Who Needs Men Anyway?. Victoria Cooke
the choice of venue: Megan’s studio.
My mouth curled into an involuntary smirk. It wasn’t because I found the situation funny – I was horrified and felt deeply sorry for Megan. It was the fact that this woman could brazenly visit not only Megan’s house but also her place of work. Don’t get me wrong, I admire brave, strong women who go after what they want but not when the thing they go after is a man who’s already spoken for.
With phase one of my plan successfully executed, I needed to work on my next move, so I went into Costa, ordered an Americano with skimmed milk, and scanned the edible offerings. To be honest, I’d normally select the fruit pot given it’s the most figure-friendly option, but I was too tightly wound so went for the gluten-free brownie instead, promising myself I’d eat just half and save the rest for James. With my order complete, I sat at a table by the window. Scarlet woman had gone inside at ten to one; chances were the class would last an hour, starting at one o’clock. Phase two: sit for an hour in Costa and drink my body weight in coffee.
I passed the time flicking through news and my Instagram feed on my phone, and at one point, I even went and got the complimentary newspaper off the rack and skimmed that. I wondered if I should just tell Megan what I saw and let her decide what to do but there was the possibility she wouldn’t believe me or that Mike would talk his way out of it. I disregarded the idea. The only way Megan could make a decision was by being in possession of the facts.
The last dribble of coffee was cold when I drank it, and the wrapper of the brownie lay empty on the table. I couldn’t believe I’d eaten it all, which was a) worrying because I never let my guard down, and b) a travesty because I’d not even savoured the delicious taste. I looked at my watch: it was 2 p.m. I shuffled on the chair, trying to relieve the numbness in my bottom as I sat, staring out of the window with my eyes fixed on the door. A few women of various shapes and sizes started to trickle out, and I scanned them one by one. No, no, no . . .
There! A slender figure emerged much sweatier than before and, unbelievably, she was chatting to Megan, like they were friends. Megan was showing her a stretch that looked like it was for a specific problem area in the lower back. I didn’t have to wonder how she got that particular issue. I wanted to run over there and throttle her. Of course, there was the possibility that Mike had hidden the wedding pictures at their house and she didn’t actually know Megan was his fiancée, but my instinct disagreed.
Megan left and the woman walked back to the bus stop. I assumed by her sweaty attire she’d be heading home for a shower. I tapped my fingers on the table, thinking of my next move. She wouldn’t be meeting him today because Megan had mentioned a quiet night in with Mike and a takeaway, so I decided to call it a day and then follow her again in the morning. With Megan working, chances were there would be another meet-up the next day, and if not, at least I’d be able to find out a bit more about this woman – where she worked and such. I gathered my things and returned to my car. It wouldn’t be long before I got my evidence.
James was working when I got home, so I tiptoed into the office and kissed him on the top of his head. He hair smelt fresh like he’d just showered – the distinctive scent of bergamot, jasmine, and cedarwood gave away the fact he’d used my ESPA purifying shampoo. As I hovered over him, he raised his right arm to rub my shoulder and I kissed him again before heading to the kitchen to make dinner. I had my speciality to prepare: roast lamb with all the trimmings. Of course, I mostly ate the veg since lamb is so fatty, but James loved lamb, and he’d been working so hard, he deserved his favourite.
When I’d put it out, I sat at the dinner table after calling him, sitting on ceremony waiting for him to join me. When he did come down he took his plate and said, ‘This smells delicious – you’re an amazing woman, Charlotte,’ and went upstairs. I sighed. It was just one more day, which shouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things should it?
Perhaps I was fixating on James and his work because I was an only child and my parents were off travelling the world and had no intention of coming home until their money ran out. I had a close friend, Kate, who was more than capable of leading her own life and there were the women from the golf club who I mingled with for the benefit of my husband. If I had a baby, I’d have a purpose. Someone who needed me and loved me unconditionally and who I could love, protect, and teach about the world (and occasionally swaddle in baby Burberry).
The next morning, I woke at seven o’clock, and James had already left for work. I always felt a bit lost when I woke up in an empty house. He must have let me sleep in, which was thoughtful, but I loved making his breakfast and chatting while we ate, and when he snuck off, I felt robbed of that time. I’d been robbed of that time a lot recently.
Once I’d got up and completed my morning routine – shower, rejuvenating face mask, moisture regime, and yoga stretches – I was ready for the day. Megan had asked if she could see me later in the evening instead of my usual morning slot as she had a new client to see, and that suited me fine since I wanted to get to that woman’s house earlyish.
I was there by eight. By eight-fifteen, she was stepping out of her house in a nondescript outfit of black trousers and a white blouse, which meant she could be an employee almost anywhere within a commutable distance. Once again, I followed her as she took the bus towards Manchester city centre. Before we reached the centre, she got off the bus at a small retail park on the outskirts of town. I remembered Megan saying something about her fiancé working in a tile shop, and I noticed a large tile discount store on the park. It was too obvious.
I scanned the rest of the park; there was an electrical shop, a furniture shop, and baby shop, which gave me a small pang in my chest when I saw it. I made a mental note of it, just because. In the far corner, there was a small greasy-spoon café. I’d have put money on her working there, so when I saw her walk in, I wasn’t surprised. In need of a coffee myself, I wandered in a few minutes later, taking a table by the window. A waitress, not her, approached me soon after.
‘Hi there, can I get you anything to drink?’ asked the slightly plump lady. She had a friendly face, framed by fluffy yellow hair. I eyed the coffee machine, which had a digital display, push buttons, and not a fresh coffee bean in sight and dismissed the idea of a cappuccino.
‘Now this looks like the kind of place that serves wonderful fresh filter coffee,’ I said instead, smiling warmly in hope.
‘We do.’ She smiled. ‘Nobody orders it since I caved in and bought that new-fangled machine when people jumped on the cappuccino bandwagon. I’ll brew some fresh for you, love.’ She patted my hand and sauntered off before I had the chance to thank her.
‘This smells delicious,’ I said as she placed the steaming mug of black coffee in front of me a little while later. ‘Do you have any skimmed milk?’
‘We have semi?’ she said while I internally groaned.
‘Actually, I’ll take it black,’ I said, smiling politely. I was about to save Megan the humiliation of a cheating fiancé but I wasn’t about to risk looking like a sausage in my Herve Leger bandage dress for the cause.
The waitress left and I saw her come out of the back, tying a black apron around her tiny waist. She was quite pretty, which I hated to admit, and on closer inspection, I’d estimate her age to have been around twenty-eight. Still a good ten years younger than Megan and very attractive. She pottered behind the counter and I caught her eyeing the door every now and then, obviously looking out for him.
I sipped my surprisingly rich coffee, fixing my eyes on the entrance to the tile shop. Just before nine o’clock, the door swung open and Mike walked in before he’d even gone into the tile shop. Coffee and a kiss before work? My heart rate picked up as I watched him glide over to the counter, keeping my head down so he didn’t recognise me.
‘Good morning.’ He elongated the word ‘good’ in a way that made my skin crawl. His sugar-sweet smile was enough to bring on type-two diabetes.
‘Hey