The Trouble With Being Married by Ross Alice

Author:Ross, Alice
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Following my encounter with Sara Mathers, I return home in a nostalgic frame of mind, newly shorn head replete with memories of school days, when all one had to worry about was where the next zit might pop up. These days, having much more grown-up issues to deal with, a bunch of boils could break out on my chin and I doubt I’d even notice.

‘Where’s Louise?’ I ask Concetta, upon discovering my most pressing grown-up issue absent from the house.

The Italian doesn’t reply, eyeing me quizzically. ‘Your hair… you are having the… new style,’ she remarks at length.

‘Yes. Fancied a change.’ I keep my tone breezy, despite the scepticism in hers.

‘Hmmmmm.’

I have no idea what ‘Hmmmmm’ means in this context, nor do I care. ‘So, do you know where Louise is?’

‘She is doing the bodypumping,’ Concetta announces, swiping up her mobile from the bench.

‘I just bet she is,’ I mutter under my breath, all scholarly images now replaced by much bawdier ones – of my wife and One Syllable Dan “doing the bodypumping”.

So wrapped up am I in these sickening images, that I jump as a flash of light catches my eye. I snap my head around to find Concetta fiddling with her phone, which she then drops back onto the bench. I might be wrong, but I think she’s just snapped a photo of me.

‘I am making the pasta with the pesto for the dinner,’ she informs me, through a smile so angelic, I’m now convinced she’s taken a picture.

Her phone pings with a text. She snatches it up, reads the message, then snorts with laughter. Annoyance rattles through me. If she’s sent my photo to that bloody waiter and they’re sniggering over my new haircut, I’ll… Well, I’m not sure what I’ll do. Nor should I be wasting time thinking about it. Not when I have far more pressing matters to attend to, like finding out if my wife is shagging One Syllable Dan. And avoiding the pasta with the pesto.

‘Actually, I think I’ll do the bodypumping too,’ I inform her. Then, before another word can be uttered – or another photograph taken - I hurtle upstairs, pull on shorts and a T-shirt, jump into the Audi and hare over to the gym.

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