A Virtual Affair

by Tracie Podger

  Casey left the following morning; she had planned on staying for the whole weekend but a ‘friend had called’ she’d said. I suspected she wanted out of the house.

  The following week dragged by. I hadn’t heard from Stefan at all and began to get worried. I checked my emails daily, sometimes hourly. It wasn’t unusual by that point to not hear from him for three or four days but it had been over a week. I sent him another.

  To: Stefan

  From: Jayne

  Date: 1 May 2014

  Subject: Worried

  Hey, S, how are you? I was getting a little worried that I hadn’t heard from you. No need for a long reply, just let me know you’re not ill. :)

  J xx

  A thought had been bugging me. As far as I knew, no one knew I existed. If he were ill, I’d never be told. His silence worried me. I looked back at the last exchange and wondered if I’d gone over the top. Had I frightened him off by revealing my fantasy?

  To: Stefan

  From: Jayne

  Date: 4 May 2014

  Subject: Concerned

  Hey, S. Just send a word, let me know you’re okay. I’m missing you and worried. I hope those silly emails haven’t scared you off ha ha.

  J xx

  To: Stefan

  From: Jayne

  Date: 10 May 2014

  Subject: Still worried.

  Have I done something wrong? That sounds a little desperate, doesn’t it? But if I have, please let me apologise. :(

  J xx

  Michael and I seemed to have settled into a routine. He stayed out all day, although on ‘garden leave’ as he called it, from work, and we politely skirted around each other in the evenings. I’d told Carla about his job but no one else. My parents knew something was amiss. Whenever they visited, Michael was not around. I’d stopped going to see his in retaliation. My mum questioned me constantly, but for some reason, I didn’t open up. I never told them what life was like because that would mean admitting I had been wrong from the day I married him. My dad had offered me a way out. He’d asked me on my wedding day if I was sure I was doing the right thing, and it was my own shame and embarrassment that forced me to walk the aisle to a man I already knew didn’t love me.

  I hid away; I avoided calls and only caught up with Carla when she pounded on my front door after days of not speaking.

  “Right, what’s going on?” she had asked.

  “Nothing, I’m just miserable. I don’t want to infect anyone with my misery,” I said, forcing a chuckle.

  “You’ve got the best thing going on. He’s finally leaving.”

  How could I tell her that it wasn’t Michael leaving that had me in a funk but the silence from Stefan?

  “I know you’re not going to like this but I’ve made an appointment for you to see my solicitor,” she said.

  “Whatever for? I’m staying in the house. It’s a separation, Carla.”

  “You’re staying in the house for how long? He said he wanted to buy an apartment, and I guarantee he can afford it without selling the house but you need to know your rights. This house is in his name, isn’t it?”

  “I think so. I don’t know, to be honest. I don’t see what that matters though.”

  “It means he can sell it from under you. He can turf you out whenever he wants, Jayne. You need to open your eyes now.”

  “He wouldn’t do that, would he?”

  “Maybe not, I don’t know, but it won’t hurt to know where you stand legally.”

  We were sitting in the garden while I finished my cigarette. My one a day that had turned to five had then increased to ten a day.

  “How about lunch?” Carla said.

  “I’m not hungry. I never seem to be hungry at the moment. Do you know I’ve gone down a dress size?”

  “Did you call the doctor?”

  “No, I’ll do that tomorrow.”

  It was always ‘tomorrow’. Everything I planned I seemed to put off and, of course, tomorrow never came. I had excuses for why I felt tired all the time. I just wasn’t getting enough sleep, and I had too much on my mind. There had been days where I simply did not want to get out of bed. It was only the thought of Dini that had me struggle into clothes and drag myself with unbrushed hair downstairs to let him out.

  “I’m worried about you. You seemed to pick up a month ago but now…”

  “Carla, please. I’m fine. My husband is leaving me, I’m entitled to feel a little shit.”

  “Okay, but I still worry.”

  We finished our coffee and she rose to leave. She gave me a hug before departing. As she walked the path to her car, she passed the postman.

  “Morning,” he called out, and his gaze followed her arse. She chuckled.

  Without a word, he handed me the mail. I closed the front door and looked through the letters. I held my breath as I saw a cream, slightly velvety envelope with an airmail sticker and a postmark from Denmark.

  Stefan had never written to me before. My hands shook as I held the envelope, not daring to open it. I laid the mail on the hallway table and took the envelope to the kitchen. I sat and looked at it for ages. Eventually, I slid my finger under the flap and pulled out a plain white piece of paper. It had been folded into quarters. I opened it and read.

  Dear Jayne,

  I’m getting a divorce, and I need some time to get my head straight. I’m living with my brother until I find an apartment, but I need some distance from everyone. Please understand.

  Yours, Stefan

  It was a cold, emotionless, typed letter. No sign off with just his initial, no kisses, and the referral of me as ‘everyone’ stung.

  I read the letter until the words blurred from my tears. I felt desolate and isolated. I felt as if my world was collapsing around me. My heart began to race, my palms sweated and my stomach heaved. I rushed to the kitchen sink. I hadn’t eaten, in fact, I didn’t remember eating the previous day either. I dry heaved until a foul acid burnt my throat. With shaking hands I grabbed a glass from the drainer and ran the tap until the water was ice cold. I took long gulps trying to rid my mouth of the taste.

  I staggered up the stairs and threw myself on the unmade bed. I crumpled the letter then spent ages trying to straighten out the page. My tears dripped onto the paper, smudging the words. The ink ran further after I’d tried to dry it with the cuff of my sweater.

  I looked at the white piece of paper, black words ran into each other, and I grieved. I grieved for the loss of a friend. I grieved for the pain he must be feeling. I grieved for the emptiness I felt. I closed my eyes, exhaustion took over, and I fell asleep.

  It was dark when I woke. I heard shuffling from downstairs, the clatter of pans as Michael attempted to cook. I should get up. I should shower and brush my hair. My eyes stung, as did my cheeks from the salty tears that had dried.

  I dragged myself from the bed and headed for the shower. As I stood under the warm jets of water, I cried again. I needed to get a grip and stop feeling sorry for myself. Stefan must have been going through immeasurable pain and I was the one crying over the loss of a friendship.

  “Jesus, Jayne,” Michael said as I walked into the kitchen. I had avoided looking in the mirror.

  “I have a bug coming,” I said.

  For a moment I thought he was going to take a step towards me, offer me some form of comfort, but he didn’t. He nodded his head and took his coffee to the study. I made my own tea.

  It had taken two weeks for the crying to stop, two whole weeks of hiding away from the world. I’d read the letter over and over. I typed many emails in response and then deleted them. I wanted to just offer a few words of comfort and to let him know I was thinking of him. But, in telling me he needed distance, he had, in effect, told me not to contact him.

  Carla had rung, texted, and tried to visit over the previous two weeks. I’d fobbed her off, as I had Ben and Kerry, telling them all I had a bug. Michael had been able to verify that I was poorly, or so he thought.

&nb
sp; “I think I’ll leave a little earlier. I have some potential clients in London that I’d like to take over to the new company. I’m going to stay in town,” Michael said one evening.

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow. I’ll pack my things tonight.”

  I nodded and took another sip of my wine. I seemed to be surviving on wine and cigarettes. Michael headed upstairs and I was unsure of what to do. What was the etiquette when one’s husband was preparing to leave? Did I help him pack? Exactly what did he want to take with him?

  I moved to the living room and took a photograph from the mantel. It was one of him and the children—I doubted he’d want a family one—and then climbed the stairs.

  “Let me help,” I said as I entered his bedroom and saw the pile of screwed up clothes.

  He stepped back. For the first time ever, I thought I saw something in his eyes, a moment of sadness, or maybe it was pity.

  I folded his shirts and suits, wrapped his shoes in tissue paper and packed two suitcases. Before I closed the last one, I laid the photograph on top. He stared at it.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  I sat on the edge of his bed and gave him a small smile.

  “I am pleased for you, Michael. It’s your dream job and I know you’ll ace it. But I ask one, no, make that two things. Keep in contact with both your children, not just Casey. And don’t take my home away until I’m ready.” My voice had dropped to a whisper.

  “I’ll pay the mortgage, I’ll put an allowance each month in the joint account for the bills and things,” he said.

  I simply nodded and then rose. I placed my hand on his arm and squeezed a little before I walked away. He followed, carrying the two cases. I watched as he took a walk around the living room and the study. I hadn’t noticed how tidy that room was. He’d obviously been ‘clearing out’ for some time.

  We walked to the front door; he put on his coat and carried the cases to his car. I watched as he put them in the boot. He hesitated before opening the driver’s door, not looking at me but at the house itself. I saw his shoulders rise as if he’d taken a deep breath, and then he climbed in and drove away.

  I slowly shut the door, stepped back to the wall and slid down, a sobbing mess. I hugged my knees to my chest and Dini came and whimpered. He sat beside me with his head on my feet. His brown, sorrowful eyes looked up at me. I cried and cried. I cried until I had a sore throat, until my face hurt and my eyes were half shut. Then I curled where I lay and slept.

  At some point I was woken by a shake to my arm. I’d felt like I’d been asleep for hours. I opened my eyes as much as they would to see Carla.

  “Come on, let’s get you up,” she said.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Michael called Charles to tell him he was in London, he called me. I guessed he’d left already.”

  I stood on shaky legs and let Carla lead me to the kitchen. She put the kettle on as I sat at the table.

  “I think he’s gone to her. He shouldn’t be leaving for another week. I guess he didn’t want to be around me for too much longer.”

  “He’s a fuckwit, and I know you don’t feel it right now, but in a couple of weeks, I guarantee you’ll feel happy about it.”

  I accepted the tea Carla handed me before she tidied the kitchen. I winced a little at the clinking of glass as she lined up the many empty wine bottles. Even I was aware I’d drunk way too much over the past couple of weeks.

  “You need a shower. When was the last time you washed your hair?” she gently said as she sat.

  I thought hard. “I’ve had a bug,” I said, defensively.

  “Did you call the doctor?”

  “Yes, there’s not much anyone can do.”

  I could tell she hadn’t believed me. I lowered my gaze and studied the teacup in my hand.

  “Why don’t you go and have a nice bath. I’ll finish clearing up.”

  I nodded and stood. I took a look around the kitchen. The bin was overflowing, the dog’s water bowl needed changing and there were still dirty dishes in the sink from the previous day. I’d always been so house proud but lately, I just hadn’t cared enough.

  As I stood in the bathroom I stripped off my clothes; my jeans were grubby and I wondered how many days I had been wearing them. I pulled the hairband holding up my ponytail and felt the tackiness of unwashed hair. While I waited for the bath to fill, I studied myself. My cheeks had hollowed and dark circles had formed under my eyes. The only thing that gave me a ghost of a smile was that, for the first time in a long time, I had collarbones visible ribs and protruding hipbones.

  I chuckled bitterly. Nothing like a bit of desertion, of complete ‘fuckedupness’ to help with weight loss, I guessed. I sunk into the bath and continued to sink until my head was under the water. I kept my eyes open, looking through the water. I could hear my pulse thump, getting faster the longer I held my breath. When I could hold my breath no more, when my body was screaming for air, I sat up and gasped.

  A thought ran through my mind. How do people deliberately drown themselves? That instinct to survive must kick in at some point. I shook my head, washed my hair and body before climbing out. I didn’t want to look at the grimy bath as the water drained away. I ignored it and made my way to the bedroom to find pyjamas.

  I heard the hoover running downstairs, I heard Carla calling for Dini after she’d let him out in the garden. I felt guilty. I always felt guilty. Maybe Michael hadn’t loved me because I didn’t clean the house well enough. Maybe Dini wouldn’t love me because I hadn’t walked him for a week. I needed to get my act together.

  “Better?” Carla said as I walked into the kitchen.

  “Much. I’m sorry. I fell apart a little there. And you’re right, I’m glad he’s gone.”

  I gave her a smile. It was a fake one, of course, but she’d never tell the difference.

  “I thought I might stay tonight.”

  “There really is no need. Thank you, but seriously, Carla, you need to get home. I’m fine. I’m done with crying, and I’m going to look forward, to finally get my life on track. I’d like to get back to the gym. I can’t believe how much weight I’ve lost.” I smiled again.

  She wasn’t entirely convinced but accepted what I said, regardless. After one last cup of tea, she left. I bolted the front door behind her.

  I stripped the bed of its dirty linen and remade it with fresh white sheets and pillowslips. I took the laundry down to the utility room and switched the washing machine on. Before I turned out the light I noticed a white shirt in the laundry bin. It was one of Michael’s. I pulled it out and held it to my face. It smelled of him, of his aftershave. It smelled of her perfume too.

  I took the shirt into the garden and lifted the lid off the BBQ. I squirted lighter fuel over the top and with my lighter, watched it go up in flames. I laughed, puffing on a cigarette as I did. I rushed indoors, still carrying the cigarette in my hand and to my bedroom. I snatched Stefan’s letter from the top of my bedside cabinet and ran back down. I threw that on the BBQ as well.

  “Fuck you both,” I said as I watched them burn.

  When there was nothing left but ash, I closed the lid. Dini had sat beside me. He’d usually be off exploring the garden but instead he’d sat looking up at me.

  I knelt down and cradled his head. “You know what, madness is quite fun.”

  Was I going mad? Some days it felt like it. Some days my head was full of noise but nothing distinguishable. Some days it was too much effort to move, I felt like I was wading through treacle. But then there were other days when I felt on top of the world, when the sun was shining and I walked Dini through the woods—I felt great.

  I ran on autopilot most of the time. I took mum and dad shopping each Friday, I laughed and chatted to Ben and Kerry. I got excited with their baby news. I chatted to Casey when I’d managed to catch up with her and I met Carla for coffee or shopping. I took each day as it came.

  Carla and I were in B
luewater Shopping Centre shopping for clothes. It had been three weeks since Michael had left and, as promised, he had deposited some money in our joint bank account; not before clearing out the balance, of course. It was just enough to cover the mortgage and bills, and left a little for living expenses.

  “What do you think? This one or this one?” Carla held up two identical black dresses.

  “The one on the left,” I said, not seeing the difference.

  “I’ll try it on. Is there anything you’ve seen that you like?”

  “Are you kidding? Tons, but I don’t have the money.”

  “That offer of the solicitor is still available.”

  “For what? I can’t make Michael give me money just because we’ve separated.”

  “No, but you can start divorce proceedings.”

  “I will, soon. I promise.”

  We had the same conversation every time we met. At that moment, I was keeping the house. I didn’t want to antagonise him. I knew I needed a job. The car would need a service soon and I had no spare cash to pay for that.

  Michael and I hadn’t spoken since the day he’d left; I had no desire to talk to him. I heard, via Casey, that he was in Japan. She was eager to join him for a holiday. I suspected she was eager to see if she would get an internship with him. I envied her. I envied the fact that she could visit the countries that she did, that she travelled and had fun. Those were all the things I’d always wanted to do.

  “How about a holiday? Maybe a weekend somewhere in the UK?”

  “As I said, Michael doesn’t exactly provide me with a great deal of money. I’ll think about it. And before you say, no, you’re not paying for it. Now go try on the dress.”

  She huffed as she headed to the changing room. A weekend away sounded ideal. I would have loved it and maybe, if I was careful, I could afford it. I’d work out a budget when I returned home.

  With the dress purchased we headed for the car park. I hated shopping, any kind of shopping, and had started to use an online store for groceries. There was nothing worse than being surrounded by wonderful clothes, by necessities, and knowing I couldn’t afford them.