for the
government but what he does is governed by the Official Secrets Act
and he can tell me no more than that. I do know he keeps two
suitcase permanently packed one for warm weather and the other for
cold weather. He will get a phone call on his work mobile anytime
day or night, pick up one of the suitcases and leave the house
within five minutes of the call. Sometimes he is gone for a few
days and other times like the last, for three months. When he is
away there is no communication from him at all, not a phone call,
text or email. I tell a lie, one time after a three week absence,
this was three years ago, he phoned me from Heathrow and said he
would be home in two hours. I waited and waited, he eventually
turned up one month later.
All he said
when he did finally get home was. “Sorry about that, a job came up.
I won’t phone you again.”
Now I first met
Stephen when he came into the solicitor’s office for conveyancing
on the house he was buying and we started going out, Mr Mystery man
was an enigma to me. I loved the secrecy of his life, it was
exciting and to an impressionable eighteen year old the tall good
looking chap just swept me off my feet. But after a while the
separation and not knowing when he would return and sometimes I
wondered IF he would return began to gall on me. This was our only
source of arguments, the only sour note in our relationship. Mind
you I say relationship, in our six year marriage we had taken four
holidays and on one of those Stephen had received a phone call and
left me on my own in Side and during those six years I reckon we
had actually been together for all of a hundred or so nights.
He is paid well
and his salary goes into our joint account each month without fail.
He is generous and tells me to spend the money as needed, but if
one day he didn’t return and the money stopped coming I wouldn’t
even have a phone number to call to find out what was occurring. I
don’t know where he works, what department or anything.
Stephen had
returned this morning from a ‘job’ at just after six. I was still
in bed when I heard the key in the front door. Naked I ran down the
stairs to greet him and we had gone into the living room and made
love. It was beautiful as you know but the loneliness and so many
unanswered questions left me feeling very sad.
After making
love Stephen made me go to work. “You can’t ever do anything out of
the ordinary when I’m home.” He had told me a long time ago.
“Can’t I just
throw a sickie?”
“No Sue, you
have an impeccable record and phoning in sick for the day won’t be
like you at all. So go on off you go, I’ll be here when you get
back.”
I’d heard that
before, three or four times I’d arrived home from work to find a
scrawled note. ‘A job’s come up; see you when I get back home.’
So very
reluctantly I went to work waiting for five o’clock so I could get
back home to my husband. The day dragged past and when my boss
asked my to type a letter at ten to five I nearly screamed. I
eventually left the office at five twenty five and was driving like
a maniac to get back home when I saw Stephen’s Jag heading down the
other side of the duel carriageway.
“Fuck no.” I
screamed.
It was a mile
or so until I could turn around and attempt to follow my husband, I
tried what was a forlorn attempt but at the junction with the M1 I
had no idea which direction Stephen might have taken. I headed home
found the note. ‘Sorry, duty calls,’ and cried my bloody eyes out.
A half a bottle of whiskey later and I was totally bladdered and
still crying. A whole nine hours wasted when we could have been
together all for the sake of keeping up appearances, nine hours
when we could have fucked each others brains out. We hadn’t even
had time for our normal row about his disappearances. Fuck I was
really beginning to hate this life.
It was a good
job the next day was Saturday because I woke up with a humungous
hangover and it was not
government but what he does is governed by the Official Secrets Act
and he can tell me no more than that. I do know he keeps two
suitcase permanently packed one for warm weather and the other for
cold weather. He will get a phone call on his work mobile anytime
day or night, pick up one of the suitcases and leave the house
within five minutes of the call. Sometimes he is gone for a few
days and other times like the last, for three months. When he is
away there is no communication from him at all, not a phone call,
text or email. I tell a lie, one time after a three week absence,
this was three years ago, he phoned me from Heathrow and said he
would be home in two hours. I waited and waited, he eventually
turned up one month later.
All he said
when he did finally get home was. “Sorry about that, a job came up.
I won’t phone you again.”
Now I first met
Stephen when he came into the solicitor’s office for conveyancing
on the house he was buying and we started going out, Mr Mystery man
was an enigma to me. I loved the secrecy of his life, it was
exciting and to an impressionable eighteen year old the tall good
looking chap just swept me off my feet. But after a while the
separation and not knowing when he would return and sometimes I
wondered IF he would return began to gall on me. This was our only
source of arguments, the only sour note in our relationship. Mind
you I say relationship, in our six year marriage we had taken four
holidays and on one of those Stephen had received a phone call and
left me on my own in Side and during those six years I reckon we
had actually been together for all of a hundred or so nights.
He is paid well
and his salary goes into our joint account each month without fail.
He is generous and tells me to spend the money as needed, but if
one day he didn’t return and the money stopped coming I wouldn’t
even have a phone number to call to find out what was occurring. I
don’t know where he works, what department or anything.
Stephen had
returned this morning from a ‘job’ at just after six. I was still
in bed when I heard the key in the front door. Naked I ran down the
stairs to greet him and we had gone into the living room and made
love. It was beautiful as you know but the loneliness and so many
unanswered questions left me feeling very sad.
After making
love Stephen made me go to work. “You can’t ever do anything out of
the ordinary when I’m home.” He had told me a long time ago.
“Can’t I just
throw a sickie?”
“No Sue, you
have an impeccable record and phoning in sick for the day won’t be
like you at all. So go on off you go, I’ll be here when you get
back.”
I’d heard that
before, three or four times I’d arrived home from work to find a
scrawled note. ‘A job’s come up; see you when I get back home.’
So very
reluctantly I went to work waiting for five o’clock so I could get
back home to my husband. The day dragged past and when my boss
asked my to type a letter at ten to five I nearly screamed. I
eventually left the office at five twenty five and was driving like
a maniac to get back home when I saw Stephen’s Jag heading down the
other side of the duel carriageway.
“Fuck no.” I
screamed.
It was a mile
or so until I could turn around and attempt to follow my husband, I
tried what was a forlorn attempt but at the junction with the M1 I
had no idea which direction Stephen might have taken. I headed home
found the note. ‘Sorry, duty calls,’ and cried my bloody eyes out.
A half a bottle of whiskey later and I was totally bladdered and
still crying. A whole nine hours wasted when we could have been
together all for the sake of keeping up appearances, nine hours
when we could have fucked each others brains out. We hadn’t even
had time for our normal row about his disappearances. Fuck I was
really beginning to hate this life.
It was a good
job the next day was Saturday because I woke up with a humungous
hangover and it was not
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