I found the bag, down the back of her wardrobe, it was empty. In the en suite bathroom I found her damp travelling wash flannels in the laundry basket, along with a pile of mixed up stockings, knickers and bras. Again, I am not in the habit of examining my wife's knickers, except in happier days when Ruthie was still actually wearing them, but I felt that I had some justification that night. Nothing unusual about the bras, all were new or fairly new, flimsy and sexy, the kind she usually wore when dressed up to go out; nothing that could only be got from Victoria's Secret, for instance.

Since Ruth had slimmed down from having the girls she carried hardly an ounce of surplus fat so, although her tits were still a nice handful, they were remarkably firm and pert, nothing like the heavy soft orbs when I first met her. Her knickers came in for some closer examination, though. Several appeared not to have been worn and still smelled of fabric conditioner. Others smelled of her heart-yearningly familiar scent, her unique taste, a mingling of sweet heady musk and flowery commercial aromatics.

Several examples of her silky scanties, though, brought tears streaming from my eyes. The stains and smell of someone's dried cum was plain evidence of my wife's unfaithfulness.

One pair in particular must have been worn on the way home as the gusset was still dripping wet. It was clear from the staining that earlier that very day Ruth had indulged in unprotected sex with someone who had come in her quite copiously. It was equally obvious that she had either kept the knickers on during sex or put them back on immediately after sex and had subsequently leaked into them. My eyes were streaming unchecked now and my nose needed blowing. I assuaged those dripping olfactory channels using one of her "clean" panties and dropped them back in the basket.

Now I was really pissed off and I went downstairs, binning all the cooling food intended for our intimate supper, the flowers, and the candles. This filled the bin under the sink to overflowing. I left the bloody bin as it was, she could clear up her mess.

When I calmed down I had a stiff drink of malt whisky, just the one, I needed to think clearly and my emotions were already making my mind race with unanswerable questions. How long had she been unfaithful? Who with? Was she in love with him? Was she just waiting for the optimum moment to set up a new life with a rival for my affections? Or was this just a one-off fling? Why? Why? Why? Was it my fault? Had I been too inattentive? Was I inadequate to satisfy her needs?

Was she trying to pay me back for letting her down? Why would somebody who still loved their partner commit adultery simply to get back at them for what was just the minor inconvenience of not being available for a short break holiday, even if it did include her birthday?

She had even had unprotected sex with someone. Did she not care what she could pick up and pass onto me? Did she not think about the risks of becoming pregnant? Perhaps she wanted another child, something I was unable to produce for her since she had forced me to have a vasectomy? Or, perhaps she couldn't possibly pass anything onto me as she was already finished with our marriage?

Why hadn't she spoken to me beforehand about how she felt? Sure, we argued about my failure to go to Edinburgh with her but at no stage did she say our marriage was at risk because of me having to attend that bloody course. Didn't she know that I would do anything for her? That she was my life, that nothing else mattered to me but her? Did she not realise that at a stroke she had destroyed me?

I didn't really know what I was going to do. Was she out bonking some man even now? The time was already gone 11pm, she should be back at any time. I tried to ring her mobile, but it was switched off. I sent my second message of the night, she replied to neither. I thought I could send her a message with a photo of her knickers, but I couldn't do that. I thought about revenge, trashing all her clothes, or putting them in plastic bags and leaving them on the lawn, perhaps getting a 24-hour locksmith in and shutting the cheating bitch out of her own home.

The girls, what were we going to do about the girls? With my marriage in tatters, the only important consideration now were Andie and Charlie, aged ten and eight, far too young to have to go through any parental break-up. There was absolutely no satisfaction in having my children as playthings of any divorce court. What she had done to betray me mustn't be allowed to upset them. Whatever happened between their mother and me it had to be civilised.

I reasoned that somehow, if it was at all possible, we had to stay together, at least until the girls were able to live independent lives, another ten years at least. I had no choice, even if my life was a crock of shit, Ruth would have to cooperate with me and keep the girls out of it and allow them to enjoy a normal adolescence. I was finished with Ruth but if she was going to continue whoring it would have to be kept from our innocent girls.

I got fed up with twiddling my thumbs, I had to be active, sitting there waiting as the clock ticked towards the middle of the night was not doing me any good. Another call on her mobile revealed it was still off. I sent a second text message telling her this time that our supper was in the dog, not that we ever had a dog.