Does It Make Him Unfaithful, People?
by James A. Stewart
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: A couple of strong ones.
Description: An extra-marital affair leads to guilt and some home truths.
_____________________________________________________________________
Richey lumbered out of bed. Jackie lay star-shaped on top of the covers, her modesty covered by a small sheet so perfect in proportion it could have been strategically placed by an oversensitive film director.
He wandered over to the window, the mist was lifting from the sea and it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day. Pity he had to spend most of it in the damn office, he thought. Jackie stirred, probably from the biting air conditioning which had kicked in. The noise and the temperature drop would be enough to wake her.
Richey stepped into the small toilet; he was going for a shower. He hated himself for what he did with Jackie last night. They had met at the leaving do for some faceless director. The only motivation for Richey's presence was the offer of canapés and the promise of a free bar. Whilst he chided himself for what he had done - it was the first time he'd been unfaithful - he resented his wife for making him do it. Cherie hadn't had sex with Richey for over a year and only James, their eighteen-month old son, kept them together. It was barely tolerance; hell, it was barely tolerance before James came along, now it was tolerance with a twist of celibacy, thought Richey.
They had argued before this latest trip. Richey had moved them to Paris on account of a promotion, but he spent most of his week away from home, leaving Cherie, despite her Gallic sounding name, in a strange country with no real grasp of the language and with no friends and family network to call on. ‘A self-serving egotistical bastard’ she called him. She accused him of loving his job more than his family. He retorted, defaming her in the process. It was all her fault he told her. She was a frigid bitch and did not appreciate the life Richey had given her and James, was his response.
The last words he heard, over the sound of breaking crockery, when he left home that morning was, “What life?”
To make matters worse, Cherie’s mum was visiting and no doubt the two of them spent most of the night talking about Richey. He could have cancelled the trip but he had to go, or at least that's what he told himself.
Jackie stirred in the room. Richey peeked through the gap in the door and saw her go to his jacket pocket and take out his phone, he was about to step out the toilet and catch her in the act of whatever she was up to when she shouted for him. He could see the flashing display indicating an inbound call; it was Cherie's mum who was phoning. Richey motioned for Jackie to be quiet and took the call.
He uttered a few words into the phone; “Uh-huh”.
“When?”
“Last night at eleven-thirty?”
“How?”
“Is James OK?”
“Thank God.”
“The phone in my room must have been broke and I didn't hear their knock.”
“Why was she out at that time of night?”
“Who’s Pierre?”
“No, of course I didn’t know! But that doesn’t matter right now.”
“I'm so sorry.”
“I'll be home as soon as I can.”
“What's up?” Jackie whispered in reaction to the instant change in Richey's pallor.
“Cherie's dead... car crash... last night… James is OK…” he said and in his mind he remembered all the good times he and Cherie had; their first date; the wedding; the honeymoon. But almost immediately the powerful images of the unhappy times came flooding back to him, knocking the good memories down and out like a bowling bowl to skittles.
“I'm sorry,” Jackie said, interrupting Richey's train of thought.
He was numb. “She was having an affair.”
Jackie looked at her feet as they hung from the edge of the bed, not knowing what to say.
“She died coming back from his house last night. Her mum knew all about it. It explains a lot. You and I were probably fucking as she lay dying.” Richey was thinking out loud.
“What time did she die?” Jackie asked, feeling as if she had to say something and immediately she regretted the insensitivity of question.
“Half-eleven last night. We left the party at the same time and came straight here, to your room. Jesus!”
Jackie looked at her watch, “Actually, Richey, we’re an hour behind Paris. She died before we came upstairs.”
Richey looked at her. His mind raced as he considered her comment on the times. Relief flowed through him as he realised that she was right. He hadn’t even considered the fact that he hadn’t cried strange.
“Does that make me unfaithful?” he asked, turning to Jackie.
“I don’t think so.”
It was then Richey realised he was indeed a selfish bastard.
Swearwords: A couple of strong ones.
Description: An extra-marital affair leads to guilt and some home truths.
_____________________________________________________________________
Richey lumbered out of bed. Jackie lay star-shaped on top of the covers, her modesty covered by a small sheet so perfect in proportion it could have been strategically placed by an oversensitive film director.
He wandered over to the window, the mist was lifting from the sea and it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day. Pity he had to spend most of it in the damn office, he thought. Jackie stirred, probably from the biting air conditioning which had kicked in. The noise and the temperature drop would be enough to wake her.
Richey stepped into the small toilet; he was going for a shower. He hated himself for what he did with Jackie last night. They had met at the leaving do for some faceless director. The only motivation for Richey's presence was the offer of canapés and the promise of a free bar. Whilst he chided himself for what he had done - it was the first time he'd been unfaithful - he resented his wife for making him do it. Cherie hadn't had sex with Richey for over a year and only James, their eighteen-month old son, kept them together. It was barely tolerance; hell, it was barely tolerance before James came along, now it was tolerance with a twist of celibacy, thought Richey.
They had argued before this latest trip. Richey had moved them to Paris on account of a promotion, but he spent most of his week away from home, leaving Cherie, despite her Gallic sounding name, in a strange country with no real grasp of the language and with no friends and family network to call on. ‘A self-serving egotistical bastard’ she called him. She accused him of loving his job more than his family. He retorted, defaming her in the process. It was all her fault he told her. She was a frigid bitch and did not appreciate the life Richey had given her and James, was his response.
The last words he heard, over the sound of breaking crockery, when he left home that morning was, “What life?”
To make matters worse, Cherie’s mum was visiting and no doubt the two of them spent most of the night talking about Richey. He could have cancelled the trip but he had to go, or at least that's what he told himself.
Jackie stirred in the room. Richey peeked through the gap in the door and saw her go to his jacket pocket and take out his phone, he was about to step out the toilet and catch her in the act of whatever she was up to when she shouted for him. He could see the flashing display indicating an inbound call; it was Cherie's mum who was phoning. Richey motioned for Jackie to be quiet and took the call.
He uttered a few words into the phone; “Uh-huh”.
“When?”
“Last night at eleven-thirty?”
“How?”
“Is James OK?”
“Thank God.”
“The phone in my room must have been broke and I didn't hear their knock.”
“Why was she out at that time of night?”
“Who’s Pierre?”
“No, of course I didn’t know! But that doesn’t matter right now.”
“I'm so sorry.”
“I'll be home as soon as I can.”
“What's up?” Jackie whispered in reaction to the instant change in Richey's pallor.
“Cherie's dead... car crash... last night… James is OK…” he said and in his mind he remembered all the good times he and Cherie had; their first date; the wedding; the honeymoon. But almost immediately the powerful images of the unhappy times came flooding back to him, knocking the good memories down and out like a bowling bowl to skittles.
“I'm sorry,” Jackie said, interrupting Richey's train of thought.
He was numb. “She was having an affair.”
Jackie looked at her feet as they hung from the edge of the bed, not knowing what to say.
“She died coming back from his house last night. Her mum knew all about it. It explains a lot. You and I were probably fucking as she lay dying.” Richey was thinking out loud.
“What time did she die?” Jackie asked, feeling as if she had to say something and immediately she regretted the insensitivity of question.
“Half-eleven last night. We left the party at the same time and came straight here, to your room. Jesus!”
Jackie looked at her watch, “Actually, Richey, we’re an hour behind Paris. She died before we came upstairs.”
Richey looked at her. His mind raced as he considered her comment on the times. Relief flowed through him as he realised that she was right. He hadn’t even considered the fact that he hadn’t cried strange.
“Does that make me unfaithful?” he asked, turning to Jackie.
“I don’t think so.”
It was then Richey realised he was indeed a selfish bastard.
About the Author
James A. Stewart hails from Croy near Glasgow where he lives with his bonnie wife and bairn. He is a member of Cumbernauld's Frontier Writers. More information about his writing can be found at http://jamesstewart13.wordpress.com.