The Diary

This story comes from many little events that happened to me, my family and our friends and their families. A lot of this is very serious and very true. My respect and thanks go out to all servicemen and women and their families serving and veterans worldwide that do their part in preventing bad men from doing bad things.  

I would like to thank Lucy for all the help she has given me with this story, she makes it read a lot better. All mistakes are mine.

The Diary.     

I ruined my life; I almost destroyed the man I love the most in the world. My parents barely tolerate me. Whilst he talks to me, what hurts the most is my children will have nothing to do with me. And I fully admit it is all my fault.    

The item that led to my current situation is lying on the table between me and the man it affected the most, my ex-husband.

He had found the item clearing out the spare room whilst getting it ready for repainting. I can't remember what I did with it after it revealed its secret. I was upset, I probably put it back in its hiding place. 

We sat in a quiet corner of the Queen's Head; we had just finished lunch together, a first in over a year. In fact, we hadn't spoken in over a year.    

Yes, this is another cheating wife saga, and you've probably heard it all before.

He loves our children and missed so much of their growing up and after what they discovered what I did; I don't blame them for taking his side.      

It goes back to the 10th of November 1989; he was talking to his dad on the phone about the events in Berlin the previous day. His dad wasn't an educated man, but he was a wise man. "It's going to be mayhem in Europe and that will leach around the world, and that is where you, my son, are going to get dragged into. Air power is going to be first on the scene." How right he was.     

My Old Man was in our country's Air Force, not a fighter pilot but, as he used to say, "just a bloke who's become quite good at fixing aeroplanes." he told me what his dad had said and commented that things might get a little different from here on in. He was often away from home, training, practising and doing all those things that would probably be used in the coming years. And his dad was right; there were many trouble spots brewing around the world, and somebody often called my Old Man and his mates to do their jobs in hot and dusty places.    

A few years later, he got home from a trip to the latest trouble spot just before Christmas, and we went upstairs to see Debbie, our little girl; she was just over four years old. She knew her daddy was coming home, so she wasn't asleep; she was very bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.      

"Daddy, you missed my nativity play."     

I stood just outside the door, and I could see he was close to tears as he gently stroked her hair and said to her quietly. "I saw the video, and you were excellent, my little sweetheart. You were the star of the show." She recited her lines for him just to show she knew them, and then as the innocent are want to do, she asked him the question, "Daddy, why do you go away so much?" and I knew he wasn't going to lie but would try to explain it how a four-year-old could understand.     

"Sweetheart, there are bad men in this world, and your daddy goes with all of your friends' daddies to help stop these bad men from hurting people."     

"You're back home now, Daddy. Did you stop him? Did you kill him?" Oh, the innocence of youth.     

"No, sorry, sweetheart, we can't do that, but we stopped him from hurting other people for now. So, I'm going to have to go away again sometime. But not for a while; I'll be here for your birthday." It crossed my mind that he really shouldn't make promises that were out of his control to keep.     

"You're a good man, daddy; you're a hero."     

"I try to be a good man, my little darling; I try very hard. I'm no hero, but I work with heroes."     

She stood up, put her little arms around his neck, and in that serious voice that only four-year-olds have, "You're my hero, daddy." That cracked him. He took her in his arms and hugged her so tight I was worried he would crush her. I could see him shaking, but he managed to wipe away the tears before he laid her down and kissed her on the forehead.      

They all came home on that occasion, but some were not fit in mind and body.     

He came to the bedroom door, turned and said to her, "Night, night, sweetheart, don't let the bed bugs bite." Tears were pouring down his face.     

I took him by the hand and led him to our bedroom, We think that was the night a little brother was made for Debbie. I hope so.     

That was the day I started my diary. It would be my innermost thoughts, so I hid it away.    

He was there for Debbie's 5th birthday, just. But he wasn't there for her little brother Jack's 4th birthday. I was getting out the Jelly and ice cream for the hordes of children running around in the back garden and all through the house, overseen by many other wives whose husbands were with mine. There were a few husbands who had done their turn and were waiting to go back. I heard Jack ask Debbie, "Why isn't Daddy here?"     

I peered through the door jamb as Debbie knelt, placed her hands on her brother's little shoulders, looked at him and said, "Jack, there are bad men out in the world, bad men who want to hurt people and our daddy is with Susan, Steve's and Tony's daddies trying to stop that man from hurting people."      

"Nobody is going to try and hurt our Daddy, are they?"     

"No, Jack, he's safe." She was lying to protect her little brother from the truth. She knew about the 28 servicemen that died in February 1991 when a SCUD missile landed on their barracks in Saudi Arabia. And about the mortar attacks on the air bases. There had been some close calls, even for the ground crew. Sometimes Google search can be a bad thing.     

"Is our daddy a hero?"     

"He says he isn't, but he's my hero."     

"Then he's mine too," said Jack, and he seemed to grow an inch when he said that. I think he was proud of his father, just like his big sister. That made three of us. Debbie took his little hand, and they walked off into the garden.      

I barely saw my best friend Carol through the tears as she walked up and hugged me. Tears were pouring down her face too. She'd seen and heard it all as well. We got ourselves together and started delivering the jelly and ice cream. The other wives could see we'd been crying. That wasn't unusual, and when Carol told Julia, Sherry, Dave and the other wives what she'd just witnessed, there wasn't a dry adult eye in the place. Dave had collapsed with heat exhaustion while helping change an aircraft engine and was invalid home. He didn't look at all well, and his eyes were full of tears too. He knew the pain.   

There were many diary entries now, but this, like the first one, was underlined.     

A couple of years later and we could see the end in sight. Our time in the service was over in a few years, and My Old man was getting tired, just like the aircraft he worked on. It was hard work keeping them safe and serviceable. He was no longer, "just a bloke who's become quite good at fixing aeroplanes," he was the bloke who had become excellent at fixing aeroplanes in strange places, even if half the stories I heard from his mates were true. When I asked him about it, he'd just reply, "I have more experience than the younger lads, and I've probably seen it all before and need to pass that experience on; anyway, it's what they pay me to do. "    

It was a Sunday afternoon, and we had just returned from paintballing and ice cream, boys versus girls. We don't know who won, but I do know who laughed the most. By the way, my Old Man was walking; I could tell some of the old problems were flaring up. I sat him in a chair, gave him his newspaper and went to fetch him a beer. Debbie turned the television on to catch some music programme or other, and there was a news flash rolling across the bottom of the screen. Another bad man had done something nasty.     

I'd returned with his beer and glass when I heard Debbie say, "You're going away again, aren't you, Daddy?"     

"Probably, sweetheart, if not this time, then the next." He didn't even lower his newspaper. Less than a week later, he was gone.     

Another diary entry. Underlined.    

As usual, we went with him to the airfield to say our goodbyes.    

Looking around the departure lounge, groups of women and children are either crying or holding back their emotions. You never get used to the goodbyes.

Some wives wouldn't come to see their men off; they couldn't do it. Unlike the wives of our aircrew, we were pretty confident our men would come home.    

There was a slight distance between the aircrew and their families and the ground crew and their families. Each group were on different sides of the lounge. The aircrew wives were intently more apprehensive than the groundcrew wives as the airmen were putting themselves in harm's way. Because of this anxiousness, we didn't want to intrude.

As we waited for him to board the Hercules with his mates, he dragged all of us into a corner. He put his arms around all three of us and said in his melodic, soft, calming voice, "this is probably the last time I'm going to have to go away. But I have to tell you three this. I couldn't have kept on doing this for so long if it wasn't for the love, the support and the help I've got from the three most important people to me on this planet. I know it's been hard for you, and I can't even start to comprehend how hard. But when this is over, I promise I will make it up to you in any way I can."     

As he walked away, I ran after him, grabbed his uniform sleeve, he turned round, I said, "be careful my hero. I love you."    

He looked at me and smiled, "Oh, my job's easy," he looked across to the aircrew and their families. "It's my job to do all I can to make sure that those little pink bodies come home to their families. They are the ones that put themselves in harm's way, and they are the heroes, and the men on the ground who they're trying to protect, not me."     

We heard his name called to board the aircraft. He beckoned the kids over for one last cuddle. He kissed the kids on their foreheads. He smiled, kissed me on the cheek and walked away. He didn't look back as he walked into his other world, where people looked up to him, just as we did.      

When I got home, that was another underlined diary entry. I hid the diary in its hiding place, as I didn't want my family to see my emotions.    

He returned after three months, not the usual four; they'd posted him to a maintenance unit. That was normal in our service. It gave people time to get their lives sorted out before they left the service. Time to become a civilian, to start looking for jobs, houses, schools, all that sort of stuff civilians have to do. It meant I could get a job too. I'd had jobs, mostly temporary, as we moved every three or four years. Now I could settle down as well.     

Those years flew by, and My Old man was offered a job by the people who made the jet he'd been working on for so long. There was always a need to fit new bits of kit to keep the aircraft updated for the different threats they were meeting and the latest systems and weapons they developed. They wanted his experience.     

We settled into a lovely house not far from where he worked. We had to pay a little bit more for it because it was close to the biggest employer in the area. It stretched our finances a little, but it was close to work and we were surrounded by people who worked at the airfield. They weren't ex-servicemen, but it was almost like returning to the Air Force. Many of the people he works with now, he had worked with when he was in the service. It's a small world.      

He would still go away to test the new kit, but it's only for a day or two. I got a nice job at a local solicitor four days a week. Debbie was off at university reading aeronautics, and Jack had decided he wanted to be a fighter pilot and was planning to go to Cranwell for officer training. Their dad was so proud of them, and I was too. It had been a hard slog, but we'd got through it.     

I don't know how it happened, well actually I do, I suppose, the first time. The second time was more confusing. I know how, but I don't know why I did it. I had an alternative after the first time, but I didn't use it.    

He'd gone away for a few days to test a new bit of kit for the aeroplane to combat against a new bad man. It was just to justify the modelling. Unfortunately, the new kit wasn't up to standard, the real life and the modelling didn't match. The team were going to have to carry out a full trial. He was going to be away for two or three weeks, depending on how the testing went, and with the writing of the test procedures and carrying out the analysis, he wouldn't be able to get home for the weekends. Although it had been a few years, we had done this sort of thing before. At least no one would be trying to kill him this time.    

I went up to the hotel he was in for the first weekend, but he was in his other world, looking after the aeroplanes that took little pink bodies into harm's way.     

He worked Saturday morning, but made time for me the rest of the day. We walked the coastal paths. It was a warm autumn afternoon, I was wearing a light summer wrap over dress that I knew he liked, and I was feeling frisky and hopeful, so I'd neglected to wear any knickers. We found a secluded spot, we just looked at the sea it was lovely, I was relaxing when he leaned across and kissed me, it was warm and sensual. I felt him slide his hand up my leg under my skirt it was lovely; he looked at me with a raised eyebrow when he found my lack of underwear. He gently massaged me down there, and I was breathing heavily. He kissed me again, getting quite vigorous.

I liked that, and I reached down for the belt of his trousers, "Oh no, not yet" he said, flipping me over onto my front, grabbing my wrists and pulling them behind me, then used the belt of my dress to tie my hands behind my back. He didn't tie them tightly; I could have got free, but I didn't want to. He was in charge, and I liked that. He stood up and looked around. "I can see a couple about a mile away and sheep. I hope the sheep aren't voyeurs." He lay down beside me, lifted my skirt and used his fingers to bring me almost to the edge. He slid down, lifted my skirt and buried his head between my thighs. He opened my lips and licked; I wanted him to finish. The couple couldn't be far away, and I was worried about getting caught, it was exciting. It was tempting to free my hands and drag him up to me, but I knew what he was doing, and again with his tongue, he nearly bought me to the edge; I was breathing hard. I was so close, and then I heard his belt coming undone and his trouser zip lowered. He moved on top and entered me hard. I cried out, he placed his hand over my mouth. We can't go disturbing the sheep now, can we or give ourselves away to the couple that was just over the rise, I felt him erupt, and that sent me over the edge too.  

He untied my hands, and we lay there, cuddling and comfortable. We even waved to the couple who he had seen earlier walking. We made it back to the hotel in time for dinner. There was banter in the bar about grass stains on our clothes, so we left and went to bed early. He undressed me, I undressed him, and we made gentle love that evening.   

We had breakfast early on Sunday, and when we'd finished, just like all those years ago, he kissed me on my cheek and walked off to his other world. I sat there feeling lonely. When I got home, the house was empty. Debbie was away at university, and Jack was away training in the Air Force. He didn't make it as a fighter pilot, so he decided to follow in his father's footsteps as a technician.     

The following weekend was when it happened. It was an office party in a local hotel on the Saturday. I'd had a drink, but I wasn't drunk, I was feeling alone, and there was no one there I felt any connection with, just work colleagues; I almost wished I hadn't come. I was missing my Old Man.   

I am not using this as an excuse.

I should have been stronger. I was standing in the corner when one of the partners came up to me and asked if I was okay, I told him I was a little lonely and missing my husband, and he suggested he could do something about that by just dancing with that he asked me to dance. After that, I danced with him and several other chaps from the office, even the odd woman. But the partner claimed almost every other dance and kept on bringing me drinks, most of which I didn't drink, just in case he had an ulterior motive. But I was with work colleagues I liked and trusted; what could go wrong? We had a slow dance, and it was nice to have a man's arms wrapped around me. I didn't feel so lonely; I half imagined it was my old man, he was a similar height and build.

I woke up slowly my eyes opened. Where was I? everything was fuzzy. I rolled over and clasped the man next to me. It didn't feel right; it wasn't my old man next to me. It was all wrong, the shape, the hair, all wrong.

My eyes flew open. fuck where was I? I was in the hotel. I felt sick; I rushed to the bathroom and threw up. Did I throw up because I drank too much? No, it was because I'd had sex with another man, not my husband.    

God, what had I done? I quickly dressed and left, sneaking out, so nobody saw me. What the bloody hell to do. I got home, but I am not sure how. I calmed down on the drive home, it gave me time to think. As soon as he returned next weekend, I would have to tell him face to face; you couldn't do this over the phone. I'd have to throw myself on his mercy. There is no excuse for what I did. In the old days, I would have found one of the squadron wives and talked it through with them, but now there was nobody. I went to my diary. I poured my heart and soul into it. I don't know how it happened, but I would have to tell him.    

I felt better now that I had a plan, just one problem I would have to stop the man I slept with from talking about it. I got to work early on Monday. I managed to catch him in his office. I said I needed to speak to him about what happened on Saturday. I explained I was a married woman and I'd made a mistake. I didn't want my family and friends to learn about it, and I didn't want to hurt my husband. I told him I would tell my husband, but he had to hear it from me. We talked about it, and he asked me to go for a drink with him on Wednesday night because he was busy up until then. That seemed like a trap to me, so I refused, but I said I would meet him for a coffee on Wednesday afternoon after work. He agreed to that and promised not to talk about it, he realised I was married and I wouldn't want it spread around, so he had told nobody and didn't think anybody had seen anything.     

On Wednesday, I met him in a pub on the far side of town after work; I only had coffee.    

We skirted around the issue, talking about work for a while, but then I stopped him and said we had to talk about what brought us here. He told me he never intended for it to happen. And that we seemed to be two lonely people, and it was fun.

It was the best he'd had in years. He looked at me sheepishly, "I'd like to do it again."    

I looked at him in disgust and told him no, never, it made me sick, I don't remember any of it, and I won't risk my marriage.  

He seemed very apologetic; he told me his ex-wife had cheated on him with a married man and that's why he was now single and looking for companionship. He missed female company; I told him not to bother, and I was not on the market even for companionship. He told me he would keep it quiet. If it got out that he had seduced one of the staff, he would look no better than his ex-wife and her married lover. That wouldn't go down well at the practice. So, we would both keep quiet about it.