How I've Spent the Last Six Months Part Seven

So life as it was returned to normal.

And pretty depressing that normal was.

Work was going well. I was kicking arse in the regional sales charts and my aggressive focus on work meant I’d hit some sales targets (and got the resultant commissions) which pretty much made up for the income Hubby had flushed down the toilet when he’d lost his job.

But although work was going okay, life at home was pretty shitty.

Hubby was still disappearing off three evenings a week and every Saturday. I had been planning to confront him about it, but after the business with Darren I just wanted to lay low and let things cool down. I even tried to sleep with Hubby one time, but it didn’t work out when I insisted he wear a condom.

“A condom? I’m your husband!”

I tried to explain that I was worried about getting pregnant (I’m still not on any form of birth control) but the truth was, I was terrified of catching some disease he’d picked up from fucking that prostitute of his. In any event, sex didn’t happen and the gap between Hubby and I got even bigger.

It had been about three months since Hubby lost his job and I was just getting my confidence back, ready to confront him, when Hubby called me at work.

“We need to talk.”

My stomach plummeted.

This was it, I figured. Hubby was going to admit his failure and tell me he was leaving me to go and live with his hooker girlfriend. Not only had been cheating on me – now he wasn’t even going to give me the satisfaction of dumping him.

But that evening, when I got home, I found him bent over a bubbling stove and a bottle of my favourite chardonnay open on the dining room table.

“Listen, I know things have been fucking awful,” he told me, holding my hand and pouring me a glass of wine. “But I’m ready for them to change. But first there’s something I need to tell you.”

Oh for fuck’s sake! My eyes were welling up with tears. Here was this arsehole husband of mine, cheating on me with a fucking junkie prostitute and I was CRYING?

“I k-know…” I sniffled, trying to look angry and defiant instead of sniffly and pathetic. “I’ve known for a while.”

He let go of my hand.

“You do?”

I nodded. Big, fat tears rolled down my cheek.

“Oh…” He looked downcast. “What do you think?”

“Think?” Thank God, the anger was coming back. “What the fuck do you think I think?”

“Hey, it’s not that bad,” Hubby raised his arms.

“That that bad?” I sobbed. “You’re off every Saturday fucking that… that… diseased SLUT.”

“What.”

Hubby looked at me like I’d just turned into a lemon.

“I know all about your WHORE!” I sobbed. “I know all about the hundred quid you take out every Friday. I know how you…”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Hubby balked. “WHAT?”

“The whore…”

“What whore?”

“Every Wednesday and Saturday. You go and spend it with HER.”

Hubby’s eyes bulged.

“What the hell are you talking about? I’ve been taking French lessons.”

What?

“I signed up three months ago,” Hubby explained. “I heard there were really good jobs going with some of the Paris firms, so I started learning the language.”

“B-bullshit,” I sniffled.

“No, it’s true,” He reached over the table and handed me an envelope. Inside was a smart looking diploma from the college in Basingstoke.

“W-what?”

“Every Wednesday and Saturday,” Hubby explained. “It’s intensive. I got an A.”

“But the hundred quid?”

“That’s how I paid for it,” Hubby explained.

“B-but why didn’t you,” sniff, sniff, “tell me?”

“Because you were furious with me,” Hubby explained. “I wasn’t earning any money and I knew you’d get pissed off if I went back to college instead of finding a job. So I started teaching those classes to pay for it.”

My mind was reeling. I mean, not only had Hubby NOT been cheating on me… But he’d got up off his arse and done something I’d never imagined him capable off.

Oh! And what a cold hearted slut I felt! I’d CHEATED on him!

“But Darling,” Hubby continued. “There’s more. I got a job.” He handed me another envelope, this time with the logo of a famous French computer company.

“It’s all in French,” I sobbed.

“I know, I know. But look at that.”

There was an amount in the letter written in Euros. Now I know euros are worth less than pounds, but this still seemed like an awfully large amount.

“That’s what you’ll be earning?” I sniffed. “Really?”

Hubby nodded.

“But there’s just one thing,” he said solemnly. “The job’s based in France.”