A Virtual Affair

by Tracie Podger

  “Hi, did you sleep? I didn’t, not one wink. I feel exhausted,” Carla said after I’d greeted her.

  “Same. It feels odd having shoes on. I’m walking the dog at the moment. The signal might go.”

  “I can’t believe how chilly it is. How was Michael when you got home?”

  “He didn’t say a word other to complain about the trains and demand a dress shirt for this evening. I walked out and went to pick up Dini. And guess what? I’m going to be a granny.”

  Although Ben and Kerry had wanted their pregnancy to be kept quiet, I had no doubt they wouldn’t mind Carla knowing; she was like family to them. I heard a scream down the phone. I laughed.

  “No way! How amazing! Tell me all.”

  We chatted for a few minutes longer before the phone lost signal and I headed back the way we had come. The kitchen had warmed up over night, or perhaps it was the bitterness outside that made the house feel cosy. I shrugged off my coat having deposited my Wellingtons in the laundry room and switched the kettle on to boil. With another cup of tea in my hands, I called Carla back.

  We chatted for an hour about the pregnancy, Michael’s indifference and the holiday. There was no mention of the guys and I hadn’t told her of the email I’d sent nor the one I’d received. I wasn’t entirely sure why but I hadn’t wanted to share him. I wanted to languish in the fantasy for a little longer before a comment, or a warning, burst my bubble.

  Michael didn’t come home that evening; I wasn’t expecting him to. If he had a function, he would stay in town. I never asked where. I guessed I hadn’t needed to—I knew. I found, for the first time, I enjoyed him being away. I’d always been comfortable with my own company and it gave me time to email.

  After a simple pasta dinner, I scanned my photographs, selecting the better ones of me, the island, the guys, and Carla, before copying them to a file. I opened my emails and, without needing to think of what to say, I typed.

  To: Stefan

  From: Jayne

  Date: 16 February 2014

  Subject: Holiday Pics

  Hi, I hope you had a great first day back at work. I’ve put together a selection of photographs. I hope you like them. I found out yesterday I’m going to be a grandmother. Me! I’m so excited. My son, Ben, and his partner, Kerry, are expecting. I’m so thrilled for them. I’ve already decided the baby can’t call me granny; it makes me sound so old. I’ll have to think of a suitable name. So, how are things? Is work busy? I hope my email isn’t disturbing you. Let me know what you think of the photos, although they’re not to your standard ha ha.

  Your friend, Jayne x

  Less than an hour later, I received a reply. I wasn’t expecting to, as it was early evening.

  To: Jayne

  Frome: Stefan

  Date: 16 February 2014

  Subject: Re: Holiday Pics

  Hey yourself :) Great pics and you’re a good photographer. Remind me to teach you about exposure! A granny, wow. You don’t look old enough but I’m pleased for you. I’m working late before meeting my sons after football practice. Morton said to say hello. He’s going to email Carla soon. Work is super busy. I have a new contract, a big one, and I’m excited about it. And you’ll never disturb me. I look forward to hearing from you. I have some nice pictures of my own, I’ll send them.

  Take care, my friend. S x

  I read, and as before, re-read the email many times. I loved that he signed off with just his initial. It was as if some intimacy had crept in.

  I went to bed that night with a huge smile on my face and slept right through until the following morning. It was the ring of the telephone that had woken me. I reached over to answer it.

  “Good morning, Jayne. I trust I didn’t wake you,” Francis said.

  I held in the groan as I recognised my mother-in-law’s voice and glanced at the clock. I had slept in later than normal; it was close to nine.

  “I wanted to catch Michael before he left for work to congratulate him.”

  “He leaves about seven, Francis, but I’m afraid he stayed in London last night after a function. I’m sure you can catch him at work.”

  She knew he wouldn’t be around at that time of the morning.

  “I don’t like to disturb him. I know how hard he works to provide for you.”

  Her barbed comments had long since failed to hit their target.

  “What did you want to congratulate him on?” I asked. I knew she was baiting me and for once, I was curious.

  “His new contract, of course. It’s extremely exciting. I was telling the ladies at the Women’s Institute yesterday. The Colonel is extremely proud.”

  The Colonel, her husband Albert, (and why the fuck she didn’t just use his name, I had no idea), had never been proud of his son. Albert, obviously, had been in the military and was bitterly disappointed his only child had not followed in his footsteps. I wondered what Francis’ game was.

  “I’ll be sure to let Michael know when he finally returns home,” I snapped.

  “Please do. Am I to assume you’ll be attending luncheon on Sunday?”

  “Michael may be. I’m afraid I have plans.”

  I’d never missed her formal luncheon before. Every other Sunday Michael dragged a reluctant family with him to sit, stiff backed and in fear of damaging her best crockery. It was a ritual I intended to finally break.

  Francis and Albert were a wealthy couple. They’d travelled the world while putting their son in boarding school. But I had to thank them for one thing—they had set up trust funds for both my children. Ben had accessed his for the rent deposit on his and Kerry’s house. Casey had been forbidden access until she finished university. Francis loved the control over my children the fund gave her, I imagined. Ben had often remarked that he’d celebrate with the reminder of his when they died.

  I replaced the telephone in its cradle and made my way to the shower. Not even Francis would spoil my mood.

  With just a towel wrapped around me, I stood in front of the mirror. My hair was in need of a cut and maybe a colour to cover the grey roots. I dropped the towel. I’d never looked at myself, I mean, really looked at myself. I’d never taken care of my body, and maybe that’s what turned Michael off. The tart was slim and toned, tanned from days on the golf course with manicured nails and glossy hair. She hadn’t brought two children up single-handed; she didn’t clean and cook every day, iron endless amounts of shirts and garden. She had a cleaner, I imagined.

  I grabbed the handful of fat around my midriff, inspected the silver lines that crisscrossed my stomach and hips and sighed. With a shake of my head, I dressed. Until that holiday, I hadn’t thought about how I looked, I had no desire to have regular haircuts or paint my nails. I had no one I wanted to do that for.

  I rifled through my cosmetics drawer and found an old bottle of red nail varnish. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I painted my nails. I couldn’t remember the last time I had.

  With the dog walked and the house cleaned, I decided to take a walk into the village. As I passed the post office I stopped to look at the notice board; occasionally there would be mention of a concert or a play being performed locally. My gaze came to rest on an advertisement for a job. A secretary was required part time in a local school. I patted my pocket for a pen and piece of paper, knowing full well I wouldn’t find one.

  Mrs. Oliver, the florist, came out of the post office door. She smiled and bade me a good morning whilst holding the door expecting me to enter. I did. The old post master, whose name I never knew, greeted me from his counter.

  “There’s an advert in the window, can I get the details?” I asked.

  He wandered over.

  “That one? I should have taken that down ages ago. That job’s been taken. Old Mrs. Preston got that,” he said.

  “Okay, not to worry.”

  “If you’re looking for work, maybe try the pub. I know that young girl walked out recently.”

  “Thank you, I may do that.”

&nb
sp; I left the post office with no intention of visiting the White Horse. Not only would Michael throw a fit if I took a job as a bar maid, it really wasn’t something I’d want for myself either. But after seeing that notice, I’d made a decision. I wanted to go back to work. I wanted to earn my own money and not have to account for what I did with it.

  My cheeks prickled with the cold but I felt refreshed. I was huffing a little by the time I made it home, forgetting my house was deceivingly uphill all the way back.

  Dini greeted me with his usual enthusiasm as I entered the house. It took an age to get out of my coat and kick off my shoes. I decided to take a tour around the Internet and see if there were any job agencies locally.

  My notifications indicated that I had an email. I was pleased to see Stefan had sent a file with some photographs.

  To: Jayne

  From: Stefan

  Date: 17 February 2014

  Subject: More Holiday Pics

  Hey, J, some pics. And yes, that one is my favourite. No time today but will speak soon.

  S xx

  Two kisses! I beamed and quickly opened the attached file. Stefan had sent some underwater ones mixed in with land shots. There was the most amazing photo of the palm tree that hung over the water’s edge with the leaves brushing the surface of the water. The sun was setting in the background and he’d captured the orange hues over the surface of the water perfectly. I earmarked it as one to print off. It would look lovely in a frame.

  I caught my breath at the next picture. It was of me. A close up head shot as I was looking out to sea. I looked so sad; whatever I had been thinking about had brought tears to my eyes. I had no recollection of the photo being taken. The evening breeze had caught my hair, which fanned slightly out behind me. I must have been wearing my black strapless sundress, as all that could be seen were bare shoulders.

  My eyes were bright with my tears, the green almost emerald. I rose and looked in the hallway mirror. Were my eyes truly that colour? Why had I never noticed just how vibrant they were?

  I minimised the file and pulled up the last photographs I’d taken, one prior to my holiday. I was always snapping away and often Ben would grab my camera and take selfies of us both together. I found a photo of us. We were laughing but my eyes, although green, were dull.

  Maybe it was the contrast against my slightly tanned face that had made my eyes so bright. A thought ran through my mind, an unexpected one.

  My eyes were bright because for the first time in years, despite whatever had caused those tears, I felt free.

  I focused on that thought. Being away from Michael had felt liberating. I hadn’t realised how stifled my life was, how controlled and where each moment was accounted for until I’d studied that photograph. I brought it back up again. Despite the fact I was looking at myself, I loved the image. There was perfect clarity and focus.

  It was the only picture of me and I hoped it was the one Stefan was referring to when he’d said, ‘…that is my favourite’.

  For the first month, Stefan and I emailed every day. Often it was just general chitchat, what we had done during the day, what the dog or our children had been up to. Neither mentioned our partners. As winter moved into spring, our emails lessened. Instead of daily, we spoke once or twice a week. Stefan would often email after working hours and I wondered if he stayed late especially to do that. Another thing that had changed was the tone of the emails.

  To: Stefan

  From: Jayne

  Date: 20 March 2014

  Subject: Angels and dreams

  Hey, S, hope you’re well. It’s sunny here for a change. I might sit in the garden. I saw a program on Denmark the other night; there’s an artist, somewhere in the North who made little silver angles. They looked wonderful. I have tried googling the artist but I can’t find anything about him, can you try? Anyway, had a nice dream about you last night. ;)

  J xxx

  To: Jayne

  From: Stefan

  Date: 20 March 2014

  Subject: Angels and Dreams – what a mix!

  J, I don’t know anything about the artist but I will look, and tell me about the dream. ;)

  S xx

  To: Stefan

  From: Jayne

  Date: 20 March 2014

  Subject: Angels and Dreams – it was!

  :) Don’t think so, that one was all for me! However, it was rather good!

  Hugs and stuff

  J xx

  To: Jayne

  From: Stefan

  Date 20 March 2014

  Subject: Angels and Dreams - sulks

  J, that’s not fair. Tell me about “stuff” too.

  S xx

  To: Stefan

  From: Jayne

  Date: 20 March 2014

  Subject: Sulks are for children

  You would love to know what “stuff” was but that’s my secret!

  J xx

  I had a theory. Whenever I painted my nails red, and I suspected it was nothing more than symbolic, Scarlet made an appearance. I welcomed her. I’d missed her. For some reason I had all the confidence in the world when I was sending those emails. I could be anyone I wanted to be. I could be flirty and say the kind of things I wouldn’t dream of saying face to face. Often it wasn’t the words that had formed in my mind but hers as they travelled down to my fingertips. I wondered if I had a split personality, not that I would voice that concern to anyone.

  The dream I had half told him about stayed with me for days. I had woken in the middle of the night aroused and desperate for some relief. We had been on that sandbank back in the Maldives, alone. It was my perfect From Here To Eternity moment. I lay underneath Stefan on the shoreline as waves lapped around our bodies. His kiss was deep and fierce; he’d held my head between his hands and ground his pelvis into mine. I recalled how I’d wrapped my legs around his and scraped my nails down his bare back.

  I’d woken to a throbbing between my thighs, a dampness that took me by surprise. I’d reached down with my hand and gently touched the cotton of my knickers before pulling my hand away in shock at the wetness I’d found. I’d never pleasured myself, I wouldn’t know how. It left me frustrated and full of longing. It left me sad.

  “Are you off to the gym today?” I asked Carla after she’d answered her phone.

  “I am, why?”

  “I might come with you.” I didn’t get a reply, just silence.

  Carla had wanted me to join the gym and accompany her on her weekly visits. I’d never been one for exercise other than walking the dog.

  “Are you sure? I mean, I’d love for you to come with me. I’ll pick you up on the way.”

  “Great, see you later.”

  I rushed upstairs to find something to wear. Then panicked because I wasn’t sure I even owned a pair of trainers. After rummaging through my wardrobe I found an old pair of leggings, a t-shirt long enough to cover my backside and a pair of trainers. I packed them in a bag and waited.

  “Well, that’s a smile I haven’t seen in a long time,” Carla said as I walked to her car.

  I’d seen her pull up outside the house and climbed in the passenger seat.

  “I’m happy today.”

  She furrowed her brow but said no more. I’d been to the gym some month’s prior for an induction. In fact, if I thought hard enough, it was probably a year ago, but I never returned. I’d woken that morning with a plan, a secret desire to get fit, to look the best I could, to put my ‘Let’s Get Jayne A Life’ plan finally into action.

  “I think Michael has something up his sleeve,” I said as we changed into our workout clothes.

  “Huh?”

  “His mum rang a little while ago wanting to congratulate him on his new contract, she never said what it was and I never asked. Then he received a letter from a bank in Japan.”

  “Have you asked him?”

  “No, we don’t really talk anymore. We sit in different parts of the house on the odd occasions he’s actually home.”


  “You need to. I’d have opened the letter.”

  “I’m not interested, to be honest. I haven’t been to Francis’ for luncheon for ages either. Maybe I should go Sunday and see what’s going on.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t tell you, the nasty old witch.”

  “I think she was waiting for me to ask, which I wasn’t going to do.”

  As we walked into the gym, we chatted about the kids. Casey was due home that weekend and I looked forward to seeing her. She hadn’t been home since Christmas. But her coming home posed one problem. Michael and I would have to communicate, put on the pretence that we actually spent time together. I decided to head to the running machine, or walking machine as I’d renamed it; I didn’t run. Carla took the one next to me, popped on her headphones and jogged. It baffled me that people took to a running machine to jog. We lived in a beautiful part of Kent, the Downs were on our doorstep, yet guys ran on a grey metal machine watching MTV on the TV’s bracketed to the wall. They could be running across the fields, along the footpaths, dodging sheep shit, puddles and potholes. I chuckled as I upped the speed to a brisk walk.

  We spent an hour moving from machine to machine before heading for a shower and then a welcomed coffee. I was dressed with wet hair tied up in a bun before Carla had finished re-applying her makeup.

  “I’ll get the coffees,” I said, heading for the changing room door.

  As I waited, I took out my phone and connected to my email account. I hadn’t heard from Stefan after our fun exchange about ‘stuff’ but scrolled through and re-read all his messages. I did that often. Whenever I felt down, I read them. They brought a smile to my lips and I felt good. At no time did I think anything was wrong, he was my friend—my secret friend—and he made me feel happy.