Cheating Curse

Home, sweet home!

In the brightest of moods I dash into the entryway, race to the lift—and meet with an annoying surprise: the lift is out of order. A notice informs me that the fault was due to be fixed… yesterday.

“Rotters!” I breathe out in disappointment—yet suddenly realise I can’t bring myself to be truly upset. So what if I have to walk to the tenth floor?

Mere trifles compared with the thrill of soon seeing Theo.

On wings I fly up to my floor and quietly unlock the front door.

The hall is dim—the kitchen windows are tightly curtained.

My hand reaches automatically for the light switch—I snatch it back at the last second when I notice the bedroom door standing open.

The flat lies in sleepy silence—my joy is clearly still asleep. He must have exhausted himself during the night, the poor thing. Even the slightest indisposition is hard on Theo, and if his temperature rises—it’s all over: for him that state is akin to torture.

A wave of tenderness—and an urgent need to see him—rushes over me. I can’t wait! Without taking off my shoes (I’ll be busy with chores in a moment anyway—cleanliness, quiet and good food sometimes heal better than medicine) I slip like a shadow to the bedroom, peek inside, take a step—and freeze.

Bright sun-rays filter through the velvet curtains, turning darkness into a warm, soothing half-light—perfect for sleeping.

And for dreaming…

My beloved, absolutely naked, lies on his back. The crumpled duvet has slipped to the foot of the bed. Theo’s head is turned towards the window, and I can clearly see his fine, chiselled profile. The man is sound asleep.

Fair locks ripple over the pillow, forming a kind of halo. He really does look like a glorious angel—or a Greek god, Apollo himself. A handsome yet masculine face, strong shoulders, broad chest, slim waist flowing into lean hips, well-shaped long legs—it seems this perfect body was fashioned not by nature but by a master sculptor, it is so flawless. I stand transfixed for a second, drinking in every detail, then my gaze shifts to the creature who has shamelessly installed herself beside my man.

A naked blonde, graceful as a pampered cat, is pressed tight against Theo.

One of her legs is thrown over his, a delicate hand rests just below his stomach…

Even in shock I note involuntarily that my rival is beautiful—and “beautiful” is putting it mildly.

“Top-grade,” as Theo would say.

A doll-like face that never goes out of fashion: plump, sensual slightly parted lips, neat brows, large eyes framed by thick curved lashes…

Not very tall, yet slender, long-legged, with full breasts, a firm bottom, flat stomach and a wasp-waist. A thick mane of silky hair tumbles like a golden waterfall down her bare back.

Beside the bed stand two flutes; several empty champagne bottles litter the floor. Right at my feet lies a bundle of white cloth. I nudge it with the toe of my trainer—my gaze lands on a red cross.

“So that’s it!” flashes through my mind. “And I was sure he detested medical types…”

With revulsion I kick the blonde’s fancy-dress costume aside.

Meanwhile Theo stirs and snuggles even closer to his partner. And I, naïve creature, thought they couldn’t possibly be nearer than they already were—evidently that rule applies only to me.

With massive effort I suppress the sob rising in my throat.

Theo mumbles something indistinct and buries his nose in the ‘nurse’s’ hair.

In another second I shall either faint or scream at the top of my lungs—or both.

No! My mind can’t bear such humiliation.

I whirl round like a wind-up doll and, on autopilot, leave the flat. I step towards the stairs, then return and gently lift the door handle: a soft click as the lock engages.

Right—no one will know I was here.

Unable now to restrain the hysterical spasms, I sob, gulping the stale stairwell air with a parched throat and hurtle headlong downstairs.

Luck is with me: I meet no neighbours on the way. I burst into the street and come to a stunned halt.

“How could he? How could someone so faithful, loving and caring do this?!”

Sobs rack me. I can’t stop, can’t calm down.

What if someone I know sees me like this?

Through tear-blurred eyes I scan the area frantically. I need a hiding-place, somewhere I can be alone, cry my fill and—if not accept—at least grasp what has happened.

My attention is caught by a little playhouse on the opposite playground. I race to it, crawl inside, sit down, curl into a shaking ball and hug my knees.

What am I to do now? What should I do?ng here…

How on earth did my life turn into a waking nightmare in just twenty-four hours?!

I run the past hours through my head. Is there even a speck of light in them?

My flight is already two hours late. The weather isn’t exactly flight-friendly—yesterday a violent thunderstorm swept over the city. The storm is dying down now, yet departures are still mercilessly delayed.

I peer hopefully at the departures board: “delayed”, “delayed”, “delayed”… “cancelled”…

Restless waiting and worry for Theo swallow me whole and never let go. Knowing my husband’s dislike of doctors and medicine, I simply cannot make myself relax.

Thoughts of my husband give me no peace.

How is he?

During our last video call he looked so worn-out and ill: a gaunt pale face, a mop of uncombed curls, bluish shadows under fever-bright eyes.

“Sandra, I probably won’t be able to get in touch for a few days. Bloody cold. It hit me yesterday. Now the fever’s pushing forty and I’m shivering,” Theo’s voice cracked and he coughed. “Just don’t worry, baby. I’ve called the boss, explained everything: I’ll lie low, work a couple of days from home. In a week I’ll be right as rain.”

Theo tried an encouraging smile, but my heart lurched—his smile came out far too strained and unnatural.

“Theo, are you sure you’re all right? Maybe call a doctor?” I search his beloved face in concern.

“Sandra, what doctor? Why the fuss?! It’s just a cold, and I’m supposed to drag people out on house calls like some old biddy?” he grimaced. “Come on, love, don’t switch to panic mode. Everything’ll be tickety-boo—I’ve been through this before.”

His brows drew together for a moment, then his features smoothed and he smiled again. The smile was dreamy and gentle, and my heart pricked once more; to anxiety was added sharp longing.

How I love him!

And how rarely, these days, we’re together!

After Dominic was born, life changed. With our first-born, Theo worked more and came home ever later. He rarely arrived before ten: tired, drowsy, ignoring the dinner I’d made, showering and collapsing in bed. Sometimes he still had strength to answer my caresses, sometimes he merely yielded to them, but more often he fell asleep the instant his head touched the pillow.

“Theo, stop wearing yourself out! You’re working to exhaustion, you barely sleep, you hardly eat…” I begged.

But he only waved me off and kept taking overtime.

“Sandra, can’t you see I just can’t do otherwise? I’m a father now—huge responsibility! I have to think of Dom’s future as well as his present. I’ve opened a savings account. I’ll transfer part of my salary and all the overtime there. I want my son to get the best education and need nothing.”

However much I worried, his words were balm. Such self-sacrificing care for our son moved and won me.

“My wonderful Theo,” I thought tenderly, swelling with pride.

“Sandra, my head’s splitting,” Theo interrupted. “I’ll try to sleep. Kiss Dom for me. Give Mum and Uncle Paul my love. Explain everything. I promised I’d fly over, but you see how it is. Tell them not to be cross. Next year we’ll definitely go together.”

The doorbell rang in the background.

Theo glanced round and hurried his farewell.

“Probably the courier. I ordered pizza. I’ll try to force some down. Eat, sleep and I’ll be brand-new. Gotta open the door. Kisses!” He cut off.

I sat for a minute staring blankly at the phone.

Eat and he’ll get better? Hardly!

Last year he nearly slid into pneumonia. Only good sense—and a doctor—pulled him out, along with proper meals and antibiotics.

Now, with me away, there’s no one to take care of him and no one to break his silly anti-doctor phobia.

One minute later I rose decisively and left the room.

“Mum! Uncle Paul! I need to talk to you—right now!”