No Recourse

I was deep inside her when my wife walked on us.

We'd gone to a barbeque at Mike and Angela's, and of course Paige was there. A friend of a friend of a friend. I had to pretend we were no more than acquaintances, and it was killing me.

The sun was out. Beers were flowing. I'd already taken my turn at the grill.

All the kids were splashing about in a paddling pool at the far end of the garden. Megan was hovering nearby, doing her bit to make sure none of them drowned. We have four. Katie is the oldest, then Arlo, and then the twins. Anya and Zoey were young enough that she didn't want to step too far away.

Grateful for the excuse to hide my wandering eyes behind my sunnies, I let them rest on Paige's curves. God, she was gorgeous. The breeze tugged at her sundress, and I wandered whether she was wearing knickers. She definitely wasn't wearing a bra.

When the sun dipped lower in the sky, Megan suggested she take the kids home and get them bathed and ready for bed.

"You stay," she said. "You don't get a chance to see Mike that often anymore."

Without a single twinge of shame, I kissed her forehead and murmured "You're the best."

I helped her get the kids in the car, and assured her I'd get an Uber in a couple of hours.

Gotta slow down on the beers. I'm a flirty drunk, and I didn't want to give myself away. I practically gave Paige the cold shoulder. A casual onlooker might have thought I didn't even like her.

One of the things I did like about her, was how cool she is. She never chases. Never complains that I didn't give her enough attention. Not once has she given me the silent treatment because something I said or did wasn't enough for her. She just takes what I can give...

...and how.

This thought makes me shift in my camping chair, and I take several gulps of lager.

I haven't had her for days, and this... This avoiding each other, and not looking at each other, and stolen glances... It's driving me crazy.

Even without looking, I'm aware of her. I know when she gets up from her seat. I know, without looking round, that she's walking over.

What is she doing?!

She's standing right there, looking right at me. The early evening breeze carries a waft of her perfume to my nose. Her empty wine glass is tilted in one hand.

Definitely not wearing a bra.

"Uhhh... Ian, isn't it?" There was a twist of mischief around her mouth. What could I do but play along?

I squashed my grin, relishing how my blood thundered and thrummed, while pretending it was doing no such thing.

"That's me," I said, mirroring her wry expression.

"Do you know if Mike has anymore full-bodied red in the garage?"

"No idea," I breezed, acting as though I hadn't heard the way her mouth had rolled around the term full-bodied.

"I'll check," she said, and sashayed away.

Of course I followed her. Of course I did. She backed away from me as I approached, sitting on the edge of the chest freezer, and hitching up that sundress over smooth, smooth thighs.

My heart pounded fast in time with my feet, and I'd done unbuttoning my jeans before I reached her. She hooked her legs around me to pull me close. I'd been right about her underwear. She was as ready as I was. The dusty, cluttered space shrank and fell away. I groaned into her hair.

Megan appeared behind her, out of Paige's line of sight, but smack bang in mine. I think I caught sight of her almost the moment she arrived there, because I watched the colour bleed from her face. Something else drained away, as well, I think. A light dimmed, a spark snuffed out.

I faltered. She turned and was already walking away. I opened my mouth to call after her, but Paige's mouth clamped on mine, and her hand gripped the back of my neck. Was it passion, or possessiveness?

Her legs tightened around my waist. Something else tightened, too. That was another thing I liked. Her breath quickened, and I made mine do the same.

I didn't want a scene. I just wanted this to be over. I felt as if I'd been sobered up sharply. Megan's expression had been a bucket of cold water sloshing over me.

For the first time in my life, I faked it. I pulled out and away, already softening like a tub of forgotten Haagen Daaz.

She looked up at me, doubt flickering in those big, big eyes.

"Did you...?"

"Of course," I said, the lie hardly even bitter on my tongue. "How could I not?" I dipped my face to kiss her. Just a peck. Enough to smooth out this moment so I could extricate myself with as few wrinkles as possible.

I stuffed myself back in my jeans and hurried away, leaving Paige crumpled and askew behind me without sparing her another glance.

+

I almost left right then, but something in me wanted to pretend that everything was okay. Normal. I didn't want any of our friends to know. If Megan hadn't said anything, I sure as shit wasn't going to.

I couldn't have explained it right then, but I can now: I was ashamed.

Heart hammering, I found my way to the kitchen, where Angela and Mike were pouring drinks for several of our friends.

"Ian!" Angela was drunk. "Where have you been you rascal?" I opened my mouth to lie, as easy as a breath, but she wasn't really listening.

Mike interrupted, his demeanour sober. He's been teetotal for a year. His white socks were right at home on the tiled floor, and the bright overhead light shone off his bald spot.

"Hey," he said, one placid hand on Angela's arm. "Did Megan find that rabbit thing she was looking for?"

"Errr... Bambi? I don't know," I said, almost surprised at the honesty that came tumbling out of my mouth. "Anya still won't sleep without it. I didn't realise Megan came back for it..."

There was a blurry warmth in the air. Everyone was pleasantly fuzzy from drink. Nobody had realised anything was up. I steadied myself with a breath.

"Listen, Angela... Mike... I really should head off. Give Megan a hand with the kids and that."

Mike grinned something about me being well-trained, Angela cackled something, and somebody else said I was a "keeper", and how lucky Megan was.

"You don't have to dash off, mate," Mike said. "Wait here until your Uber arrives."

"No, no, I'll just call Megan. She's probably only up the road, I'll just..."

Thank yous doled out, obligatory cheek-pecking and back shaking done, I sloped back out of there, guilt draped heavy on my shoulders.

Paige had gone from the garage. Bambi the blue rabbit was on the floor next to a tangle of bikes. I tucked it into my jacket and left.

+

When I got in, I could hear splashing and voices from the bathroom. I put my shoes on the rack for a change, and stole through the house like a thief.

Megan was in the bathroom with Anya and Zoey, sluicing soap out of their curls. Anya's face lit up when she saw me, with Bambi dangling from one hand. I watched Megan's back, trying to gauge how frosty it was. Did she stiffen when I arrived?

I wanted to offer to help, but the words felt hollow and dry. I could already see towels and pyjamas laid out and toothbrushes loaded. Expecting to complete the task single-handed, Megan would have organised everything before she got them in the tub. My admiration was lost in a moment of stony clarity. She's already prepping for a life without me...

No. That wasn't true. She'd been expecting to manage bathtime solo this evening since before... The fact was, I could drop out of her life right now, and it wouldn't change very much.

"Megan, I-"

"Later, Ian," she said. "Not around the children." She didn't even sound angry. Just tired.

+

There was no "later". I couldn't seem to corner her to talk about it, to give my excuses or plead for forgiveness. I realise, now, that I wasn't trying very hard. Could anyone blame me for not really wanting to have that conversation? I was hardly going to come off well in it. And... it might be the beginning of the end. Coward that I was, I stuck my head in the sand and joined her in pretending it hadn't happened.

Maybe she doesn't love me anymore... The thought made me feel a bit sick... but she doesn't want disruption for the kids anymore than I do...

I let myself hope, even in the face of her stony silences. She talked to me if she had to, in front of the kids, but the rest of the time a chill radiated off her. I thought back dispassionately to Paige's heat, but it didn't claim any part of me anymore. Like a wine left open too long, it had soured. I hadn't responded to any of Paige's messages.

I sit in my usual spot on one end of the sofa, missing the warmth of Megan's thigh against mine, and the steady stream of chatter about whatever was on TV.

She used to talk non-stop. It drove me mad. It's like it was a gushing tap, and someone has turned it off. But this? This quiet... It's making me madder. I could almost get angry and force a confrontation, just to bait her into talking to me. Why don't I? I think, on some level, I'm scared. Afraid it won't work. That she'll just look through me and then look away, as if I'm no more than a disappointing episode of something on the telly.

I look at her sometimes. Stolen glances when she is busy doing something else. Is she sad? Does she miss the way things were, too? She does seem sort of... flat. Wilted. It gives me hope, but every time I speak to her or reach for her hand, she ducks the connection, and hope dies a little more.

She goes to bed early. When I join her, she is usually pretending to be asleep. Her eyes are dry. I slide into bed carefully, as if trying not to wake her. In the dark, I can feel her shift, and for a cruel second I think she is scooching over to me. She isn't. She is edging further away.

+

"Where are you going?"

I hate the sound of my voice. It sounds whiny, like a child. Not like a man at all.

She shrugs. "We don't know yet. The cinema first, and then maybe a drink after."

I want to ask her who she is going with. She's looking at me for the first time in weeks. Is she judging my reaction? Or daring me to spit the question at her? I swallow it instead.

"OK," I say. "Have fun, then."

+

It becomes a regular thing. Every Tuesday, she goes to the cinema with the girls, and once a month, on a Friday, they go out for a meal. I stop asking for details.

Last night she was late back. Sometimes, I hear her humming when she's in another room. If I enter it, the tune dries up.

There's colour in her cheeks, and a lock on her phone. She still does almost everything with the children, but...

One of these days, Friday night will bleed hollow into Saturday morning before she comes home, humming... and what can I say?

+++++++

Thank you for reading!