Strictly My Husband: It's funny, it's romantic and it's got dancing - what's not to love! by Tracy Bloom Read Free Book Online

behind him. A big sniff, then another, then another. He glanced over his shoulder. Laura’s head was still bent low but her shoulders were now rhythmically heaving and she was showing all the signs of being in full-on crying mode. Oh hell, thought Tom. Now what do I do? He had to go; he was beyond having a choice in the matter and would just have to get it over with as quickly as possible.
    ‘Are you OK?’ he shouted once he was in position and had his back turned to her.
    No answer.
    He looked over his shoulder. She was still crying.
    ‘Please tell me why you are crying?’ he asked. She shrugged, her head still bent low.
    ‘Oh shit,’ he exclaimed, his concentration having lapsed. He looked down; he’d forgotten to lift the loo seat. This was turning into a logistical nightmare. Now he had to finish his business and wipe the loo seat and then tend to his wife. Or should he finish and find out what was the matter with Laura straight away? No, Laura might shout at him for not raising the loo seat in the first place and would definitely have a go at him for not wiping it.
    Put Laura first, he decided, tucking himself away. Deal with the loo seat later. He turned and walked over to Laura and perched beside her.
    She sniffed. ‘Don’t forget to wipe the seat.’
    ‘OK,’ he said stiffly. He got up and grabbed some paper. He knew he’d get it wrong.
    ‘So what’s up?’ he asked after all toilet duties had been taken care of. The hair curtain remained so he couldn’t see her face. She shrugged.
    ‘Come on,’ he said, putting an arm around her. ‘You need to tell me.’
    She raised her head to look at him, her eyes rimmed red. ‘It’s just . . . it’s just . . .’ she began before breaking down again.
    Tom felt his heart sink. It usually started with an ‘it’s just’ which would rapidly morph into a recitation of his misdemeanours that she’d been brooding over for the last six months. Things he’d done which he didn’t even remember, never mind recognise as something he should be apologising for at some unspecified date in the future. He wished that Laura would sometimes just say exactly what she was thinking there and then rather than using her brilliant analytical brain to over-examine every detail time and again. Unfortunately she tended towards storing her findings until she got to breaking point when the slightest thing would push her over the edge and months’ worth of data on his failings would come out in a massive rush.
    He racked his brains as to what might have tipped her over this time. Had there been a tense moment that he’d missed? Something he’d forgotten to do that she finally wanted to bring out into the open now she was fortified by copious amounts of red wine? She had been knocking them back tonight, he’d noticed. More so than normal. He stared at the overflowing washing basket opposite them, his Batman pants strewn on the floor. He really liked his Batman pants, he thought idly.
    ‘Is it something I’ve done?’ he asked, deciding to take the direct approach so they could return to the party downstairs before dawn arrived.
    Laura shook her head. But he wasn’t fooled. He knew at this point in the proceedings, before she managed to overcome her distress and spit out what the problem was, that she would go through the blaming-herself phase. Only after that would the path be clear to make way for the blaming him phase
    ‘It’s not you,’ she finally managed to mutter. ‘I’m just being silly.’
    ‘Silly about what?’ he asked patiently.
    She shrugged before the tears came again. He stayed quiet, putting hisarm around her, waiting for the mandatory second lot of tears to fade.
    He reached forward and got her some loo roll when she appeared to be calming down. She blew her nose and he held out his hand to take her snotty tissue. She smiled weakly at him. He tossed it towards the toilet and missed. He got up and picked it up and put it in the toilet. Even he knew