Nurse Penny

"Please make it snappy, Penelope. I don't have all day. I'm busy. Tonight is Trivia Night."

Trivia Night? How could that make him busy? How could he prioritise it over our marriage?

Words to that effect came out of my mouth before I could filter them.

"Clearly, Penelope, you don't understand how important this is to me. I need this."

I cringed, hearing an echo of previous conversations of the last three months. Part of me felt ashamed of those conversations but Mike throwing them back in my face angered me.

"Please don't trivialise our marriage this way. We need to talk."

I might as well not have spoken.

"Look, I have to go. The team is relying on my history knowledge. I can't let them down. Talk to you later."

I stared, disbelieving, at my phone as if the screen might make a lie of the fact that Mike had just hung up on me.

The wine I'd drunk to calm my nerves before making the call turned to vinegar in my belly leaving a sour taste in my mouth. I fretted, regretting my decision to stay rather than fly home immediately. I shouldn't have given Mike time to cool down. I should have chased after him, naked if I had to.

What had stopped me? I analysed myself. Fear, nerves, guilt, shame, and, most definitely, reluctance to hear Mike call me every ugly name under the sun had all factored in to various degrees, but, I had to admit, so had my training course. I'd had an important end of module examination on the Monday and, despite everything, I hadn't wanted to throw away over three months of hard work. Yes, I'd partied hard during my time away but I'd also worked hard and I didn't want it to have been for nothing. Over the weekend I'd used the need to study for the exam as a way to distract myself in between several attempts to call Mike.

The exam was yesterday. I hadn't booked a flight home yet. I knew I was procrastinating. Somehow, confronting Mike in our own home made it more real. And for some reason the house was Mike's turf and the apartment mine. As unlikely as the possibility was, I hoped Mike would return and we could have our talk on my turf.

I dropped my head into my hands, facing reality was hard. It had been four days. Mike wasn't going to return to confront me.

I looked at my phone again. I could see that Jake had left me a handful of messages. I ignored the temptation to open them. That, too, was hard. Very hard.

The time on the screen said it was after six. Too late to ask the course coordinator for a leave of absence. I'd have to wait until the morning. I hoped I wouldn't have to reveal in detail why I needed time off. That would be embarrassing. Surely, saying I had a family emergency would suffice.

Putting my phone in my pocket, I walked to the kitchen and looked in the pantry. I sighed. Everything on offer looked like too much hard work and, besides, I had no appetite. I went to my room, laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

I closed my eyes but sleep wouldn't come, my brain wouldn't shut down. How could I make Mike see that my time away was something totally separate to him and us? Something parallel, not in opposition. How could I make him understand that at no time had our marriage been at stake? I loved him. Always had and always would.

A flare of anger shot through me. Bloody men and their egos. Damn pride. Yes, I'd broken my wedding vows, but only in the physical sense. In heart and mind I was still Mike's. How could I make him understand that was what mattered? Not a bit of sweaty exchange of body fluids.

Sure, I'd succumbed to temptation, but just as this course would be good for us financially in the long term, so would my falling from grace be for our sex life. Christ, couldn't he see that he'd finally get the energetic, uninhibited sex life he'd been craving for years?

I rolled to my side and spied Mike's deodorant on my bedside table. He'd forgotten it in his haste to depart. I leaned over and grabbed it, bringing it to my face to smell. The familiar scent brought tears to my eyes. I closed them and turned my face in to the pillow in an attempt to blot out the image of his shocked and pained face. I'd hurt him. It hadn't been my intention, but regardless, I had and for that I was deeply sorry.

Keeping the deodorant hugged to my chest, I tried to focus on the positives. I hadn't heard from any of our children. I hoped that meant Mike hadn't told them anything. He also hadn't yelled at me or called me any names. That had to be a good sign, surely?

I sat bolt upright. What if the reason Mike had dodged my calls and hadn't phoned the kids was because he'd been too busy seeing lawyers, changing locks, and emptying bank accounts? What if his calm voice on the phone was him hiding his plotting to destroy me? Our marriage?

I scrambled off the bed and raced to the lounge where I'd left my laptop. Grabbing it, I returned to my room. Blood pounded in my ears as I waited in frustration for it to boot up. It seemed to take forever.

With trembling fingers, I logged into our bank account. I slumped against the pillows and the tears trekking down my cheeks were ones of relief. Mike hadn't touched the money.

I wiped the tears away with the corner of the sheet. I went to log out of the bank when a little voice cautioned me. Just because Mike hadn't emptied the accounts yet didn't mean he wouldn't. I didn't want to prompt any negative reaction from him but also wanted to protect myself and so I transferred a small amount to an old account in my own name. Just enough to cover airfares, taxis, and meals.

I intended to log off. I truly did, but the little Messenger icon showed I had messages. It got the better of my intentions. I clicked on it and there he was. Jake. Gorgeous, twenty-five-year-old Jake. Jake who was more of an age to date my daughters but who wanted me. Me. Forty-eight-year-old me.

My vagina throbbed. My nipples tingled and I knew if I were to touch them they'd be as hard as rocks. More tears trickled down my cheeks. Tears of frustration and longing. Despite everything, what I wanted more than anything in that moment was to call him. I longed to feel him between my thighs relieving the hot ache at their apex. I wanted to hear him tell me yet again how sexy I was, how much I turned him on. I yearned to see on his face and body his need of me. I wanted to feel him thicken inside me when I wailed and moaned. Feel his thrusts become erratic when I came on his cock. I craved my fix of young stud.

I cursed the young man who'd started it. The first time I'd been taken advantage of after having drunk too much and partaken of some ecstasy in an effort to fit in with my much younger classmates.

But it had been good. Too damn good. That young hard dick that just wouldn't quit. What a thrill. What a boost to the ego it had been. Even the crudeness of his language, calling my vagina the sweetest cunt he'd ever fucked had been a turn on.

And then I couldn't stop. I wanted it again. Wanted the lust, wanted to see the admiration and desire in their eyes. Wanted to hear again how I was the best fuck they'd ever had. Wanted to feel again the power of making their cocks hard again and again and again. The power was addictive.

I was at war with myself. I knew if I replied to either Jake's messages or texts he'd come over. He'd come over and we'd be naked and I'd be cumming on his fingers, his tongue, his fat beautiful cock. I knew he'd be groaning his pleasure in my ear, telling me he wished his cock could live in my hot, tight cunt, that my pussy was made for his dick.

I wanted it. I wanted it so bad I could taste it. My vagina throbbed demandingly. Do it, she said. Do it. Call him. Get me some relief.

I whimpered. The sound escaped me. I bunched my fist and shoved it against my lips. I had to resist. To succumb could spell the end of my marriage if Mike were to return or somehow find out about it.

I rolled over onto my stomach, sending the laptop sliding off the bed. It landed on the floor with a clatter. I didn't care. I cried. Cried for my loss. Saving my marriage would come at a price. I'd have to never succumb to my addiction again. I now knew how a recovering alcoholic or drug addict felt.

I must have cried myself to sleep because the next I knew sunlight was streaming through the window. I groaned into my pillow for the ache between my thighs was still there. Would it always be there now? Needing and never relieved? Was this my future?

I shoved the thought aside. It was too big, too daunting to face. Feeling like shit, I shuffled into the bathroom to have a shower.

I SLOTTED MY key into the lock and turned it. It worked. I paused, bowing my head in relief. Mike hadn't changed the locks. Another good sign. He hadn't emptied bank accounts, told our children, served me with divorce papers—it was Thursday so he'd had plenty of time to have a set drawn up—and my keys still worked. Mike would forgive me. It might take time, but he would.

A rush of love filled me. Mike was a good man. The best. And he loved me. He'd find a way to come to terms with it and we'd move on. Both of us would pay a price for it; Mike would always know I'd found pleasure with another man and I'd have to never partake of my drug of choice ever again. It was a high price, to be sure, but one worth paying.

I opened the door, expecting to find the house in disarray. Three plus months of Mike baching was sure to equate to a huge mess. I was wrong. All was clean. All was tidy. At least in the living room. I walked through to the kitchen and dining room. They were the same. Immaculate. He'd even dusted. Had he cleaned the place in preparation for my return? If so that would be another good sign.

But where was he?

It was six-thirty. He should be home from work and looking for his dinner. I walked to the stove, holding my hand above the hotplates. They were as cold as stone. I checked the fridge. It was stocked, including a plate of roast chicken and vegetables covered in cling wrap. Had he microwaved similar for his dinner? There were no dishes in the sink. Had he washed and dried them? Or had he decided to eat out?

I considered trying to phone or text him but after our one and only conversation on Tuesday, I didn't like my chances of him replying. He certainly hadn't turned up at the airport to collect me even though I'd sent him a text with the flight details.

Sighing, I filled the kettle in preparation for a much-needed cup of tea. While waiting for it to come to the boil, I pondered the contradictory signs Mike was sending me. On the one hand he hadn't done any of the things I would associate with him deciding to end our marriage but at the same time he ignored my messages and texts and hadn't met me at the airport.

Was he just being petty and wanting to punish me?

Cup of tea made, I sat at my usual place at our table. I looked at the table and the surrounding empty chairs. So many family dinners had been shared around its shiny surface.

I smiled, remembering lively discussions and exchanges of teasing banter. We mightn't have been wealthy in a financial sense, but we'd certainly been so in love and happiness. I took heart in the memories; Mike would remember them too and he was such a softie when it came to the kids. He wouldn't want them to have to choose or divide their time between us. For those reasons alone, he'd find a way to forgive me.

But the question remained. Where was he?

Leaving my cup of tea on the table, I climbed the stairs and made my way down the hall to Mike's and my room.

Okay. He'd been home. There was a faint warmth still discernible in our bathroom. Again, I was struck by the cleanliness. Not that Mike was a slob, but I had thought without my being there that he'd revert to being the stereotypical guy and not clean up after himself.

Thoughtfully, I made my way back to the dining room. I sat and sipped my tea. Where was he? Where would he go?

My stomach rumbled. I was hungry. I went to the fridge. Could Mike have left the chicken dinner for me? I lifted the edge of the cling wrap and smelled. It smelled good. That decided me. I popped the plate in the microwave and while waiting for it to beep set myself a place at the table.

It bothered me that I had no clue where my husband was. I replayed our conversations of the last sixteen weeks. What had Mike said he was doing to keep himself amused? There was surprisingly little to remember. I looked around the room again. It certainly didn't look like he was spending his nights at home. A sense of unease bloomed in my belly at the thought. Mike had never been one for boys' nights out or weekends away fishing. He'd always been a family man. Had that changed in my absence?

Vague recollections of a name teased the edges of my mind. A name Mike had mentioned in the first few weeks of the course. Who was it again? John? Jeremy? Jason? I had a sense the name began with a 'J' but each alternative I came up with didn't ring any bells.

And then I had it. Jeff. Jeff whose surname I couldn't remember. I dashed over to the sideboard where we kept an old address book. It was ancient, from a time before we got lazy with numbers saved into our cells.

Page by page I scoured, looking for the name Jeff. I found it under 'S', well, I found Geoff Saunders and in a different coloured pen a cell number had been added and so I guessed it was the right Geoff.

I punched the number into my phone. It rang a few times then went to voicemail. I pounded the table in frustration. Would nothing go my way? The sound of the microwave beeping, reminding me I hadn't removed my heated-up leftovers, startled me. I'd totally forgotten about food.

I made the decision to eat my dinner, using the time to think about what I would say once I managed to contact Geoff.

The roast was surprisingly good. Once things were more settled between Mike and I I'd have to get him to cook more often.

While still chewing the last mouthful, I gathered up my plate and cutlery and took them to the sink. Now that the time had arrived for my second attempt to call Geoff, I was nervous. What if Mike had told him? I remembered Geoff as being somewhat outspoken, what if he had a go at me? I sighed, knowing I'd just have to suck it up.

Decision made, I pulled up my call history and hit redial on Geoff's number. He answered after the third ring.

"Hello."

There was a query in his greeting.

"Um, hi, Geoff. It's Penny Grainger here. I was wondering if you knew where Mike is?"

There was a long pause and I held my breath, hoping he wouldn't just hang up on me. His silence allowed the background noise to filter through. He was clearly somewhere where other people were also gathered.

"Hello, Penny. Long time no see."

"Um, yes. How are you? And how is..." I paused trying to pull Geoff's wife's name from the recesses of my mind. "Jane and the kids?"

"Jean's great," he replied, emphasising his wife's name. I cringed. This was so not the time to get her name wrong and potentially offend her husband.

"We're all great. And you?"

I didn't think I imagined the tone in Geoff's last question. He knew.

"Um, I've been better. Is Mike with you?"

"Yes, he is."

"And where would you be?"

"At the couples dart competition."

I gritted my teeth, biting back a sarcastic reply. Geoff knew I wanted to know where my husband was, I'd asked twice, but it was abundantly clear he was going to make the exercise of giving me the information the equivalent of pulling teeth.

"Sounds lovely. And where would that comp be?"

"At the pub."

"Which pub?"

"My local one."

I closed my eyes. Fucking smartass arsehole.

"And what would the name of your local pub be?" I asked, keeping my tone pleasant with effort.

"The Royal."

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of asking for the address, I thanked him and rang off. His parting words, scathingly delivered, infuriated me. Anything for Mike's better half. Sarcastic prick.

I pulled up an internet browser and googled The Royal. Turns out there was more than one. There was the The Royal Arms, The Royal George, and The Royal Oak. Arsehole. It took me another ten minutes of visiting each of the pub's websites to ascertain it was The Royal Oak that was hosting a couple's darts competition.

I grabbed my handbag, only stopping long enough in the entryway to check my hair and make-up were still passable. Neither were. I scowled at my reflection as I rummaged around in my bag for my make-up purse and a comb. Five minutes later I was presentable and on my way out the door.

After throwing my bag onto the passenger seat of my Toyota, I started the engine and while I waited for the garage door to open punched the street address of the Royal into the GPS. Thankfully, it was going to be a short drive, both my patience and nerves were stretched to their respective limits.

I was relieved to find the pub had its own parking lot, though there wasn't many spaces left. The couples dart comp must be popular. It was only at that thought that I paused. What was Mike doing at a couples comp? Was he just there to cheer on Geoff and Jean? I swallowed down my unease and headed for the entry.

I followed the noise. It led me to a room set with tables. Against the far wall two dart boards were set up and games were underway. I scanned the room and found Mike to the far left. His face was turned toward one of the dart games. Beside him sat an attractive blonde. She wasn't watching the game. She was watching the entryway. She stared directly at me. Her expression said it all. She knew. Heat crept up my neck. I could feel it suffusing my face.

I watched as she gave Mike's arm a gentle squeeze. He turned and looked directly at me. I don't know what I expected; pain, grief, anger, the look of someone who'd had many sleepless nights, whatever my expectation, I was disappointed. He looked as he always had. I think that was what kept me rooted to the spot.

My gaze was locked to his, I couldn't tear mine away. In my peripheral vision I noticed the blonde squeeze his arm yet again. My heart sank when I saw Mike place his hand over hers and pat it reassuringly. The gesture spoke of familiarity. It spoke of friendship. Of concern.

And then Mike was gone. Blocked from view by broad shoulders. The man was standing in my personal space. I took a step backward. I didn't recognise him until he spoke.

"Hello, Penny."

"Ah, Geoff. Hi," I stammered. "I've come to find Mike."

"I gathered that."

"And, um, I'd like to thank you. Has he been okay? I mean, I know he must have been upset after... well, um, after he returned from visiting me. I hope it didn't impose on you and Jean too much."

"He's been fine. Good, great actually."

That confused me. "Good? Great? How could he be great after..." I couldn't finish the sentence.

"After he found out you'd been screwing around on him for the last four months?"

The heat in my cheeks intensified. It felt like they were on fire. Guilty or not, it was bad form for him to give voice to my indiscretions. I gave him a withering glance, wishing I had the ability to turn him into a pile of ash with it.

Geoff laughed at me. My fury mounted. I clenched my fists.

"Yes, not that it's any of your business. I highly doubt Mike is great as you say. We've been married twenty-eight years and he loves me. I know he must be devastated. He's just been covering that up so as not to make you feel awkward and uncomfortable."

"Hmm, he's a good actor then."

I had to agree. A glance over Geoff's shoulder told me Mike was doing an excellent job of looking unconcerned. So unconcerned he and the blonde were now standing before one of the dart boards with Mike readying to throw his first dart. It appeared the blonde was his partner. I didn't like that. I didn't like that one bit.