Alice, Tom & Mary

Prologue:

After twenty-five years of marriage and two adult children, Alice and Tom Bloss take a vacation to St Monique, South of France, hoping to rejuvenate their relationship. Instead, Alice becomes involved with a reclusive French novelist (Pierre Peyroux) and succumbs to his charm, becoming his mistress, cuckolding

Tom.

Tom’s story

Alice walked from the hotel’s forecourt with Pierre’s arm protectively around her. I watched as she climbed into his blue Rolls-Royce. I gave her a wave as the car drove off, but she was too absorbed with Pierre to notice me. She seems to have forgotten about me already. So now she’s off gallivanting with Pierre. It doesn’t bear thinking about what they were doing. SLUT, was the word that came to mind.

Sitting on the hotel’s private nudist beach without Alice just wasn’t the same. Amongst all these beautiful bodies, I felt left out. I noticed most were in pairs or a group of four. So I stood out as a lone single male, attracting unwanted stares. I felt like a peeping Tom. Running recent events through my mind, I became furious with Alice…this was our holiday, our time to be together in the sun. She had manipulated me, and did it so smoothly I was taken unaware. Maybe I was obtuse?

I asked her that very morning point-blank, “Did you fuck to Pierre?”

She looked up at me mischievously. “A lady never tells,” she said, grinning.

Then she made a haunting comment. “Doesn’t it make it more exciting for you that you don’t know? It makes it more exciting for me, not to tell you. Isn’t that what this holiday was all about? Making our love life more exciting? Didn’t we just have the best sex ever?”

I remember Alice’s final words as she walked out the suite door with her luggage. She stopped, turned, and looked back at me with a smirk on her face.

“Darling,” she spoke as if explaining to some stupid child. “I’ve known you for almost thirty years. I’ve only just met Pierre. It’s a new relationship. I need to mature and strengthen it and make sure that he’s happy.”

I was too dumbfounded to answer her.

She stared at me. “Darling, promise me you won’t worry?”

Now sitting here on the beach, it finally dawned on me she was trading UP.

The sex we just had hours earlier was a goodbye ‘FUCK’, completing her betrayal of our marriage. Like a Judas kiss.

I decided there was no reason to stay in France any longer. I couldn’t wait to get back to work, colleagues, friends, and familiar English faces. To some normality of life and the security of our home in London.

What am I thinking about its not her HOME anymore, ‘FUCKING BITCH’!

On Monday at Prescott & Wharton* accounting firm, they all asked how the holidays were?

“Great,” I said.

Then explained by sheer chance, “Alice signed up a famous French author. She is now consulting with him in Paris.” Not saying, ‘and the lying, cheating bitch was having an affair on the side.’ That was enough to explain why my wife was gone, and they accepted it.

So I jumped into my work, yeah, early mornings and late nights, anything to keep my mind off Alice and her blatant lying. ‘At least numbers don’t lie!’

The following week I made an appointment with a divorce lawyer. I wanted to find out where I stood in a divorce. He told me it would be a 50/50 split. I had decided to keep the house as it was my family home and was willing to buy her out. So I asked him to go ahead and prepare papers but wait until I heard from Alice.

He suggested I change my mobile phone number as well; best keep all contact to a minimum. Next, open a credit card account in my name and have my salary deposited there from now on. Leave all other money where they are. And finally, change my life insurance beneficiary and will. Wow, what a mess.

It was not long before work colleagues heard about Alice and my separation. Of course, I got the usual round of condolences from the women.

The guys slapped me on the back, saying, “There are plenty of fish in the sea. Come down to the pub Friday, lots of lonely girls there.”

“Thanks,” I said, but then, thinking, “Yeah, twenty to thirty-year-olds, they don’t want an old guy like me!”

While waiting to get my hair cut, browsing a magazine, I came across a picture of Pierre and Alice at a reception. They looked like the perfect couple. She was just as beautiful as the day I had last seen her. My heart sagged. I was not over her as much as I thought, but she was lost to me now.

Friday night, the guys dragged me to the pub. Some of the women from work were in the lady’s lounge. I bought the second round and then left. Outside the pub, I stopped to watch the small groups of men and women drinking, chatting in a somewhat quieter atmosphere. It brought back a warm feeling of Alice and what we had together many years ago.

On Saturday, while grocery shopping, not look where I was going, I accidentally ran into a woman, tipping her groceries from the basket. She smiled faintly. Apologising, profusely I helped pick up the items. Then, without further ado, I finished my shopping.

Saturday night, all the dirty dishes were done, washing on the line, house vacuumed…and empty. So I decided to give Mike a ring to see if he wanted to watch the soccer game on the big screen at the pub?

When he answered the phone, I said in a cheerful voice, “Hi Mike, how are you going?”

Getting a somewhat lackluster response, I carried on, “want to watch tonight’s game at the pub?”

I was surprised by his answer, “I’m not allowed to converse with you!”

Stunned, I replied. “…WHY?”

“You are in the middle of a divorce with Alice, and I’m told not to get involved,” was his reply.

“Who said Alice and I are getting a divorce?” I growled into the phone.

“Well, Alice has been telling her work colleagues, calling her female friends, and it appears to be a fait accompli,” was his retort.

Astonished by this turn of events, all I could come up with was, “anyway, regardless of Alice and my relationship, how can you and I watching a soccer match at the pub have any effect?”

“I don’t know, but all her friends feel the same, so don’t bother ringing the other guys. You have been put in limbo until the divorce is finalized. Sorry!” Then unexpectedly, he hung up.

I could not believe what I was hearing. Why was I in the dog house? SHE is leaving me. I didn’t lie, cheat and fuck around she did. Well, FUCK THEM ALL. They won’t be getting a Christmas card, ever.

I sat pondering the situation, and the only thing that made sense was ALL my so-called male friends were the husbands of Alice’s female friends. However, after further thought, I realised all my pre-marriage male friends had, over the years, been pushed aside, influenced by Alice’s rhetoric.

I didn’t have any real male friends. Alice had chased them off, and I had let her!

At work on Tuesday, I was making a morning cuppa tea when Helen** entered the tea room.

She was an intelligent young accountant with a good eye for detail and would go far in the firm. Maybe even a partner someday. Since her employment some four years ago, we had developed a close working relationship. She was recently divorced from a young child. Her husband had some serious legal issues.

“Good morning Tom,” she hailed.

“Morning Helen,” I replied.

“Tom, I am attending my cousin’s wedding in three weeks. Would you be my escort?” Helen asked.

I paused for a bit, thinking, ‘she is some twenty younger than me. I was flattered to think she would want me to escort her. Hell, why not, “Yes,” was my reply.

Intermittently over the following weekends, while at the supermarket, the woman whose groceries I had spilled passed each other. Sometimes she is accompanied by children, other times not, but never with her husband. We would nod to each other, merely shopping acquaintances.

My desk phone rang, answering it I heard Alice’s voice, saying, “Hello Tom.”

My heart started pounding, and I momentarily lost my breath.

Alice repeated, “Hello, are you there, Tom?”

Coming to my senses, I reply, “Yes, just distracted with work papers. What a surprise to hear your voice!”

“Tom, I have been trying to contact you on your mobile, and it’s not responding.”

Then, without waiting for a reply, she carries on, “I’ll come right to the point. Have you started divorce proceedings? Pierre wants to get married as soon as possible.”

I paused. Annoyed thinking, ‘Alice was leaving me, not the other way around! Why am I doing all the work’?

So I responded, “As it’s you who is leaving me, I thought you were going to!”

“No, no, I don’t have the time. However, Pierre suggested as it was an English marriage, it would be easier, done in England, not France,” came her reply.

Then, before I could get a word in, “Listen, Tom, I have withdrawn all the funds from our joint savings account. I don’t want the house as I’ll be living in Pierre’s mansion in the South of France.”

To appease her, I said, “Okay, I’ll get right onto organising the divorce papers.”

Thinking, ‘fuck her and Pierre. They can wait another month now! I’m in no hurry.’

“Great,” she said. Then, recited a mobile number for her lawyer.

“Okay, gotta go bye!” And before I could say another word, she hung up.

“FUCKING BITCH,” I said out loud to an empty phone. Heads turned in my direction.

I had to leave my office quickly. Knowing me well, Helen saw the look of anger on my face and asked in a concerned voice, “Tom, are you alright?”

I replied, trying to keep my voice calm, “I’m going to have an early lunch.”

I left the building with steam coming out of my ears. I decided not to return to work. I couldn’t face all the looks or questions. So I walked and walked with no real direction in mind.

Hearing Alice’s voice again brought back fresh memories of the South of France and that frantic day of trying to find her. Finally, I caught up with Alice and, of course, Pierre at the Cannes film festival.

Seeing me in the crowd, Alice approached, saying, “Tom, how clever of you to track me down, you came all the way to see me?”

“Of course,” I said, “you are my wife. When are you coming back?”

She burst out laughing. “Darling, Pierre’s book has been made into a film, and we’re off to the premiere. I couldn’t possibly come with you now.”

In the same breath, “I’ve really got to go now.” She gave me a peck on the cheek then ran back to her Pierre’s Roll Royce. Alice waved and blew me a kiss as the car drove off.

Then, that arrogant French man espousing the virtues of a wife having an affair with a celebrity, like some noble idea, in the French tradition! And then he had the gall to say, “Ah, you English. You have no idea how love works!”

I wondered how ignominious he would be if it were his wife?

As I walked, the more my imagination ran wild with pornographic images of Alice and Pierre together, like a strobe light taking snaps of real-time events.

Alice kissing him…Kneeling sucking his cock…Smiling up at him…Her lying on the bed…Her legs spread open wide…Welcoming him into her inner depth…Her arms wrapped around him…Kissing deeply…Reaching their climax…Looking lovingly into each other’s eyes…Cuddling, caressing…As lovers do with words of endearment.

I stopped at that point and threw up my meager lunch into the gutter. So lost in my thoughts, I was surprised when I arrived at my home late afternoon.

That evening, after I had calmed down, sitting in my favorite chair with a Pimms and dry in my hand, my mind wandered back to a happier time when I first met Alice, it was at University. She was beautiful, sexy, intelligent, and had a warm and bubbly personality. Because of the age difference of one year, she was starting her studies. I was in my second year. However, my degree was four years, and Alice’s was three, so we would graduate together. The next three years were busy for both of us, but we managed to date regularly and had become a couple by our final year.

After receiving my economics degree, I started working at a London accounting firm, Prescott & Wharton (P&W). With her degree in journalism, Alice landed a job working for White and Stanford (White’s), one of the bigger London publishing houses, as a junior. With dreams of becoming the top Literary Agent. Speaking fluently in French, Italian and German, she was attached to the small European division, rapidly becoming indispensable and regularly traveling to Europe.

Our relationship went from strength to strength, so we purchased my parent’s modest three-bedroom brick house in an inner London suburb, close to our workplaces. Mum and Dad were retiring to the Cornwall coast. Six months on, Alice and I married. We both had the same life objectives to succeed in our chosen careers. On a personal level, we were happy, especially in our sex lives. We put having children on hold for two years to allow Alice to establish herself. My goal was a partnership.

The years flew by quickly, and then both our children were at University. We had become empty nester’s. Our sex life was still relatively active, but the magic spark was missing. We knew each other’s bodies too well sex had become ho-hum. Then I planned a vacation to the South of France. I had hoped it would stimulate our sex life. But in the end, it had the opposite effect, and everything changed.

Now she was living a glamorous lifestyle. The mistress of a famous celebrity, romanced, wined, dined, and loved. I’m out here in the wilderness, lost, cold, feeling sorry for myself and very much unloved.

All I have left is my ‘FUCKing’ career!

A week later, I was at the church wedding with Helen, who looked young and beautiful. She certainly looked a lot more attractive out of office work clothes and in an evening dress.

I complimented her on her attire and radian look. “Why, thank you, kind sir,” she replied.

We ate, danced and socialised. It turned out to be a great evening out, taking my mind off the impending divorce. As the night came to a close, we sat watching the younger generation dance and make merry.

Helen tapped my hand. I focused and realised I had been off brooding again.

She said, “You were off with the pixies?”

All too quickly replied, “I was thinking about a work account.”

But I could see I had not fooled her. She knew I was thinking about Alice.

Helen told me she was moonlighting as a singer-pianist, once a month at a Gentlemen’s Club with a guy named Peter.

I asked the obvious question, “so, why isn’t he here with you tonight?”

“Oh, he’s married. We only sing together, unfortunately.” came Helen’s sad reply.

It would appear we were both in denial.

Towards the end of the night, I thanked Helen for the invitation saying, “It’s been a long day. I’m heading home. I have enjoyed your company very much this evening.”

I offered to give Helen a lift home. However, she had hotel accommodation for the night. I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, not ready for another commitment. What’s more, not even sure one was on the offering, that’s how out of date I was.

The divorce went through four months later on a Thursday. I felt very depressed! My adult children phoned to see how I was handling it.

Of course, I said “okay”, but I wasn’t.

It appeared they were in regular contact with their mother and knew all the divorce details and her glorious life with Pierre. My eldest son suggested that I come to stay with his family over the weekend. I said I would think about it.

Looking in the mirror Friday morning, I appeared old, on the eve of fifty. However, I didn’t feel that old mentally or physically. Without Alice, I had been eating healthier and much less, losing a good fifteen pounds in weight, most from around my waist and a lot from my face and neck. Cycling five miles to and from work every day has helped. But a mirror doesn’t lie! My hair was thinning – the comb-over was aging me, that needed to change. Bugger work today. I was off to the hairdresser for a change of style.

Then to Harrods for some new clothes, dress pants, shirts, sports coats, and new shoes, stuff the cost. I wanted to follow in Cal’s footsteps from ‘Crazy Stupid In Love’. After all, my life had changed dramatically, as well.

Boy, were the guys at work surprised when I walked in on Monday. Helen gave me an appraising look, and some of the single ladies gave me a second glance. The married ones quietly gave me the thumbs up.

I was about to start my weekly Saturday afternoon grocery shopping when I noticed the woman from the supermarket. She was struggling to drag a large cardboard box across the shopping center parking lot. I ran to her aid and helped load the box into her car.

When she looked at my face, I could see a look of fear or confusion in her eyes, which quickly turned to recognition. Her eyes did a quick run up and down my body. Then, an appreciative smile showed on her face. She offered to buy me a coffee, having plenty of time on my hands, I accepted. In the plaza cafe, we introduced each other; her name was Mary. I discerned she was in her late thirties and very attractive.

The box she explained was a bike for her youngest daughter, who is turning seven. We chatted for quite a while. She was divorced and had two daughters, the eldest being ten. I found even with the age difference, we had many things in common. We were of the same religious denomination, had similar tastes in music and movies, and even voted for the same political party. Looking around, I noticed the coffee shop was empty and realised it was after three in the afternoon and closing time.

Back at her car, she offered me dinner with her family at seven. I gratefully accepted, having not purchased any groceries. I was almost out of food, and I also was a bit keen to spend more time with her. Otherwise, I would be alone in the house just watching the cricket, which we were losing. So I popped back into the shopping center and purchased a bunch of flowers and a couple of bottles of red and white wine.

Arriving at Mary’s flat at the appropriate time, I offered her the flowers at the door, and she blushed and thanked me. Leading me into the house, “I’ll put these in some water and place them on the table. Put those bottles in the fridge, and we’ll have them with dinner.”

Back in the kitchen, Mary offered me a glass of wine from an already open bottle. I wander around the small lounge room, sipping my wine while she finishes preparing dinner.

Looking around, I asked, “Where are your children?”

“Kate and Robyn decided to stay overnight with my Mum,” Mary responded.

I did my bit by putting the bike together. It turned out to be quite a challenge, a relief for Mary as she had no idea how hard it would be to assemble.

At dinner, I told Mary, “my divorce from Alice concluded a month ago. I was never sure if Alice was ultimately going to leave me. But in the end, she insisted! She had found the new love of her life and wanted to marry him.” I paused…

Mary noticed Tom had a faraway look in his eyes and waited until he returned.

Then she said, “After any long relationship, it still hurts.”

I nodded and replied, “Have you heard of the French author Pierre Peyroux?”

“Why yes, hasn’t he just come out of seclusion, accompanied by a beautiful woman!”

The penny dropped, and Mary understood the ‘beautiful woman’ was Tom’s ex-wife.

Now I couldn’t stop the tears as they ran down my cheeks.

Mary jumped up quickly. I also stood triggered by her sudden reaction. She came around the table, putting her arms around my chest and hugging me with her head against my shoulder. I gently wrapped my arms around her shoulders, and we embraced.

I sobbed into her shoulder, mumbling, “You must think I’m a fool, blubbering like this.”

Standing back, Mary responded, “You’re not over her, are you?”

I give an impeachable nod.

She went on to say, “but you thought you were. No one can hide their feelings by burying them deep sooner or later they finally surface.”

We were standing arm in arm, looking deeply into each other’s eyes, for a brief moment in time. Then Mary prompted, and we sat on the lounge chair and held each other for a while, then just held hands.

Then, in a soft voice, I started telling Mary about Alice and how we met at Uni, our careers, marriage, and two children. Finally, I describe the disastrous trip to the South of France, where Alice betrayed me.

Mary and I held each other in a firm embrace, and we both slipped into wine-induced sleep in each other’s arms.

Waking around midnight, I discovered my arm still around Mary’s shoulders, her head resting in the crook of my shoulder. A most comfortable feeling of tranquillity came over me. For the first time in months, I felt content, sitting there enjoying the female-male physical contact.

Mary finally awoke, and I apologised for keeping her from bed. She, in turn, thanked me for she hadn’t had a cuddle like that since long before her divorce and missed a man’s arms around her. At the door, Mary kissed me and thanked me for assembling the bike as I left. Before I reached my car, she invited me to Robyn’s birthday party the following Saturday at two. There was a spring in my step arriving home – thoughts of Alice had dimmed.

At the birthday party, I met Kate, Robyn, and Mary’s mother (Ruth) for the first time. Ruth had recently moved back to London to live with her widowed sister after Ruth’s husband had died of food poisoning a year ago. After the party, I spent the rest of the afternoon helping Robyn learn to ride her new bike. Mary invited me to stay for dinner with her family, allowing me to know more about them. Leaving at eleven that night with another gentle kiss from Mary.

I realised later at home while lying in bed, I hadn’t given Alice a thought all day and found recent memories of her fading, all the more, the better.

Holding out for half a week, I called Mary on Wednesday night and invited her and the girls around for dinner Saturday night at my home.

Mary responded, “I’m afraid the girls cannot make it because they are having a sleepover at their friend’s home all next weekend.”

“Does that mean you cannot make it either?” I asked.

“Nooo…I’ll be there, come what may,” she replied. So we made it a date for Saturday, at six in the evening.

Over dinner, I asked Mary about her ex-husband.

“Yes, it’s time I told you the sad story of my marriage. But I don’t for one minute regret my two girls,” she replied.

Mary’s story

“After graduating with a primary school teaching degree, my first posting was Salisbury Primary School. I taught for about a year when my car stopped one very wet afternoon while traveling home.”

“I managed to pull off the road, where I opened the bonnet and stood there in the pouring rain looking into the engine compartment with no clue what I was doing. I hoped someone would stop and help me. As a last resort, I could call my Dad, but he was two hours away. Sure enough, a car did stop, and that’s when I met Josh Smith. Fortunately, Josh was a car mechanic and single.”

“We dated on and off for six months and moved in together a year later. The only drawback with our sex life was using condoms as I was allergic to the Pill. But I always made sure we had plenty in the flat.”

“However, six months on and I found myself pregnant. Mum was fuming when I told her she had to get married when she fell pregnant with me and had hoped it would happen to me. At least I had a career. Josh was not happy we argued a lot for a month. In the end, Josh agreed to get married. I think Dad may have threatened him?”

“By now, I was showing my pregnancy, so we decided to keep the cost down. We would get married in the local registry office. Seven months later, our daughter (Kate) was born. I talked Josh into getting pregnant again as soon as possible. I wanted two children, regardless of sex. I told Josh I could get back to teaching sooner and with two wage incomes so we could afford to purchase a house. I promised Josh six months after the birth, I would go back to the hospital and get my tubes tied so I could not have any more children.”

“Sure enough, some eighteen months later, I was back in hospital having our second child (Robyn). Settling back in the flat, I found Josh to be in a bad mood all the time, argumentative. Within a month, Josh exploded one evening while I was nursing a crying Robyn. Josh accused me of tricking him into marriage and children. Claiming he never wanted children. But, I reminded Josh, he was the one who came home drunk one night wanted sex without a condom that’s how we conceived Kate.”

“Then, with a bag packed, he walked out the door saying he wanted a divorce he had found someone else. Devastated, I phoned my parents, sobbing with the sad news of our separation. Mum could hear my two crying children in the background. They took pity on me, arrived, and helped me move back to their home in London.”

“Dad did all the divorce work; he had contacts in the legal world. All I did was sign the papers. I only asked Josh for child support. I felt it was partly my fault the marriage failed. He has never shown any interest in the girls since! Perhaps if they were boys, who knows?”

“As soon as my youngest was eating solid food, I started looking for a part-time teaching position in the area, and three months later, I got one for twenty hours a week.”

“Thank goodness for Mum, she virtually raised Kate and Robyn those first few years. When Kate was ready for school, I was working full time, so Kate started school there. Robyn followed.”

“Dad was a Police sergeant and was injured at work, qualifying for early retirement. He had delayed retiring for two years just for the grandchildren and me. I couldn’t hold Mum and Dad up any longer. Now it was their time to enjoy retirement together. They needed to sell the house to move to the south coast to live. I would have loved to purchase their home. I just couldn’t afford the payments. So I found this flat, and here we are three years later.”

I had finished the last of my life story, while we had a cup of tea sitting on the lounge chair side by side. Tom didn’t say a word throughout the story and just held my hand when I teared up. Having bared my soul to Tom, I felt more connected to him. We now had no secrets from one another.

Sitting quietly together, I came to a decision. Talking, Tom’s hand, I led him to his bedroom, pushing him back to sit on the bed. I undid the buttons on my dress, dropping it to the floor, standing in front of him in my bra and panties.

Finally, I said, “Well, what do you think?”

He replied, “I like the color of your eyes, and you have the cutest nose!”

“Is that all,” I responded.

He slowly ran his eyes down my body and replied, “You have nice firm looking breasts for a woman who has had two children, your stomach is still quite flat,” looking lower, “and you have great legs.”

“What about the other bit,” I stated in a firmer voice.

Lifting his eyes, “Well, from what I can see, you look nude down there!”

I could see a gleam in his eyes and a slight grin on his face.

‘Men,’ I pondered. ‘Don’t know what their preoccupation is with naked pubis, but it works every time.’

Then, undoing my bra, letting it slowly slip off my breasts, they dropped and bounced slightly. I dangled my bra seductively in my fingers.

“Now, Tom, it’s your turn.”

He quickly removed his shirt, untied his belt, and then dropped his pants to the floor, frantically trying to step out of them.

He was about to take off his underpants when I told him to “STOP”.

We stood, looking into each other. I bent, slowly sliding my panties over my hips, letting them slip down my legs to the floor. I stood back with legs slightly apart to give Tom a clear view. His eyes were wide. I could see the lust in them. Looking down, I could see the outline of his penis rising to the occasion. Dropping to a crouch, I pulled his undies down, and his cock popped out in front of me. Wrapping my fingers around his shaft, I gently stroked it, getting a groan from him. I think it was a bit longer and thicker than my ex-husbands. I was looking forward to experiencing it. I quickly and efficiently rolled on a condom.

We embraced, the kisses started soft and light but got more urgent by the second we fell on the bed. Lovemaking was fast, hot, and steamy. We discovered each other’s bodies. Later that night, we made love again, but at a quieter pace. Tom’s head was resting between my breasts, fast asleep. His gentle breathing was blowing a stream of warm air, keeping my nipples alert. My arm was across his shoulder; my fingers were toying with his hair, gently caressing his scalp.

I laid waiting for sleep to claim me, peering into the darkened room, not because I was unsatisfied. Quite the opposite, that was the best lovemaking I had ever experienced. It occurred to me, ‘that’s what lovemaking is all about, not just sex then rolling apart! It was so different from my ex-husband.’ I knew, without a doubt, I loved this man with all my heart and would for the rest of my life. As soon as we were married, I wanted his child, making a stronger union and a happy family. So I laid there, content until sleep finally took me.

Tom

When I woke up in the morning’s soft light, I could feel the warmth of another body next to me, and it took a moment to remember our night together with a warm glow. Looking at Helen’s beautiful face peeks out from under the bed covers. I realised it was the best night’s sleep I had in a long time.

While Mary snoozed, I got up and made a lite breakfast. Returning to the bedroom with a breakfast tray, I found Mary awake, sitting up unashamedly, displaying her bare breasts for me to view. I passed her the tray to hold while I slipped off the apron to reveal my naked crotch. Standing for a moment, I did a little wiggle.

Mary laughed, saying, “You had better be careful, a little birdie may swoop down and peck that off,” before I slid back into bed.

I said, “I hope you like a continental breakfast, four slices of toast with real butter,

Marmite, Marmalade jam, milk, and a hot pot of tea for two.”

After putting the tray aside, I suggested, “How about we take a picnic lunch to Hyde Park and visit the museums or art galleries in the area. Then, stop for a high-tea at Kensington Palace Pavilion, arriving back here around four in the afternoon so you can be at home when the girls arrive?”

“Lovely,” replied Mary, “but what about a shower together first to start the day?”

I was out of bed in a flash, grabbing fresh towels, and had the shower running before she rose.

Sunday evening, I pottered around the kitchen tidying up, remembering our weekend together, and could only smile with happy thoughts. I had fallen in love with Mary and the girls, and I was sure she felt the same about me. It’s only a matter of time before we would be together for the rest of their lives. There were no more feelings for Alice in my heart – Mary had consumed it all.

So I decided to visit Royal & Sons** jewelers and buy an engagement ring. What’s that boy scout motto, ‘always be prepared’.

The following week, Mary was at the hairdressers and read about Pierre and Alice’s marriage. Alice looked exquisite in the magazine photos. They were the toast of Paris.

A week on and I proposed to Mary, and she ecstatically accepted. This time Mary wanted a church wedding come hell or high water. It was a small wedding, with Mary’s close family and friends. My only invite was my now aged parents and Helen from work, whose date was the mysterious Peter.

Mary wore a silk knee-length cream dress with a large yellow bow around her waist to emphasise her generous curves. Mary’s matron of honor (Rosemary), a close school colleague, wore a lemon dress. Her husband (Albert), my best man, wore a black tux, a twin to mine. Kate and Robyn were flower girls, dressed in yellow-lemon Bo Peep outfits.

Ruth fussed like a mother hen and took a multitude of photographs. Afterward, we all dined at a local Italian restaurant. When the owners found out, we were just married. Their duet serenaded us during the main meal, supplying bottles of homemade Italian red wine. We all slept well that night.

Two days later, the whole family boarded a British Airways flight to Barbados for our honeymoon. I booked a suite for Mary and myself and another three-room suite for Ruth and the girls.

We all swam, snorkel, viewed the reef, and ate the most delicious food. But all too soon, our two weeks in Barbados were up, and we were soaring our way back to London.

Before we left for the honeymoon, I had a new kitchen installed and, whilst we were away, had the inside of our house repainted.

Arriving back in England, Mary and the girls moved into our home the following week. Kate and Robyn were pleased to have a room each. Unfortunately, there was still only one bathroom. So Mary and I start showering at night to avoid running out of hot water in the morning.

Seven months on, Mary bore a son, and we named him Robert. The old house was starting to get a bit cramped, so we decided to sell up and purchase a bigger four-bedroom home with en-suites, as the girls wanted their privacy.

Just when you think everything is going well and nothing could go wrong, all hell breaks loose. It was just three days before Robert’s first birthday when I got Mary’s distraught phone call at work late in the afternoon.

Robyn had been in a car accident and taken by ambulance to the hospital’s accident and emergency department with a broken arm and possible head injuries. Yes, she did wear her cycle helmet, thank god. Mary asked if I could pick up Ruth on my way; she was expecting me. We met a tearful Mary, Kate, and Robert in the emergency waiting room.

The Police were in attendance at the hospital, and the constable while reading from his notebook, described the circumstance of the incident.

“While Robyn was riding her bike home, she swerved to miss a dog running on the side of the road, causing her to turn into the path of an oncoming car.” No charges were laid, a simple accident. The pushbike is a write-off. They offered to put it into the recycle bin.

The doctor arrived an hour later at the waiting room door. Robyn had been moved to room 232. The doctor explained “her broken arm was now in a plaster cast and would mend; however, she had brain swelling. As a result, she was placed in an induced coma because of possible brain damage.”

We were shown to Robyn’s room. She looked so small in that big hospital bed. She was lying there with all manner of tubes and cables attached to her body. The constant beeping meant she was still alive. There was nothing more to do for her tonight, and the nurse advised us to go home.

However, I suggested “we take turns to stay with her and talk to her, so she might know she was not alone.”

The nurse said “that would be okay.”

So I took Ruth, Kate, and Robert with me to our home. I stopped at our favorite pizza shop and purchased two large and one small pizza. The small one I had delivered to Mary, in the hospital room.

Mary

I was so stressed after Robyn’s accident the emotion nearly overwhelmed me. Thank goodness for Tom’s strong shoulders to lean on. I sat on the chair next to Robyn’s bed, holding her small hand until the pizza arrived. It was a godsend. I was so hungry, and I ate every slice. It was just like Tom, thoughtful as ever. I talked to Robyn into the wee hours until fatigue took me, and fell asleep. Woken by the morning nurse giving me a cup of tea, for which I was most thankful just finishing my tea when the family arrived.

Tom

Rousing Ruth and Kate at six the following day, I changed Robert’s nappy and dressed him. Ensconced in his car capsule, Kate fed Robert his morning bottle while we drove to the hospital. On the way, I bought four takeaway breakfasts with orange juice and coffee for the adults before we arrived at the hospital.

Entering the room, we found Mary having a cup of tea. Happy to see us, we all hugged, and I presented Mary with breakfast. She informed us there had been no change overnight.

The doctor arrived an hour later to tell us Robyn would be having an MRI scan of her brain at ten in the morning. Then they would know how much longer she needed to be in the induced coma. The doctor suggested we go home and clean up and come back in the afternoon, around two. He would know more then.

We arrive at Robyn’s room at two. The good news was her brain had stopped swelling, and all being well, they would take her out of the induced coma later the next day. In the meantime, someone should stay and talk to her. It’s known to reduce the patient’s stress by giving her a friendly voice. So I elected to stay, and Mary would take over at midnight.

I talked most of the night, telling her of my divorce, my work, and my dreams of our family’s future until I could speak no longer and fell asleep. Mary shook me awake. She told me she left Kate, who was in bed, and Ruth at home minding a sleeping Robert, so I should hurry home. A quick kiss and I was off.

The following day, they reduced Robyn’s medication, and by lunchtime, she was awake enough to say “hi, kiss and cuddle.” Her recovery was thankfully short; she stayed another day in the hospital to ensure all was well.

Then home to heal for another week, and it wouldn’t be long before all was back to normal, and Robyn would be back at school. The broken arm would take another month before the cast came off.

So it was a happy family celebrating a belated first birthday for Robert, not that he knew, and it would be a story regaled for many birthdays to come. Life went on, I read uncaringly, the latest story in a lifestyle magazine, and there were rumors of Pierre having an affair with a young actress. It was like reading about Hollywood lives; it didn’t affect me whatsoever.

Looking back in hindsight, I cannot believe how different Mary and Alice were. Mary had a very loving, nurturing nature, always attentive to others needs. Whereas, Alice could be cold, rote, uncaring, selfish at times, a bully if she didn’t get her way. She appeared to have low empathy and perhaps never should have had children. Many times I was required to remove a splinter or bandage a skinned knee. Alice would simply say the body will push the splinter out, or the knee will scab up. I was the one who made the children’s lunches, dropped them at school, and made dinner most weeknights.

Robert had just turned five, and he was going to primary school with Mary, who had got a part-time teaching job there. The girls were now at the local high school and doing well. However, they were starting to notice boys!

Over the intervening years, Mary and I read news stories with a passing interest in Alice’s life in cycles of ups and downs. Pierre appeared to have many affairs. Alice was rarely seen at his side anymore.

Finally, they divorced. According to my adult children, Alice signed a prenup contract and ended up with nothing from Pierre after her hard work, scheming, and cheating. She lives alone in a small flat in Paris with no family around her while still working as a Literary Agent in their obscure Paris office. ‘That’s poetic justice’!