Page 14 of Has Anyone Seen My Sex Life?
Tim widens his eyes. He is my desk neighbour and new to this game, having come to us from Manchester with a journalism diploma and the idea that his words could change the world. Except that he ended up in a shared flat over the Sizzle Inn kebab shop and spends his days editing submissions about local football scores and how someone once stole a collection box from a chippy. He’s the youngest in the office and attaches himself to me as for some reason he thinks I have journalistic kudos. I will admit to liking him even though he still wears what looks like an old school tie.
‘Why would you pickle a damson?’ he whispers.
‘Jam, right?’
‘I was thinking beer.’
I smile at him as he props his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and sips tea out of an Iron Man mug. In another universe, this kid is Jimmy Olsen, isn’t he? I look around the office, trading smiles and nods and wait for everyone to return to their work before I boot up my computer. I know why I’m here. I just need to have a scratch at this to sate my own curiosities. I firstly go on Facebook, to stalk Briony Tipperton and seek out any clues. There’s a lot of leopard print but otherwise, nothing.
Next. If this is as logical as Danny is making it out to be then there must be a chain that I can follow; there will be something in black and white. I reach into my pocket and find an invoice from the parcel that I squirreled away. I go to our banking website and bring up the joint account details, scanning transactions. Nothing. Surely if you were buying a sex toy for our joint pleasure then this is how he would have paid for it? We have no secrets (or so I thought) so I log into his current account. Nothing.
I can’t access The Love Shack website here for obvious reasons, so I open it up with my phone. I look around with furtive eyes. Sign in? I click on the link and input his email address. Password. I go through the regular ones I know with dates of birth attached and without. I even put in Briony’s name. My fingers move with expert speed. I just need to know. I put in our daughters’ names, the dog’s name, his mother’s name. But then I think, would he do this through his personal email address? If I can’t find the transaction, how did he pay for it? With a secret credit card? With an email address that I can’t access? Work, I realise.
Login
Password
cumbrianembassy1
Welcome back to The Love Shack!
Fuck.
‘Tea?’
I throw two palms over my phone screen, my cheeks a deep cherry blush. Tim stands over me like the eager beaver that he is. Did he see the home page of the scantily clad couple on all fours and the special 2-4-1 on lubricants?
‘Why not?’ He scampers off and I return to the website. The bastard used his work address. My stomach grumbles to a low churn. He hid this from me.
A pop up appears on the screen:
You are a Platinum Customer! Click here to redeem your points!
Platinum? That’s more than I’ve ever achieved on a credit card or loyalty points scheme. That says everything I need to know. I click on Purchase History.
‘Margaret from accounts brought in some custard creams so I liberated a few for you.’ Tim plonks a cup of tea down on my desk with a pile of biscuits.
‘Thank you…’ I have my phone covered again as he hovers, expecting a bit of small talk in repayment.
‘No worries, Meg. I didn’t know you were going to be in?’
‘Oh, I just wanted to catch up on a few things.’
He hangs around awkwardly. ‘I have to get on though… I also have a deadline for a match report against Workington. Let me know if you need my help,’ he says.
I smile but can feel my heart sinking slowly into my chest, embedding itself in doubt. My fingers hover over the button. I need to know for sure.
No.
Please.
I hold on to the sides of my desk to steady myself, staring at the screen. I can’t breathe. Why the hell are there three pages worth of purchases? It dates back a year. Christ alive, that’s a lot of lubricant, enough to fill a bathtub. But there are all sorts on the list from dildos to cock rings, handcuffs to feather duster-style contraptions. Oh my good god, he’s having an affair and a kinky one at that.
My face is so close to my desk I’m tempted to simply put a cheek down and just die right here, really quietly. The girls. Us. Our marriage. Our life. Who was this he’s playing around with? How did it take me so long to find this out? Did I miss any signs? You can read, watch and hear about what it’s like to be cheated on but the overriding emotion is feeling like a little crack has formed on the surface of your heart and it’s carving its way into your cells like the ground fracturing in an earthquake. What I have with Danny isn’t perfect but I love him, I loved him enough to be here with him, to mother his children, to have a life. With him. Is this an affair? Is it just sex? With more than one woman? I clench for a moment, thinking about his bits. My bits? Panic ensues.
What do I do with this? Do I confront him? Where will I live? The girls, my poor girls. How could he do this? Don’t cry. Don’t cry at work. I stuff two custard creams in my mouth. Geez, I hate custard creams. Chew. Just do something. Why is my mouth so dry? Where is all my saliva? Don’t. Choke. I grip on to my desk again. It’s stuck. Good god, I’m going to die here with a sex website open on my phone and an economy biscuit stuck in my gullet. A sharp hand beats against the back of my ribs. Tim. This can’t be how it ends. He lifts me from my chair and pushes himself up against my back with surprising force. Jesus, Tim. I didn’t know he had it in him. I cover my desk and laptop with regurgitated biscuit. The entire office turns in my direction. Len from marketing is holding a first aid kit.
