Fandango in the Apse! Read online

  It was the slight pause and the way she made “nice” sound as if she was talking about rather scruffy Yorkshire terrier that did it. I was immediately on the back foot. In a few words this woman, with a precision born of execution had reduced me to a quivering mass of insecurities. The cow!

  ‘Nice to meet you too,’ I muttered, while squirming under her expertly made up gaze. As soon as she teetered off on her four-inch heels, I rounded on Eddie.

  ‘Who is that bitch?’

  ‘Katie, she is not a bitch…’

  ‘Well you weren’t hearing what I was hearing then.’

  ‘We set up the new department together; she’s a very clever woman. In fact, without her recommendation I wouldn’t have got into the club.’ This was something that seemed to impress Eddie no end. ‘She’s an amazing golfer too, you know.’

  ‘Oh, fuck off, Eddie!’ I said, as I headed for the loo.

  By tacit agreement, neither of us mentioned Heidi again and provided I could keep her red satin, excuse for a dress, out of my line of vision I was happy. Towards the end of the evening and well down my seventh brandy, Eddie left me at a corner table with brandies number eight and nine in a tall glass in front of me. He was off networking, my befuddled brain just about grasped through the silky haze of drunkenness.

  Have you ever noticed no matter how drunk you are something can happen which immediately sobers you up? My “something” was catching sight of my husband skulking out the door, closely followed by a flash of red satin. My nerve endings fizzed with indignation. Completely alert, I got to my feet and made my way to the door. The bastard! The complete and utter bastard was all I could think as I wandered the corridors of the clubhouse.

  For the first time I cursed the fact that I had never been there before. Fifteen minutes later and almost crying in frustration, I wandered back to the function room. I was livid, and the longer Eddie was missing, the angrier I became. Half an hour later, all wide-eyed and innocent he returned.

  ‘Where have you been?’ I hissed through gritted teeth. Eddie made a good show of being surprised.

  ‘I told you – networking. There are a lot of investment possibilities in this place if you can get in with the right people.’

  ‘Networking, my arse. I saw you slink off with Miss Nasty Knickers, do you think I’m stupid, Eddie?’ The look on his face, which conveyed that in his opinion it was a distinct possibility, sent me into the realms of murderous rage.

  ‘I think it’s time we left,’ Eddie decided.

  ‘Not before I wipe the smirk off that bitch’s face, we’re not!’

  ‘Katie, for God’s sake don’t make a scene, it’s all in your imagination, now come on.’ Eddie had hold of my arm and short of making a complete fool of myself; I had no choice but to leave.

  The following days were a bubbling cauldron of spite filled slanging matches or simmering silences waiting to erupt into one. Eddie adamantly refused to admit anything was going on with Heidi, and though I wasn’t sure I wanted his confession to the contrary, I adamantly refused to believe him. I was in a strange position. If he admitted sleeping with Heidi, I would have to make choices. I didn’t want to make choices. I was happy living in my five bedroomed, Barrett-built, executive home, with solid wood kitchen and double garage.

  I phoned Alison again, because you can always rely on your best friend to tell you the truth no matter what.

  ‘So what do you think?’ I asked, after filling her in on the details.

  ‘Do you want the truth, or do you want reassurance?’

  ‘Oh God… I don’t know Alison, I have no idea what I want. Everything back to normal, I suppose.’

  ‘Hmm…that’s going to be difficult now though…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Getting everything back to normal. Listen Katie, are you absolutely sure about this, I mean have you noticed anything different about him lately?’

  ‘Well, he’s put on a little weight; his face is getting rounder…’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Other than a sudden preference for skimpy briefs over Y Fronts… nothing.’

  ‘Hmmm…’

  ‘Oh! I’ve just remembered I found a new bottle of aftershave in the glove box of his car a few weeks back. I didn’t think anything about it at the time.’ It was all beginning to make sense now, the late nights, business dinners at the weekend.

  ‘You think he’s at it, don’t you, Alison?’

  ‘Truth? Yeah. I’m sorry love, but any man who disappears for a half an hour in the middle of a party with a woman other than his wife, is up to no good.’

  ‘I know…argh! He’s a shit.’

  ‘Got to agree with you there honey. Trouble is, what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Do about it? I’ve no idea…what would you do?’

  ‘You mean after I’d chopped his balls off? That depends…’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘Whether or not I wanted to save my marriage.’

  My eyes strayed to the twelve by eight family photograph we’d posed for the previous summer, which was now hanging in pride of place on the dining room wall. Two happy, mirror images of their father smiled out at me. Eddie, his blonde hair a shade darker than the boys, had a proprietary arm round my shoulders and Jester, with a hopelessly stupid expression on his furry face, completed the picture.

  ‘Oh, Alison… it’s all such a mess.’

  In the end, it came down to two choices – fight or flight. I chose fight. I know you probably think I should have chucked him out and then taken him for as much as I could get, and in hindsight, I wish I had. However, you have to understand, I was still labouring under the impression that I’d brought his infidelity on myself. Total horseshit when I think about it now, but at the time, that’s how it seemed.

  So – in the battle to save my ailing union, my pre-emptory means of defence was to diet. In collusion with the wonderful women from WeightWatchers, over the following six months, I shed the blubber until my size tens slipped over slimmed down hips with ease. Two notches tighter on the belt and a notch up for the self-esteem. Even Eddie had managed a compliment, well – not so much a compliment, more an observation – but I wasn’t going to be picky.

  I was on a roll – or so I thought, right up to the point when my carefully thought out strategy descended into a fiasco of seismic proportions.

  Having unexpectedly secured a babysitter in the form of Eddie’s mother – a woman with whom I had reached an uneasy détente in the Cold War of our relationship – I took myself off to the gym. On the way home, while sitting at a set of traffic lights still high on exercise-induced endorphins, I happened to look to my left. You know what I’m going to say, don’t you? Yep! Beautifully framed in the candlelit window of Giuseppe’s Italian Restaurant, was my husband and his latest squeeze. This one was dark haired and staring adoringly into Eddie’s eyes. For Christ’s sake! What does a woman have to do?

  Chapter Six

  Totally, against my character, I decided to say nothing to Eddie when he returned from his “unavoidably late staff meeting”. Perilously close to tears, it nearly killed me to stay quiet, but I had the embryo of a plan simmering on the back boiler. I wasn’t my mother’s daughter for nothing; I knew the only solace for my bitter soul was the sweet taste of revenge.

  Eddie, now secure in his belief that he could get away with anything, suspected nothing. I hadn’t yet fine-tuned my schedule of retribution, when an opportunity presented itself.

  I have to tell you, those of you who have never suffered the gut wrenching humiliation of infidelity will find what I’m about to tell you disgusting. Those of you who have, will also find it disgusting, whilst wishing you had thought of it yourselves. To me, it was a stroke of genius. Let me explain…

  I was standing at the sink looking out over the garden trying to muster some enthusiasm for the day, when I noticed Jester behaving peculiarly. He seemed to be performing some sort of ritual dance, alternatively squatting and t
hen hopping around the lawn. I watched for a while until he gave one almighty heave, which resulted in a look of relief on his face and the appearance of a strange object on the grass, (I told you this was disgusting). Well used to Jester’s penchant for eating just about anything, I went to investigate.

  To my amazement sitting amid the contents of his bowel movement was a pair of Sam’s underpants. He had soiled them a few days earlier and been so upset by his uncharacteristic lapse in the potty training area, I had put them outside the kitchen door to deal with later and never given them another thought.

  As I went to get a shovel, an evil thought struck me. The perfectly malicious plan I was hatching perked up my spirits to such an extent, I decided to cook Eddie his favourite curry for dinner.

  ‘How’s your curry?’ I asked, as I sat watching him eat later that evening.

  ‘A bit spicier than usual, but lovely all the same, are you not having any?’

  ‘No, I ate with the kids, I wasn’t sure what time you’d be home,’ I replied, as I watched Eddie clear his plate.

  ‘Do you want some more?’

  I had a hard time hiding my satisfaction as I served another portion of curry and rice to my unsuspecting husband. I did pause to reflect on the amount he ate – this was the time his increasing paunch, receding hairline, and overfed face, inspired his nickname “The Pig” in my mind. It was a puzzle to me how he managed to attract women at all.

  Later, as I washed up I had no remorse about the fact that in the very pan I was holding, along with the curry, I had cooked Sam’s underpants. Yes! The very ones that had been through Jester’s digestive system. So what do you think? A terrible thing to do or did he get his just deserts? I’ll let you decide.

  The next morning when Eddie surfaced for breakfast, I did have a few qualms over my culinary offering the previous night though. He had a sickly looking pallor and refused anything but dry toast.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I asked.

  ‘No, I’ve a bit of a gippy tummy. I’ve been up and down to the loo all night.’

  ‘Must have been something you ate.’ Ooh, I’m a bitch!

  ‘I knew I shouldn’t have had that prawn sandwich for lunch yesterday. The last time I had one, it made me sick, do you remember?’

  ‘I do, you can never trust prawns, Eddie…don’t have them again.’

  I really am a wretch! But hey-ho, a woman scorned and all that.

  In the following months, I dedicated myself to finding ways of annoying Eddie. A nice, deep scratch along the side of his shiny, new company car. “Accidentally” throwing his wallet, cards and all, in the rubbish on dustbin day. Shrinking his golfing woollens in a boil wash – OK, they appeased my anger, but really they were hollow victories, what I needed was something big.

  You know the old saying, “opportunity knocks when you least expect it”, well, I can attest to the trueness of that statement. My opportunity came in the form of Father Daly. I know I wasn’t going to mention his name, but it seems silly to keep referring to him as Richard Chamberlain, so his name was Father Michael Daly, and the devil take me, if any of you know him.

  As I mentioned earlier, the children’s un-baptised state had been bothering me. They were born with original sin and my ingrained Catholic upbringing kept reminding me that it was up to me to get them purified… pronto! Original sin, for those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, is supposedly a sin inherited by all descendants of Adam. He and the luscious Eve buggered it up for the rest of us when they ate the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. Right or wrong? I’ve no idea, but “just in case”, I felt the urge to go along with it.

  ‘Come in, Mrs Roberts, I’m Father Daley.’

  At this point, I should tell you I was expecting a grouchy, old fart, who breathed fire and brimstone and smelled faintly of whisky, much like the priests I remembered from childhood.

  The man holding the door open for me to enter the house shared by all three of the priests of the parish, was none of those things. He was young for a start, he was smiling and he was gorgeous. Bugger, I thought, if I’d known he was a priest here, I’d have been tempted back to mass long ago.

  ‘Thank you, father,’ I managed after a determined effort to stop myself gawking at him.

  He showed me into the lounge and offered tea.

  ‘Father Gus sends his apologies, but he is unavoidably detained and has asked me to see you instead,’ he said, smiling.

  Oh, my word, it was obvious he had no idea of the power of that smile, or he’d stop doing it.

  ‘That’s no problem,’ I replied, while silently cheering on my good fortune.

  I really did try to concentrate on our conversation, but my brain turned into a puddle between my ears and his words kept sinking to the bottom like pebbles. I kept thinking the priesthood was definitely short-changing the female population with this waste of a perfectly good specimen to celibacy. It was unfair…so, so unfair. I know, I know, I was digging myself a hole so deep, I’d soon be meeting Lucifer. Either that, or God would smite me down for my unholy thoughts.

  Nevertheless, I couldn’t help it. As I already said, I had just watched The Thorn Birds on telly – he was Richard – only better, much, much better. As you already know what eventually happened with Father Daly and me… I’ll skip the next part. Only kidding!

  My now oft mentioned “bluebell romp” happened a few weeks after the baptisms. I engineered a meeting. How you may ask? Well… it was simple really.

  During my conversations with Father Michael (we were on first name terms by then), I happened to mention the problems I was having in my marriage. If any of you dare suggest there was an ulterior motive to that, I shall strenuously deny it. He, as I knew he would, asked if he could be of help. The stage was set.

  Are you thinking that was a little devious? You’re right of course; especially as I had always thought it incredibly funny that we Catholics are expected to seek marriage guidance from priests, who had no idea of what it was like to be married in the first place. However, at this stage, my only plan was to get to know the tasty theologian a little better. It wasn’t until during one of our meetings, which we were conducting in the garden due to the two other priests wanting to watch Manchester United play Liverpool, (far more important than a parishioner), that I had an inkling all may not be what it seemed.

  ‘So how has it been, Katie, any improvement?’

  ‘No, not really Father, I try very hard to be a good wife…’ Bullshit! ‘but at times I think we’re getting further apart.’

  All the time I was speaking Father Daly was looking at my mouth, then as I finished speaking his gaze slid to my eyes and stayed there a fraction of a second too long. At first, I thought I’d imagined it. But then…

  ‘And the boys, how are they?’

  ‘They’re a little too young to pick up…’ There it was again, I hadn’t imagined it. Jesus, a priest was making eyes at me. I dragged my attention back to what I was saying, ‘on the atmosphere, and …um…we try not to argue in front of them.’

  Father Michael smiled his devilishly handsome smile and his, ‘Well, that’s good,’ was lost on me. My God, I kept thinking, a priest was making eyes at me. This revelation of mutual attraction was quite unbelievable, but also sexy, and powerful. I know that later, Father Michael’s doctrinal beliefs suffered a major setback in my irreverent hands, but you must agree; he was definitely the instigator. I have to say though, my courage deserted me and I cut the meeting short and rushed home.

  The fact that I was kicking myself for my hasty retreat the following morning did nothing to settle my chaotically scrambled mind. A dalliance with a man of the cloth was out of the question, I kept telling myself. I was still telling myself this, when I bumped into him a week later. Honestly, there was no contrivance involved in this meeting, I promise you. Eddie had taken the children to his mother’s house for Sunday tea, something I now avoided whenever possible.

  It was an unusually warm late March eveni
ng and the woods outside our village beckoned. I was thinking how the fine weather was encouraging the leaves to unfurl early this year as I ambled along a path at the edge of the trees, when suddenly he was in my line of sight.

  As soon as he reached me, I blurted out the first stupid thing that entered my head in an effort to hide my surprise.

  ‘Great minds think alike, it would seem.’ Oh, God, I groaned inwardly.

  ‘Yes, it would seem so,’ he said, with “that” smile.

  He had lovely eyes, deep blue with long eyelashes; women would kill for half their length.

  ‘Eddie has taken the children to his mother’s, so I’d thought I’d take advantage of the peace and quiet.’

  His smile slipped a little with what looked like disappointment. ‘Oh, well don’t let me disturb you.’

  ‘No! You’re not disturbing me,’ I said a little too quickly.

  I knew I should let him carry on by, but I couldn’t. We stood looking at each other for a few seconds, each aware of the other in a way that shouldn’t enter the realms of a priest and parishioner relationship. Father Michael spoke first.

  ‘I was just going into the woods. The clearing should be awash with bluebells, I thought it might be nice to have a look.’

  There was an awkward silence while I tried to decide if he was asking me to accompany him. His next sentence left me in no doubt.

  ‘Would you like to join me?’

  As we entered the cloistered atmosphere of the woodland, the air about us crackled with unspoken intention. Father Michael led the way and I watched the delightful play of muscles on his back as he moved through the woods. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and divested of his priestly attire, I had full view of his impressive body. The jeans were snug, showing off his cute bum and toned thighs. The slight breeze sexily tousled his light brown hair, and I was unashamedly losing myself in the sway of his buttocks when he turned and caught me looking.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Um…yes fine,’ I said, while willing myself not to blush.

  ‘Not much further now.’