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‘OK. Oh God, what was I thinking, Ted? This is all wrong, I shouldn’t be here.’ Panic makes my heart stutter in my chest, and the burden of guilt sits heavily on my shoulders. ‘Please Ted, can you just take me home?’
Ted drops me a couple of streets away, behind the High Street that will still be busy even though it’s past seven o’clock. Digging in my bag for my key as I approach the front door my phone bleeps in my bag, but I ignore it, intent on getting indoors and into my usual slouchy outfit, one that I wear around the house, before Gareth gets home. Thankfully, there is an undisturbed air as I let myself in, telling me that I’ve beaten both Gareth and Robbie home.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I head upstairs, kicking my sandals to the back of the wardrobe and brushing my teeth to rid my mouth of the sour taste of the wine I’ve drunk. I tell myself that’s the reason – but deep down I know it’s so that Gareth doesn’t smell it on me and then question why I’ve been drinking in the afternoon. As I brush, I berate myself for being so stupid – how could I have let myself stay so long? Someone was bound to see us. And if Gareth finds out … well, it’s not just the two of us who will be affected. Am I really ready to jeopardize my marriage, to potentially lose Robbie who will no doubt take his father’s side, all for a quick fling? I spit out the toothpaste, eyeing myself critically in the mirror as I wipe my mouth. Stupid. Stupid and reckless, that’s what today was.
Comfortable now in yoga pants (I think of adulterous Angela when I pull them on) and an old Suede T-shirt I grab a glass of water and slump on the couch in front of the TV, wishing I’d just worked as originally planned. Tired from the stress of the afternoon and with a mild headache starting behind my eyes thanks to the wine, I huff in irritation as my phone bleeps again in my bag, before I get back up and grab it. A text from Gareth telling me not to wait up (no surprises there – my guilt lessens slightly as I read it), and a notification from Facebook telling me I have a friend request. Sighing, I text Gareth back, before opening the Facebook app and tapping the requests button. My heart sinks as I read the words on the screen.
‘Aaron Power has sent you a Friend Request.’
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