Work Wife Balance

by Jo Edwards

18th December - Lee Halfpenny’s hearing was due to take place at 11.00 am. The Snake appeared at my desk at 10.30 am holding out a letter. He’d resigned. Oh, deep joy! What a relief. Hissing Cyn was desperately disappointed that we wouldn’t be sacking him.

  “But can’t we go ahead with the hearing anyway?” she wailed. “After all that effort, the time I’ve spent on him and his, his issues, all those file notes, meetings - he just gets away with it? So he can go and do the same at another company?”

  I had complete sympathy for her. But I couldn’t change anything. She slid despondently back to her desk, and was completely hidden behind Lee’s mountainous HR file. I phoned Darren in Bridgend who was coming to do the hearing. He had already reached Cheltenham.

  He said “Oh for fu....” and then his line broke up.

  Most of my online Christmas shopping had turned up, but I still hadn’t got anything for The Husband. I thought I would search online for some iPad accessories. They wouldn’t be delivered before Christmas, but I could always say I’d ordered them but they hadn’t arrived in time. I could show him the pictures on Christmas Day. He had an evening appointment so he was out of the house. I went into the study and lifted the cover from the iPad. The screen icons looked different. That was odd. Oh, it must be The Husband’s new one, I hadn’t used it before. For some reason I turned it over. It was engraved on the back with two small words: “For Goofy”.

  I stared at the words. Why had he had that engraved? Why Goofy, who called him Goofy? I felt as if a cold bucket of sick had been thrown over me. Debbie. Debbie had called him Goofy when we were surfing in Devon. “For Goofy”. So had she bought him the iPad? That was five hundred quid at least. You wouldn’t spend that amount on someone unless... unless they meant something really special to you.

  I sat motionless in the study. So was it true after all? There was something going on between them. Was there any other explanation for that engraving? I didn’t think so. How long had it been going on for? Did she want me to find out, is that why she’d gone for the naff free engraving service when she’d bought the iPad? Or did she think he wasn’t going to be returning home after our “trial separation”? I put my head in my hands to make it stop reeling. I couldn’t stand all these questions, I hated this feeling of nausea that just kept swelling up from my stomach.

  I didn’t deserve this, it wasn’t fair, it was Christmas. I fought off the tears. No. No more wimpy weedy behaviour. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and be strong. He said he had an evening appointment, but possibly he was out with her. Perhaps they were exchanging gifts as they wouldn’t be together at Christmas. I phoned him. It went to voicemail. I left him a message: “Can you come home as soon as possible. We need to talk.” Two minutes later the phone rang. It was him. I let it go to voicemail. He left a message, sounding a little apprehensive:

  “Er, are you there Kate? No? I think you just called me. I’m just finishing my appointment. Should be home in about twenty. Ok?”

  Twenty minutes. About the time it took to drive from Debbie’s. If he was there. Where was Paul? Away again? Night out? The Devil Child presumably went to her doting grandparents. I wondered from room to room, and took a big swig from the brandy bottle to fight off the nausea. I was seated at the kitchen table with the iPad in front of me when I heard his key in the lock. He came in, looking round the kitchen for signs that I’d cooked him some supper. I hadn’t.

  “Hi,” he said, sounding a bit unsure of himself. “Everything ok? What’s the plan for tea?” The plan is to see if I can fit this iPad up your arse. If I can shove it up far enough you should be able eat that.

  “You need to explain this to me,” I said bluntly. I showed him the engraving on the back of his iPad. He read it and went white. Had he actually noticed it before?

  “Er well, it’s what they call me at work.” He was flustered.

  “Everyone at work calls you Goofy?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “So who bought the iPad?”

  “Well, I bought it, well no actually, it was a gift from work. Part of my bonus.” That was quick thinking.

  “That’s very unusual, isn’t it? Did everyone get one?”

  “Er, yes, no, I mean I’m not sure if everyone got one. It depended on how well you’d done, against your target.”

  “You told me you bought it for yourself, out of your bonus.”

  He sat down opposite me at the kitchen table. I drummed my nails on the pine surface and looked at him. He looked at me. He looked defeated.

  “Did Debbie buy you the iPad?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “I’ll take that as a yes then,” I said. My heart was racing. “And as it’s such a generous gift I guess you were giving her something in return.”

  “It was just a present,” he said feebly. “She and Paul are loaded, you know that, it’s not a great deal of money to them.”

  “Oh, so it was a gift from Paul too? So if I call him he’ll confirm that will he?” I picked up my mobile.

  “No no, don’t do that!” The Husband, horrified, tried to grab the phone from me. “It’s late, Chloë will be in bed. You’ll upset them.”

  “I’ll upset them?” I was angry now. “Have you thought for just one second how I might be feeling? I can’t believe you’re still trying to deny it and wriggle your way out of it like a, like a-” (dammit, I couldn’t think of anything that wriggled), “like a wriggly thing. Why can’t you just grow a pair of balls and tell me what’s been going on? Debbie bought you that iPad, didn’t she?”

  Silence. “Well, didn’t she?”

  “Yes.” He looked down at the table top.

  I took a deep breath. “And she did that because you are more than just friends. Aren’t you?”

  “It’s over,” he said to the table.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “It’s over.” He looked up at me, putting his hurt little boy face on. “There was something, but it’s over, finished. I’m sorry.”

  So there it was. At last. A confession. I’d hoped and hoped it wasn’t true, I’d been in denial, but it was true, it had happened. Of course it had happened. I wanted to be sick.

  He was trying to gauge how I was going to react, what I was going to do.

  “It was nothing really, I mean it meant nothing,” he was saying. “We were both a bit unhappy, you know, unsettled, both you and Paul work such long hours-”

  “So you thought you’d fill in some time by shagging each other?” I spat at him, “Don’t you dare blame me and Paul for your disgusting behaviour! You’re pathetic.”

  I stood up and filled the kettle. God knows why, I certainly didn’t want a cup of tea but I just had to do something.

  “No, no, of course I’m not blaming you,” he said, like he was talking to a four year old. I wanted to scream. “I’m just trying to explain to you why it happened. We didn’t mean it to, we tried our best to fight it-”

  “When did it start?”

  “Well, I can’t really remember. It’s not important. What is important is that it-”

  “It is bloody important to me! When did it start? Before Devon? Afterwards? Earlier?”

  He thought for a moment, clearly trying to decide if he should be honest or not. “It was probably around Devon I think, maybe a bit before that, I don’t know.”

  “Oh my God! So we spent the weekend with them and you were already at it! You’d both planned it, so you could take a holiday together. How could you be so sly, so devious? Weren’t you sick from shame? Their child was there too, and Paul’s parents. You’re disgusting, both of you.”

  He tried to back-track. “But nothing had really happened up until then - it was that weekend, she told me how she felt, but we kind of already knew. We couldn’t stop ourselves, we did try...” Those late nights drinking brandy together. With a wife and a husband and a daughter asleep in the same house. How very classy.

  I held my hands up. “I don’t want to hear any mor
e. You know, it’s not so much the thought of you two together that sickens me as much as you lying to my face. You making me feel like I was a piece of shit for thinking the worst. We’ve been married for twelve years and you could just lie to me like that. You’re a bare-faced liar. What else do you lie to me about? What else are you capable of? I don’t think I really know who you are anymore.”

  “You’re being over-dramatic-”

  “Oh, am I really?” I brandished a coffee mug at him. It had ‘I’d Rather Be Surfing’ printed on it. “I don’t think so. I think I’m entitled to a bit of drama when I find out that my husband is a lying cheating deceitful rat. Does Paul know anything? No? Thought not. I bet you two have had a right old laugh behind our backs, what a pair of bloody mugs we are.”

  “You’re not going to tell him are you?” The Husband looked scared. “I can’t see what good it would do now, you don’t want to split a family up surely? There’s no point now, not when it’s all over and done with. It’s not fair on the kid.” You really are a piece of work.

  “Did you think about the kid while you two were at it like rabbits?” That sounded very wrong, I hadn’t meant it to come out like that. “And it might be over and done with in your mind, but it’s not in mine. I want you to leave.”

  He looked at me in alarm. “Leave? But where would I go? Look, I know you’re angry, yes you’ve every right to be, but can’t we talk about this? I know we can get through this. Other couples do you know, it doesn’t have to be the end.”

  “Yes it does,” I said. I suddenly felt very calm and clear. “I want you to leave. Now.”

  “God, this is so typical of you,” he said getting up, the little boy lost act disappearing. “Always over-reacting, making a drama out of everything. Well, I’m not going to leave. I’ve every right to be here. It’s half my house and it’s Christmas for God’s sake.”

  He caught himself and tried to soften his manner. “Look love, I know you’ve had a shock and I’m truly sorry. But it was just a bit of silliness, and it’s over. I suggest we get through Christmas and try and start afresh in the New Year, yes? Let the dust settle a bit. See how you feel then. You don’t want to spend Christmas on your own do you? And it would upset your parents, your poor Mum, she’d be ever so confused wouldn’t she? She wouldn’t understand what was happening. Don’t let’s be hasty, you may always regret it. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re a total shit. How dare you use my mother’s illness to try and emotionally blackmail me? Just how low are you prepared to sink?” I picked up my mobile again.

  “Either you leave now or I’m going to call Paul and tell him what you’ve been doing with his wife,” I said. “I don’t care about their Devil Child, I don’t care that it’s Christmas, it’s just another day in the sodding calendar. And I don’t want to spend another day of my life anywhere near you. It’s your choice.”

  He looked trapped. Was he going to stay and risk me phoning Paul? He was desperate for Paul not to know, probably scared he’d get beaten to a pulp. He came to a decision.

  “Well, if you’re quite determined to split up a family, at Christmas, just out of some kind of petty revenge then I guess you’ve given me no choice but to go.”

  “Do you really believe you hold the moral high ground here? When did you become such a knob? Oh, just go will you, just get away from me. You make me sick.”

  He paused, waiting for me to change my mind. I brandished the phone at him. He turned on his heel and stormed up the stairs. I heard him banging around in his room, opening and slamming drawers, getting some things together. He still had some stuff in bags that he hadn’t bothered to unpack since he’d come back from Bruce’s, so that would save him some time.

  For something to do, I opened a bottle of wine and started to make myself a Philadelphia sandwich, and although I wasn’t hungry, forced myself to eat it. He came into the kitchen to snatch up his iPad and to glare at me, but I ignored him. He eventually started to take some bags out to his car. When he’d finished he came back to the kitchen to double-check that I hadn’t changed my mind. I hadn’t.

  “I’m going to Keith’s,” he said. I looked blank. “Keith from golf. He says I can kip in his spare room. It’s just a tiny box room...”

  I shrugged.

  “Well, have a happy Christmas then, won’t you?” he said, sarcastically. “And don’t go changing the locks because I should remind you that it’s my home too and I’m not leaving for good. Just for, well, just until...” he tailed off. He waited again for me to say something, to change my mind, to say everything was all right, but I didn’t. He turned and left, slamming the front door so hard that the whole house shook. His car was revved up angrily, and then the house was silent again, just like the time he’d left to go to Bruce’s.

  But it was different this time. I felt different. It felt right that he was gone. It was like some horrible dark presence that had been lurking in a corner, had finally been exorcised. He’d made a fool of me, and as much as I hadn’t wanted to believe it, I think I’d known it all along.

  I felt such relief - I wasn’t going mad, I wouldn’t be boiling anyone’s bunnies today. Although that fake, false trollop Debbie had better lock up her hutches. She could expect a visit from me sometime soon. She wasn’t going to get away scot-free, no way.

  I realised that for the first time in my life, after 42 Christmas’s, I would be spending this one totally alone. What bliss. What joy. I could curl up on the sofa in my jim-jams and watch wall-to-wall crap telly. I wouldn’t have to get all red-faced and sweaty cooking a great big roast, and open presents with a fake smile on my face. I could have a Christmas cheese toastie if that’s what I felt like. I could even put some Marmite on it now – I no longer had to listen to the Husband making sick noises whilst I ate it. Thank goodness I hadn’t splashed out on a Christmas present for him. Instead, I could treat myself to something fluffy and frivolous from Monsoon. Perhaps one of those hairy jumpers he hated so much, because the fluff got up his nose.

  I wondered into the spare bedroom. A stray sock looked reproachfully up at me from the floor. I scooped it up and threw it straight into the bin. Gone. For good. I wrapped my arms protectively around myself. I would be starting the New Year as a single woman. It was scary, but it was exciting too. I would try really hard to exercise and lose my second stomach and back fat. I’d have to start after Christmas of course, but by Springtime, I would be running through wild flower meadows looking slim-waisted and bronze-limbed. I would find myself a new man. Maybe one that thought I was actually “wow”, and not just an acronym. If I searched enough institutions I was bound to find someone sooner or later. Perhaps I’d have a chance encounter with James Martin who’d fall in love with me and let me smear him with Angel Delight night after night. I would find myself a new job too, a better job, one I could feel proud of. My new colleagues would be cheerful and competent with perfect bowel function. Yes, I was really looking forward to Christmas this year.

  At work, the call volumes were dropping off and spirits were high as they always were during Christmas week. The whole department was covered in sparkly tinsel and every flat surface held tins of chocolates and boxes of mince pies. An email had gone round asking the person who had sent Stalin Stan a card with a picture of Santa wearing a swastika armband to own up. There was no budget this year for staff Christmas presents so I bought bottles of wine for everyone out of my own money and held an “austerity” Christmas raffle (top prize = a day off, bottom prize = the Perypils official calendar). I presented The Rock with a huge box of Thornton chocolates and begged her not to retire next year. She grinned and said, through a hazelnut praline, that she had “forty two days, three hours and twelve minutes” left to work. She’d marked up a daily countdown on the whiteboard behind her.

  I was just on my way to tamper with her whiteboard when I noticed that the admin team had gathered together to give each other their Secret Santa gifts. I watched the first guy unwrap
his present to reveal a huge tub of Vaseline, a man-size box of tissues and a Farmers Weekly magazine. Oh God.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  With grateful thanks to Josie Clement for all your excellent advice, support and infinite patience and thank you to my lovely husband for being nothing like Kate’s!

  Also By JO EdWARDS

  POt-Bound

  (Sequel to WORK WIFE BALANCE)

  Since discovering facial wax strips, Kate King has never been short of a partner. Now, having reached the age of looking forward to a dull evening, she finds herself single and soon discovers that life outside of the relationship bubble is tough.

  Will she be capable of spreading new roots amidst the harshness and turbulence of her existence, or will she forever be twisted around into knots?

  “Kate is a wonderful character, believable, likeable and with a nice line in funny put-downs.” Daily Mail

  Foggy’s BLOG

  Hello! I am Morten Astley Fogarty – call centre worker and all-round entertainer. Although I have an extremely rewarding career answering the phones at Perypils Insurance (customers are always telling me what a total brick I am), my ambition is to perform on the stage. I am, after all, named after two of the greatest singers of the 1980's.

  I often duet with my girlfriend Myra, who has a fantastic singing voice too. She has asked me to consider a three-way, so if I can find the right performer, we might even become the next Earth, Wind and Fire!

  My colleagues are a wonderful bunch and are always doing little things to brighten my day. Only yesterday, I returned from lunch to find they'd re-arranged the letters O, K, N, B on my keyboard. We do have such fun! I'm delighted to share my incredible life with you via my amazing blog.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jo Edwards lives in Hampshire with her husband, in a village they selected for its abundance of fine pubs. She is always delighted to hear from readers – visit her at www.jo-edwards.com.

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