Antidote to Infidelity (59 page)

Accepting two
grateful handshakes, a kiss on the cheek from me and a relieved manly hug from
Rob, he disappears out the door before poking his head back in.

“
Oh, forgot to say, third floor,
first set of double doors on the left. Ignore all the wires, most of them are
just for show.
”

Nodding and bounding
after him like a Labrador, I suddenly realise: in my rush to see my husband, I
might be stepping on someone
’
s toes.

“
Rob,
”
I say softly, turning to
envelope my brother-in-law in my arms.
“
Can I go first?
Please? I need to give him something.
”

“
Go right ahead, Sal, I
’
ll ring Amy and my mam,
”
he sighs, ruffling my hair
from a foot above.
“
But
don
’
t
upset him, yeah?
”

“
Never, ever again,
”
I promise sincerely, bolting
out of the room and up the stairs. My legs can’t carry me quick enough. In
thirty seconds flat I
’
m buzzing the
intercom at the IC, where a pretty blonde nurse lets me in, leading me to Will
’
s private bay at the end of the
machine-packed corridor.

“
He
’
s got so much hair,
”
she laughs innocently,
twisting a spiralling golden lock.
“
Lucky really,
probably cushioned the blow.
”

“
Probably,
”
I agree with a smile, waiting
for the pang of jealously to strike.

For the first time
ever, it doesn
’
t.

“
Don
’
t let the wires worry you,
”
she whispers,
“
they
’
re mainly for decoration.
”

“
So I hear,
”
I mutter, thanking her. But as
I peep beyond the curtain, where Will
’
s bruised body is
hardly visible beneath a flashing blanket of multi-coloured monitors, I don
’
t buy it for a minute.

Watery eyes darting
from the bleeping heart screen to the electrical circuit covering my husband
’
s once-hairy chest, I rush into
the darkened room, peppering his closed eyelids in loving kisses. As I lace my
fingers lightly over his pale cheek, my trickling tears turn to floods.

I gently take his
hand in mine, returning his wedding ring to its rightful place.

On with the old, off
with the new: two souls entwined, yours for eternity.

Seeing his eyelids
flutter, I jump. I don
’
t know why, probably
because I
’
m not expecting him to
be conscious. When I look again, he
’
s not.

Twenty year-long
minutes pass and I don
’
t budge.

Eventually, he does.

Tightening his
fingers around mine, he groans in pain as I stroke his mattered hair, soaking
him in tears.

“
Holy shit, an Angel,
”
he whispers hoarsely, one eye
open a fraction.
“
I
knew
that
was a bad idea.
”

We all make
mistakes.

Some are forgiven,
some forgotten, some forever concealed.

In a perfect world,
love would come with a crystal ball and the antidote to infidelity would be
available on prescription – painless and easy to swallow.

In the
real
world of course, there’s no such miracle remedy. Even if there was, it would
mean a trip to the doctor’s . . . and I’m currently barred!

Joking aside, I
thought retribution was the tonic, revenge the cure – but no. It’s all about
balancing the scales. If the good outweighs the bad you’ve just got to dig deep
and give them a chance.

I never knew being
wrong could feel so right.

***

 “
Have I mentioned, I
’
m altering?
”

“
You
’
re altering?
”
Will echoes.
“Uh-oh.
What
’
s
that
gonna cost me?
”

We
’
re sitting on the penthouse
balcony’s edge, wrapped in the offending birthday banner, watching moonbeams
dance on the water as we wait for the clock to strike midnight.
And turn me
into an old git.

Settling into my
favourite spot, the snug gap between Will
’
s shoulder and neck,
I realise we’re sharing a moment I
’
ll treasure forever,
because
this
is what it’s all about. Not what’s coming, not what’s gone
- but right here, right now.

I
’
m glued to my husband like a
cuddly limpet, have been for the past week. Now he’s back, I’ve got no
intention of letting go of my beloved boomerang ever, ever again.

The kids are asleep
in their
own
beds (will wonders never cease?) and Mary and Clive sit
just beyond the patio doors, engrossed in an episode of
‘
Muerto!
’
, the cheesy Spanish equivalent
of Midsummer Murders.

Tugging the floaty
cloth tight, ensuring Will doesn
’
t catch a chill from
the light breeze swaying the marina
’
s towering palm
trees, I cuddle up as close as I possibly can without sitting on him.

Then I decide it
’
s not
quite
close
enough. And sit on him.

“
I
am
altering, Will,
”
I insist, jabbing him
playfully in the ribs and making him wince.
“
Oooh,
sorry baby. Sorry, sorry. I forgot.
”

“
It’s okay,
”
he assures me, kissing my
cheek, my neck, then finally, my yearning lips.
“
So
tell me birthday girl, how exactly are you altering?
”

“
Well,
”
I say, sipping my hot
chocolate,
“
I figure if you can
make the anger management guy angry in
seconds
, you
’
ve got a real problem. Do
you
think I
’
ve got a problem?
Have I? Seriously? Do I need to see a . . .
”

I
’
m about to say doctor
.
Ooops. That word’s taboo. From
now on, if anything aches, breaks or gets chopped off we
’
re going to the vets.

“
You
can
say doctor,
”
he assures me with a chuckle.
“
I won
’
t keel over. And in answer to
your question, no. I think you
’
re
trouble
but I wouldn
’
t have it any other
way. Tell me, what does this altering entail?
”

“
Oooh, plenty,
”
I grin.
“
Mainly though, being
much
nicer to you. And
never
looking at other guys because being
married-not-dead
is
no
excuse. Agreed?
”

“
Agreed,
”
he says, smiling wryly.
“
I like it, but it won
’
t last.”

“It most certainly
will
,”
I insist. “You
’
re playing too, by
the way.
”

“
Am I now?
”
he whispers, nibbling my ear.
“
What if I don
’
t like the rules?
”

I giggle, twisting
his wedding ring round and round.
“You
will
.
They
’
re pretty simple.
Honesty
.
That
’
s it.
”

He looks puzzled, so
I plough on,
“
For example, the
next time a fit young filly gives you the come-on and you say,
‘
what? Who? Oh, I didn
’
t notice her, babe,
’
I
’
m going to strangle you
un
til you admit you
did
.
Deal?
”

“
Deal,
”
he chuckles, stroking my
thigh.
“
It
’
s a bloody good job I love you,
Sally Moss,
’
cause you
’
re a proper nutter.
”

“
I
’
m
a nutter? Me?
”
I gasp,
mock-insulted.
“
I
’
m
not the one who
leaps off balconies wrapped in birthday banners!
”

***

Mmm, maybe I should
explain.

A week on from his
operation, Will is on the way to recovery, thank God. Bruised and battered, yes,
but bouncing back in true bungee style. To everyone
’
s
immense
relief, he was
deemed fit as a fiddle (well, almost) and discharged yesterday into my tender
loving care.

Following a
passionate heart to heart over Mike, during which I set the record
straight
,
so to speak, the thing that was hurting my clumsy hubby most was his pride. He
hadn
’
t jumped off the
balcony, like everyone
assumed
. The daft bugger had simply been trying
to hang a giant birthday banner, for
me
,
over the wall.

Realising the rope
wasn
’
t long enough, he
developed that invincible urge
you get after eight shots of whisky,
leaned too far and toppled into the sea with his foot caught in a geranium
planter!

The rest, as they
say, will go down in history as chronic, clinical stupidity. I’d better watch
out, I’ll be losing my crown.

As for ‘Ben’s’
penthouse, well, I told you I’m gullible! It’s not Ben’s, it’s
ours
,
leased for three years with the option to buy should our big adventure go to
plan.
We’re
letting our house back home, just in case, whilst we join forces and try our
hand at something new. Something exciting.

Something
together
.

In truth, if someone
had told me a month ago that I
’
d be moving to Spain
as editor of my very own magazine, I
’
d have suggested
they
’
d been on the loopy
juice, but no. The
international office of
Algo Para el fin de Semana
- better known in
Goldwell as
Something for the Weekend
- is ready to rock in Puerto
Delfina. All that’s left now is for yours truly to take the helm . . . when my
first mate’s feeling ship shape again, that is!

***

Loosening Will
’
s towelling robe, I rest my
head on his shoulder, staring dreamily into the night sky, thanking my lucky
stars.

I feel
truly
blessed to have him in my arms. It feels
right
.

So
right.

Like falling in love
all over again.

I know only too well
that, if fate had chosen, the love of my life could have been swept away
forever in the crash of a wave.

Who knows, maybe the
good Lord considered his topple a leap of faith and leapt to the rescue at the
last minute?

I shudder, hugging
him tight.

Crikey, Will could
so easily be sitting here dead . . .