Is He Having an Affair?

by Susan Willis

Genres: Women's Fiction

Synopsis

She stood up in front of him and slowly unwrapped the dress then slipped it from her shoulders. `I bought something special for you,? she purred. Phil closed his eyes and grimaced. `Laura, I?m sorry. It looks lovely, but I just can?t!? In eighteen years of marriage, Phil has never given his wife, Laura, any reason to doubt him. Until now. Moody and distracted, with no interest in sex, she wonders if he might be seeing someone else. Confiding in her best friend Jenny, who offers support and encouragement and waves away her fears, Laura tries not to worry, but watching her husband?s personality and attitude change, she can?t be entirely convinced ?

Release date: August 13, 2015

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 207

Sample

Chapter One

Phil Johnson gently moved his wife’s hand away from his groin. ‘Sorry Laura,’ he muttered, turning onto his side and rolling away from her. ‘I’m absolutely whacked tonight.’

Laura fought back tears as she rescued her hand and placed it against her burning cheek. Being rejected was so humiliating. Laura heard his breathing change and a slight snore escape his nose. She squeezed her eyes tight shut, but couldn’t stop a tear from leaking out of the corner of one. She rolled over, removed her glasses, and laid them next to the alarm clock on her bedside table.

Oh, why doesn’t he want me any more, she agonised, burying her face into the pillow. Surely this was the wrong way around? Wasn’t it usually the wife who stated: ‘Not tonight, darling, I’ve got a headache’? She pulled the spaghetti strap of her silk nightdress back onto her shoulder and willed herself to sleep, but relentless thoughts tumbled around in her mind. They’d always had a good sex life up till a few months ago. Then, if she’d got into bed wearing something silky, he would have dragged it up around her waist before she’d had time to think.

Laura wiped her wet cheek and pressed her lips together. So why now and what had changed? At first, she’d wondered if it could be what people called the empty-nest scenario, as their son, Peter, had left home for university. Although there was definitely a shift in the atmosphere as the house was much quieter, and their daily routines had invariably changed. But Laura was still surprised this had made a difference to their sex lives.

The week before Peter had moved into the halls of residence, Laura had thought she’d be the one to miss him, but as he wasn’t far away and often popped in for meals at the weekends, she felt as though she was coping well with his absence. Laura pulled the quilt over her shoulder and remembered how she’d asked Phil if he was missing Peter. All she’d received was a raise of an eyebrow and a derisory snort; therefore, she figured it had nothing to do with the problem.

Her closest friend Jenny had been full of reassurance and soothed, ‘It’ll just be a phase he’s going through.’ And, at the time, Laura had talked herself into believing this, but now, the longer the abstinence continued, the more she decided her initial thoughts were right – he was having an affair.

The next morning, Laura dragged herself out of bed and wandered downstairs into the kitchen. Phil was already showered, dressed in his grey suit, and making breakfast.

‘Morning,’ he chirped, and turned up the volume on the radio to listen to the news.

Laura nodded and slumped down onto a stool at the black granite breakfast bar. Her head felt thick and woozy after only a few hours of disturbed sleep. She watched Phil’s light-hearted movements around the kitchen. This didn’t seem fair, Laura frowned. Here she was, spending sleepless nights worrying about the growing distance between them and the lack of intimacy, but he appeared totally carefree and apparently was sleeping like a baby. Why in God’s name was he behaving like this? And, whatever the reason was, why didn’t he seem worried or concerned?

Phil poured coffee into her mug and placed it in front of her. Laura looked up at him and grimaced.

He put his head onto one side. ‘Didn’t you sleep well?’

Laura looked into his dark brown eyes, searching for something, anything that could tell her why he was creating this gap between them. But he simply looked indifferent. ‘No, I didn’t,’ she grumbled, ‘I lay awake for hours not being able to sleep.’

‘Hmm,’ he said, buttering a piece of toast, ‘you’re not worrying about the new fish lines at work, are you?’

She shook her head in disbelief and looked around the square kitchen with its brightly painted blue walls. How could he be so crass? It was almost as if he was in denial and they’d had rampant sex all night with her hanging from the chandelier. I wish, she thought miserably and sipped her coffee. ‘No, I’m not worrying about work,’ she sniped, ‘I don’t need to. I know my products are good.’

Phil nodded reassuringly and crunched into the toast. ‘That’s good, because we go through the same cranked-up pressure every year for Good Friday,’ he said, ‘but it always turns out OK in the end.’

Laura looked at him sitting astride the opposite stool. Just short of six foot, he was a good-looking man with dark brown hair, although it was receding slightly as he neared the age of thirty-nine. But it was his voice that was the sexiest thing about him. With age his voice had mellowed with deep throaty notes and had almost a sing-song quality when he talked. When they were in meetings he commanded the floor with his articulation and Laura could tell that everyone, especially the women, hung upon his every word.

Swallowing the last mouthful of toast Phil smiled and jumped to his feet. ‘Time I was out of here. I’ve got an early meeting with the commercial teams,’ he said brightly. Grabbing his briefcase from the corner of the kitchen he hurried towards the back door. ‘I’ll see you later at work.’

As Laura stepped out of their semi-detached house she held her face up to a weak sun trying to break through the clouds. It was the first week of April, and unusually for the north east of the country, it looked as though spring had actually sprung. The fish company where they both worked was in a small town called Gosforth, on the outskirts of Newcastle-Upon-Tyne. It wasn’t far, and what with the good weather Laura decided to leave her car at home and walk to work. She pushed the car keys back into her handbag and stared at a fat snail that was making its way up the garden fence. It looks as slow and sluggish as I feel this morning, she thought, closing the garden gate behind her.

She had chosen a brown trouser suit and cream blouse to wear and as she walked briskly the flared bottoms of her trousers flapped around her flat shoes. Damn, she cursed, why didn’t I wear heels with this outfit? The cul-de-sac was empty as she continued past Jenny’s house on the corner. She looked up at the bedroom curtains which were still closed and smiled. Obviously, Jenny wasn’t rushing into work today.

When Jenny had divorced her husband, Steve, she’d bought his share of the semi-detached house, stating that she didn’t want to live anywhere else, and Laura had been relieved. Although they would have remained great friends no matter where Jenny lived, it was a comfort to have her close by.

They’d all worked together for over ten years now, starting at junior levels and working their way up to management positions. Laura was the new product development manager, Phil was the company’s marketing manager, and Jenny was head of Quality Assurance. It was a small company employing three to four hundred people, but in an area where other food companies were scarce, they all knew that without the fish factory the town might not survive.

Laura left the small housing estate and turned onto the high street, browsing in the shop windows as she walked. And that was another change in Phil, she thought, gazing at clothes in a man’s boutique. He’d recently bought a whole range of trendy clothes, from tight-fitting jeans to button-collared shirts. In the past, Phil hadn’t been particularly interested in fashion and would dress more for comfort, but now … Laura sighed, well, she wasn’t sure what her husband was interested in any more. All she knew was that it certainly wasn’t her.

She swallowed a lump in the back of her throat, pushed her hands into her jacket pockets, and quickened her pace. At the end of the high street Laura turned up the long, tree-lined driveway towards the factory and kicked at a pebble with the toe of her brown court shoe. Suddenly, she heard a toot from a car behind and swung around to see her father’s Volkswagen slowing down.

He wound down the window and grinned. ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he breezed, ‘how’s my favourite daughter this morning?’

Laura giggled and immediately felt her spirits lift at the sight of his familiar, reassuring face. ‘Erm, I’m your only daughter, remember? Unless, of course, you’ve a hoard of secret love-children scattered around the country?’

David Stephenson was a psychiatrist and worked in the hospital which was situated across the road from the factory. Aged sixty-one, he was ready to retire, but the health service didn’t want to let him go, or so he told everyone. His twinkly blue eyes shone from under thick bushy eyebrows. ‘Hop in and we can chat for the last few minutes.’

Laura opened the car door and slid onto the passenger seat. The smell of old leather and musky pipe tobacco hung in the air. She chided him, ‘If our mam finds out you’ve been smoking that old pipe again you’ll be in big trouble.’

He teased, ‘Ah, you’re not going to snitch on me Laura, are you?’

She shook her head, slowly wanting to chastise him but couldn’t help smiling at the little boy look on his craggy face. He had been, and still was, the steadying rock in life. She knew this position should have been given over to Phil on their wedding day, but it hadn’t, and Laura couldn’t imagine her life without him. ‘OK, but just this once,’ she giggled. ‘And only if it’s in exchange for lunch one day this week.’

St Nicholas psychiatric hospital cooked delicious meals in their canteen and Laura often popped across to have lunch with him when they could both fit it into their diaries.

After swinging the car into a parking space, David stared at her and frowned, ‘I don’t like those dark circles under my little girl’s eyes,’ he said. ‘We’d better get lunch squeezed in for tomorrow and then you can tell me what’s wrong?’

Laura pouted. ‘There’s nothing wrong. I’m fine,’ she said opening the car door, ‘but yes, lunch tomorrow will be great.’

Waving at her father she walked towards the reception door of the factory and through the swing doors.

The clocking-in machine tinkled eight o’clock as Laura looked through the glass door into the office area. Most of the desks were still empty apart from Phil’s side office. She could see the back of his dark hair sitting opposite the commercial director and she sighed. As much as she wanted to talk about their sexless marriage, she knew she wouldn’t be able to tell her father about Phil. It just wouldn’t be right.

Laura rummaged in the bottom of her bag, found her swipe badge, and pulled it through the machine on the wall. She headed down the staircase to her own office on the bottom level of the building. The long corridor which ran the length of the building had offices on the right hand side and her development section held the last two rooms next to Jenny’s. On the other side of these office walls was instant access into what they called the low-risk area of the factory, where haddock, cod, salmon, and tuna were packed and supplied to the major retailers.

Laura stopped outside a wood-panelled door with a grey name plate which in black lettering, stated: Jenny Campbell, QA Manager. She pushed open the door and smiled at the sight of Jenny’s tidy desk as opposed to the usual chaotic mess that lay on her own. She pulled a post-it note from Jenny’s pad and wrote: I need to talk – please come and have a coffee asap. Love, Laura.

Chapter Two

When Jenny Campbell opened her eyes that morning, the headache and hangover crashed between her eyebrows making her groan aloud. She felt her stomach contract and hurried along to the bathroom, sat on the toilet, and laid her head on the wall’s cool blue tiles. She wanted to weep with misery. It was a ridiculous state to be in, she thought, and even though the rational side of her brain knew the damage she was doing to her body, she felt powerless to stop it.

There weren’t many nights during the week that she went to bed without at least three glasses of wine. And, on weekends when she didn’t have to get up for work, this amount escalated to a whole bottle. She padded back along to her bedroom and slumped down on the edge of the bed. She put her head in her hands. Don’t cry, she willed herself, because she knew from experience that the act of crying would exacerbate her pounding head.

Hurriedly, she pulled on a beige pencil skirt and clean white shirt from the wardrobe. I wasn’t always like this, she reasoned, but knew that over the last six months she’d become worse. And if she was to tell anyone about the excessive drinking she wouldn’t be able to give them an excuse or reason, because at the moment her life was settled. If ever there’d been a time in the past to start drinking heavily it would have been when her husband Steve had left, but that episode was well and truly behind her. She smiled, remembering the mornings when they were happily married and she hardly drank and would leap out of bed ready to tackle whatever the day had in store.

Jenny sighed now, feeling as though that was a lifetime away and pulled brown opaque tights up her long legs. She hoped they would stretch enough to reach her crotch, as being an inch from six foot, she found it difficult to buy tights that were long enough. She sighed with relief as they did and pushed her slim feet into flat brown brogues. After vigorously brushing her teeth twice and gargling with a strong minty mouthwash, she sat at her dressing table and brushed her long, blonde hair into place. She applied a light foundation and a coat of mascara to her long eyelashes then popped an extra strong mint into her mouth and ran out of the door.

It’s got to stop, Jenny warned herself as she swung her Micra into the factory car park. But no matter how many times she’d said this to herself lately, by seven o’clock that night she knew she’d be desperate to open a bottle. On her way downstairs towards her office a number of colleagues greeted her with sarcastic comments about her late arrival, and by the time she opened her office door, Jenny’s face ached with the effort of smiling. She sat down at her desk, drawing comfort from the tidy piles of folders and her daily work plan in front of her.

Jenny hadn’t left work until nine o’clock the night before as she’d had to deal with a safety issue in the factory, but now she breathed a sigh of relief that her day’s activities were planned with meticulous detail. The safety issue had been resolved quickly and efficiently, mainly due to the diligence of her two QA assistants. They’d spotted the problem early enough for Jenny to take action and prevent, as the production manager had said, a molehill becoming a mountain.

Quickly now, Jenny saw Laura’s note and sighed. Jenny wished she could talk about her drink problem with Laura, but poor Laura had enough problems at the moment without her adding to them. Jenny speed-dialled Laura’s mobile number and left a message to say she would be in the canteen in thirty minutes.

While Laura made coffee in the canteen and sat down at one of the grey oblong tables to wait for Jenny, she stared around at the large impersonal room. The walls were painted cream and there were around thirty tables accompanied by grey, plastic-moulded chairs. Everyone who worked on site used the canteen for their breaks at varying stages of the day. The production staff, who began their shift at 6 a.m., tended to have lunch around midday, whereas the management and office staff had lunch at one o’clock.

Laura looked longingly at the chocolate bars in the three vending machines standing against the opposite wall. It’s not the answer, a small voice nagged in the back of her mind, but her mouth watered at the thought of the thick, comforting Cadbury’s. As she slid her money into the machine and waited for the bar to drop down into the receptacle she heard Jenny’s voice behind her.

‘Get me one too, Laura. I could do with a pick-me-up this morning.’

Laura drew her eyebrows together in disbelief. Jenny didn’t usually indulge in the guilty pleasure that the rest of the office girls couldn’t resist. She sat down opposite Jenny, placed the coffee mug and chocolate bar in front of her, and nodded. ‘Bad morning?’ she asked. ‘I heard about the near miss last night and how you were all here until nine o’clock?’

Jenny grimaced, ‘Yeah, but thank God we managed to stop it before Production had run the line for more than a few minutes. I tell you, Laura, my two assistants are worth their weight in gold!’

Laura smiled understandingly and hoped the tiredness in her friend’s eyes was only through lack of sleep. Jenny had seemed worn out and very unhappy lately.

She patted the back of Jenny’s hand. ‘You must be whacked?’ she soothed. ‘But at least it’s Saturday tomorrow and you’ll be able to have a lie in.’

Jenny bit into a square of chocolate and her shoulders drooped. ‘Mmm,’ she sighed quietly. ‘I’d forgotten how good that was.’

‘Yeah, it sure is,’ Laura agreed, sucking her way through the smooth chocolate. ‘It can’t solve any of my problems, but it makes me feel better when I’m eating it, although the scales tell a different story. What’s the saying? “A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips!”’

Jenny nodded. ‘Come on then,’ she asked, ‘what’s up?’

Laura remembered Phil’s rejection last night and felt the bubble of anxiety build in the pit of her stomach. ‘He’s having an affair, Jenny,’ she wailed. ‘I’m convinced of it now.’

Jenny smiled and calmly folded her hands on the table in front of her. She motioned for Laura to continue.

Briefly, Laura told Jenny what had happened. ‘And it’s nearly three months since we’ve had sex, he’s hiding his mobile at night, and says he is going skiing with his friends in November,’ she stuttered. ‘I mean, he didn’t even invite me but just told me he was going.’

Jenny took hold of Laura’s hand and squeezed it tight. ‘Look, he could have just been exhausted last night. All marriages go through lean patches. There were often times when Steve and I didn’t have sex – you don’t always have to be at it like rabbits,’ she reassured. ‘And, he probably didn’t ask you to go skiing because he knows you hate it. I mean, would you go if he asked you to?’

Laura considered the question and bit her lip. ‘Well, probably not. But …’

‘Well, there you go,’ Jenny stated, and let go of Laura’s hand. She sat back confidently in her chair.

Laura’s mind quickly digested Jenny’s words. ‘OK, that might be true,’ she nodded, ‘but why doesn’t he fancy me any more?’

Jenny held a hand up in front of Laura. ‘Now stop this, Laura. I think you’re simply overreacting,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve known Phil for years and probably just as long as you have. He loves you to bits and worships the ground you walk on.’

With Jenny’s words of support Laura felt her anxiety begin to settle. Jenny was right, of course he still loved her, and she was just being silly. Laura knew she often let problems bottle up inside her until she became irrational. Thank God she had her dear friend to keep her feet planted firmly on the ground.

‘Thanks, Jenny,’ she said.

Jenny sucked thoughtfully on the last piece of chocolate. ‘Laura,’ she asked. ‘Why don’t you just ask him?’

‘Well, I have asked him if there’s anything wrong and he says not,’ Laura murmured then swallowed hard, feeling her cheeks flush. ‘But, I just can’t ask him why he doesn’t want to have sex – it’s far too embarrassing.’

Jenny shook her head and raised her fine eyebrow. ‘And this is from a man you’ve been married to for nearly eighteen years and who you’ve had a baby with?’

Laura clasped both her hands together under the table to stop them from trembling. She could hear in her own mind how ridiculous it must sound to Jenny, and she tried to explain. ‘If I’m totally honest, I’m not sure if I really want to know the answer,’ she whispered, and leaned across the table, ‘I mean, what if it’s something I don’t want to hear, and he is having an affair?’

Jenny rubbed Laura’s arm. ‘Look, honey. Not that I think you’ve got anything to worry about, but wouldn’t knowing the answer be better than torturing yourself like this?’

The silence between the two women was suddenly shattered with a shout from the doorway.

Laura’s technologist, a man called Alex, called across the room. ‘Laura, we need you,’ he said. ‘The guys in the factory are going to start packing salmon sides.’

Jenny smiled. ‘No rest for the wicked. I’m due in a meeting anyway in ten minutes,’ she said. ‘But I’ll see you at lunch time.’

Hurrying towards the door, Laura agreed and foll. . .