Antidote to Infidelity by Karla Hall Read Free Book Online Page B

and run off with someone half your age! Byyyeee!”
    As Will flinches, she flounces
back to the car where, engine revving, Clive sits tut-tutting and tapping his
watch, flanked by the kids who are also getting impatient, giggling and bouncing
in their booster seats. Angelic little faces aglow with mischief, they catch my
eye, chorusing in boisterous unison, “Bye mummy! Bye daddy, see you in a week!
If there’s any wankers in the sea, we’ll have a good look at ’em - with mamma!”
    “Whhhaaatt?”
    Poor Mary. She really does look
as though she’s about to choke, but quick-thinking Clive just blasts the
hooter, sticks his thumb up and shoots off down the street. Waving madly until
the car disappears around the corner, Will suddenly grabs me, hoists me up and
throws me, fireman-style, over his left shoulder.
    “Well, well, sexy Sally, what are we going to do with ourselves for seven whole days?”
    Giggling as he bounces up and
down on the spot, I battle to stop my rising top displaying my boobs to all and
sundry.
    No way. Eh-eh. Sex is off the
menu, buster. You’ve been reclaimed.
    “Not what you think,” I
say sternly. “Because you, Will-ee-yum , are still very much in the dog
house - indefinitely.”
    Pinching my bum in protest,
making me squirm, he sneaks a roaming hand under my jumper.
    “Pity that,” he growls. “What
better way to grovel than to drag my young wife upstairs and show her just how
much I love her? All afternoon.”
    Ooooh promises promises.
    Blood is rushing to my head. I
feel like I’m on that horrible ride at Alton Towers that rattles you about a
bit before flipping you upside down and scaring the living crap out of you.
    “You can’t, you can’t, I’m at
the hand clinic in an hour,” I squeal giddily. “Instead of Tuesday ’cos it’s
shut for New Ye-aaargh! Put me down you bully. And get off ,
people can see .”
    Ignoring my plea, he caveman
lugs me half way up the path before spotting something out of the corner of his
eye, about-turning and walking back to the kerb edge to greet the white
InterFlora van that’s just pulled up. Making a parting in my mass of unruly,
upside down curls, I see the driver check his clip-board, wind down the window
and ask, “Is this number eleven?” before reaching into the back and presenting
an exquisite bouquet of glittering, snow-covered red roses.
    Oh! Oh-my-God . . . flowers!
Real, actual flowers - for me! Unless, of course, being upside down for so long
has made my brain malfunction, in which case they’re just a cruel mirage.Suspicious,
I pinch myself, just to make sure. Nope - still there. Hooray!
    Despite the fact they’re obviously a big, fat guilty-gift, I just can’t hide my excitement at what is only my
fifth bunch of posies in as many years of marriage. He must be feeling
bad to buy me flowers. They’re really nice ones, too. Expensive. Not the limp
garage forecourt freesias guilty guys buy as an afterthought.
    “Oooh, flowers!” I gush
dramatically. “Oh Will, they’re absolutely gorgeous . Thank you.”
    But instead of smiling proudly,
he plonks me back on the pavement and snatches the bouquet from the driver,
thrusting me the tiny card.
    “That they are Sally, but
they’re not from me.”
    Without another word, the tubby
InterFlora guy jumps hastily back in his van, makes a clumsy U-turn and whizzes
off down the street in a cloud of exhaust fumes. Talk about sensing trouble. He
obviously thought we were about to shoot the messenger!
    Legs tingling, I frown,
anticipating a bouquet-induced bust-up.
    “They’re not?” I stammer.
    Stony-faced, Will taunts me
with the flowers, meanly holding them hostage.
    “Nope.”
    “You’re kidding? If they’re not
from you . . . who are they from?”
    As the butterflies in my tummy
flare up and flutter, Will, playful mood caput, stands simmering, chewing his
lip and tapping his foot. I know the stand-off stance well.
    “How should I know?” he shrugs,
fingering one of the