Going Up and Going Down by Eva Bielby Page B

accounts office staff
before taking me along to Martin’s office and introducing us.
    After a
business lunch that lasted two hours, I made arrangements for the company’s
first audit before setting out again for the forty mile journey home. As the
journey had taken me in the opposite direction to work Ted had told me not to
bother returning to the office and to go straight home.
    I was surprised
to see Anthony’s car in the drive when I pulled in. It was extremely rare for
him to arrive home before me and it was only just past three o’clock. I
wondered if he was ill. Quietly entering the house in case he was asleep, I
dumped my handbag on the kitchen worktop and went through to the lounge.
    I felt my body
sag and the most unpleasant feeling of déjà vu at the scene in our lounge. My
eyes and my head struggled to accept what was there before me. Anthony was
reclining on the settee, trousers around his ankles. A young man was knelt on
the floor fondling Anthony’s balls and bent over giving him a very enthusiastic
blow job. So engrossed he didn’t realise I was there. Two pairs of denims and
boxers had been thrown into the armchair. Anthony looked rat-arsed. I don’t
know where I summoned my self-control from. I could feel vomit rising into my
throat and my hands were trembling but somehow I held it together. Without any
screaming and shouting, or being predictable, I casually walked over to the
settee, offered my hand to the lad and said,
    “Pleased to
meet you! I see you’ve met the prick.” He jerked at hearing my voice and
dropped my husband’s scrotum as if he’d just been bitten. His mouth gaped and
Anthony’s cock went from seven inches to shrivelled-up slug in seconds as it
fell from the lad’s mouth.
    “Helen…I…I…it’s
not…” stammered my twat of a husband.
    “What it seems,
Anthony?”
    The kid was
almost dressed and trying to get past me to make a quick exit through the
kitchen. I felt sorry for him. He was barely in his early twenties. Anthony had
brought him here so I didn’t feel any malice towards him.
    “Did he pay you,
love?” I asked him “How much did he promise you?”
    Staying in his
way to block his escape I reached the kitchen before him and snatched my purse
from the worktop. The lad could hardly get a word out,
    “It’s…it’s ….okay.
Sorry.” I thrust five twenties at him. “I hope this covers a cab back to...Take
it.” He looked me in the eyes and after a few seconds hesitation he took the
money from me. As the lad closed the back door Anthony came into the kitchen
behind me,
    “How…how much
have you given him?” I was battling to stop the Gavin and Bobbie scene that had
started replaying in my mind, wondering if there was ever to be an escape from
it. And that’s all Anthony could utter. I turned to face him.
    “A hundred…you
owe me a hundred pounds, you fucking arsehole!” I almost laughed at him. His
eyes had all but popped from their sockets.
    “Twenty is what
I agreed with him. What the fuck do you think you’re doing giving him a hundred
fucking quid and expecting it back from me?”
    “He deserves it
for having to put up with all this...this…shambles! Call it embarrassment money
- he’s not much more than a kid! What are you playing at, Anthony? You were
married for fuck’s sake!”
    My earlier calm
was dissipating. My hands were starting to shake again – the shock kicking in!
The shock hit Anthony like a sledgehammer as well – what I’d just said to him
had hit home.
    “Helen…were…?
What…your Dad…? I…!”
    “Don’t worry
about your precious position, Anthony!” I screamed, my anger building with each
passing second “I’m not even going to waste my time telling Dad. He thinks the
sun shines out of your every orifice – Mr Perfect!” then, “I…this is what
I…we’ll do…we carry on as normal. But from now on we lead separate lives,
Anthony. My parents are not to know about this. Just don’t you ever come