I didn't mind it when I discovered that Nick was having an affair. I mean, I did mind, but we'd been married twenty years. We've had some good times, we've had some bad times, but most of all, we've had some very long lacklustre times. What more can I say?
So it was not the affair that hurt. It was what he'd said.
A week ago, I picked up the phone to arrange a summer camp for the children. That's when I heard her voice--on my phone--to my husband--discussing a holiday away together.
"I'll keep the sheets hot for you, Nicky."
Nicky? I had tried calling him that once in our early days, and Nick had hated it.
"Hot, huh?" Okay, so flirting is not my husband's strong suite. But his voice was liquid chocolate.
"That's right. Hot. Come as quickly as you can."
I almost burst out laughing when I remembered, unkindly, how quickly Nick can come.
"Patience, M," Nick was saying meanwhile. "We have a whole week."
M. My husband was having an affair with M, the least likely Bond girl of them all.
"Aren't you worried to leave your wife alone for that long, though?" she teased. "What's good for the gander, you know...."
"Nah," replied my husband. "She's too vain to have an affair when she's fat."
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