The New Mrs D (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

To my darling wife,

For the few months leading up to our wedding I’ve taken it upon myself to abstain from sex, all in the hope that I can at last be the man you deserve. I want to have a full and proper sex life, with no outside help or influences. Just you and I. And I’ve never told you this but – I want to be a father. I love you more than life itself, Binnie. I want our child to be made out of that love. My ultimate holiday experience . . . is you.

David xxx

‘What do you suppose he means about a full and proper sex life?’

I looked at Linda and sighed.

It was just a means to perk myself up, Binnie.

‘He’s telling me the porn use on our honeymoon was for me. For “us”,’ I said.

‘Why?’

‘Because when we had sex, he could rarely get to the finish line.’

She looked nonplussed.

‘I mean, he never
came
. Unless he was watching porn during the event.’

‘He watched porn during sex with you?’ she asked. ‘You mean, just him? Not you? Not sharing it?’

I nodded.

‘Well now, are you thinking there’s a chance this is just the greatest excuse for being caught out watching porn ever?’

I rubbed my forehead, trying to dull the ache that was beginning to take hold of my brain. It was a familiar pain; called, ‘I’ve heard it all before.’

‘Okay, maybe,’ I agreed. ‘But then, he wrote this before I caught him at the hotel.’

Linda looked thoughtful. ‘What would he hope to achieve by watching it while you’re on your honeymoon?’

Now this I knew.

‘Getting in the mood,’ I admitted, feeling embarrassed at what was still, undoubtedly something I was lacking. Something I had failed to give him. ‘He was psyching himself up for one, big, last night.’

With the fat woman.

‘But then he’d be all used up, surely?’

I remembered the tissues in the hotel room waste paper basket. I’d
thought
that was a little careless of him. Maybe he had had a bout of hay fever after all.

‘He was watching porn without the happy ending part,’ I said.

Linda’s eyes widened. ‘Christ,’ she said. ‘How do you know that?’

I laughed at the irony of her joke. ‘I can never know for sure,’ I continued after a moment. ‘But that is what he means. Why else would he be so insistent I read this, like it held an answer for everything? It
has
to explain what he’d been doing.’

Linda exhaled loudly. ‘So,’ she said finally. ‘What happens now?’

‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘But, hell no! I’m not having any more babies!’

We both half-laughed, but inside me a mixture of emotions were stirring around. Shit! Trust him to complicate things just as I’d stopped questioning whether leaving him was the right thing to do. What he did hurt me, but it was what he needed. He was right. I’d promised to take him in sickness and health. This was his sickness. But then, it was his fault for doing it in the first place, wasn’t it?
Arsehole! Gorgeous, oh God I do love him, git.

‘But you might reconsider the whole marriage annulment thing you were thinking of?’

‘It doesn’t matter now, it’s over,’ I told her.

‘But Bernice,’ she reasoned. ‘He has a sickness; a sexual dysfunction. Doesn’t that make it all a bit different?’

‘Because we said in sickness and in health?’ I said. ‘Linda, I think the dysfunction was caused by his porn addiction. And you are forgetting one other detail.’

‘Which is?’

‘The way he had to ogle everything with a pair of breasts everywhere we went together. Really, Linda, I tried. We saw doctors, tried prescribed medication and did the whole counselling thing. In the end it was obvious this “dysfunction” was a product of his porn addiction. He did that to himself and he’s proved time and again that he won’t stop. There is only so much you can do for a person who isn’t willing to help himself.’

As I said the words, my heart didn’t believe them. He’d been trying to get better; maybe even using the porn on his phone to arouse himself for me. But then, he still needed to arouse
himself
for me! My phone buzzed, alerting me to a text message. I snatched it up to find a message from an unknown number.

Have lunch with me? I’m at Taverna Vasso’s at the harbour.

‘Linda, I’m going to need to think about all of this,’ I said. I felt sure the message was from David. Maybe he’d managed to get another number after I blocked his old one. Still, I did need to see him; that was for sure. ‘Can we meet tonight at the village square for the shindig thingy? You’re going to be alright aren’t you?’

She nodded, ‘I’m going to be just fine. I’d booked a massage this afternoon anyway. Hopefully, she’ll be hot.’

I hugged her again and smiled.

‘Off to meet someone?’ she said. I stood up and checked my hair in the mirror over her mantelpiece. ‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘I’ll tell you how it all goes later.’

There was just time for me to hand in the keys to the moped to the centre before heading to the taverna for lunch with David. It had been a while but the young boy recognised me immediately.

‘Thank you,’ he said, snatching the keys and backing into the office. ‘Have a nice day.’

‘Aren’t you going to check it or something?’ I asked, passing him the helmet.

‘No, no. It’s fine Mrs Dando, thank-you-very-much-bye.’

‘Ok, erm, do you know which taverna Vassos is?’ I asked, turning to point down the seafront beside the harbour. He closed the door with a bang.

‘Right-o,’ I said. ‘Helpful, thanks.’

There were five or six tavernas along the harbour side, but luckily I spied Argos sitting at a table in the first one.

‘Hello, beautiful Binnie,’ he smiled, showing a string of pearly whites. God he was beautiful. But so, so young.

‘Hi Argos,’ I said. ‘Do you know where Taverna Vassos is?’

He looked perplexed, and then started to smile.

‘You are always a funny lady.’ Snapping his fingers to the barman, he shouted out, ‘Vassos! Ouzo!’

‘This is Taverna Vassos?’ I said, feeling panic rise in my throat.
David was going to find me having a drink with Argos!

‘Yes, of course!’ he answered.

‘Well, er, actually,’ I stammered, scanning nearby tables for David and not finding him.
Phew!
‘I’m supposed to be meeting someone here,’ I started to explain, but Vassos was already bringing the drinks and a basket of bread to the table.

‘
Tsipouro
for two,’ he said cheerily.

‘You are here to meet me,’ Argos said.

My heart sank. ‘Oh, it was you that texted me?’

‘Of course!’ he said, positively beaming from ear to ear.

‘Sorry, I had no idea. How on earth did you get my number?’

‘You gave it to me for the parascending. In case the weather changed and you couldn’t go, remember?’

‘Ah, yes, I do. Very sorry about all that. Hope the chute I left on that tree was okay and . . . well, I didn’t get chance to say sorry about that night at the beach. I hope your . . . er . . . thingy is okay?’

‘My thingy?’ He looked perplexed.

‘Yes, your, erm’ I pointed downstairs. The light came on.

‘Ah, yes, yes,’ he said, grimacing. ‘Everything is working good.’

‘Good.’

‘Please, Binnie,’ Argos continued. ‘What would you like to eat?’

‘What?’

‘For the lunch?’ he explained.

‘Argos, I . . .’ I started, but he was already preparing to make a speech of his own.

‘Binnie,’ he said. ‘I know you are going to England tomorrow and that makes me very sad. You are very pretty and a very special lady for me.’

‘Thank you,’ I answered, taking a huge gulp from my drink. ‘That’s very kind but . . .’

‘And so today I want to be together with you.’

‘Together with me?’

‘Yes, together.’ He leaned forward and placed a hand on my knee, which made me jump, spilling
Tsipouro
down my top.

‘I want to give you what you asked me for on the very first day I saw you,’ he said, reaching for a napkin to rub at my blouse. ‘Because I like you,’ he finished.

‘And I like you, Argos,’ I said, taking the napkin off him. ‘You are a very, very handsome young man and I’m extremely flattered.’ Oh, dear God, I was sounding like his mother again.

‘You are flattened?’ He looked confused.

‘Flattered. Happy that you like me,’ I explained. ‘And I do fancy you. Who wouldn’t? You’re gorgeous! But I’m not what you need and you are not what
I
need.’ His poor, confused face made me ache to laugh, which was terrible. But the truth was, I fancied him but I wasn’t attracted to all of him. Just his body. Just the young, carefree, raw monkey-sex he might be able to give me.
Wait . . . am I talking myself into this or out of it?

‘Now Argos,’ I said firmly, pulling myself together. ‘Can you just remind me? What was it again that I asked you for the first time we met?’

He grinned and pointed to his crotch. ‘
Psoli.
’

I downed the rest of the
Tsipouro
and stood up. There it was − that male, twenty-year-old cockiness. That’s why I wasn’t attracted to him. For all his flirting, compliments and apparent good manners, underneath he was just looking for what all young guys hope to get from visiting lady tourists. A leg over.

‘I have to go now,’ I told him. ‘But thank you, Argos, for everything. You have made my holiday, you really have. I’m like a new woman.’

He leaned forward, grabbing my arm. ‘I’m like a new woman too!’ he said.

‘You mean,
you’d
like a new woman. And I’m sure you will have one, Argos, very soon. But it’s not going to be me.’

‘But, I thought we could do the sex today?’ he said.

‘Do the sex today? Is that why you were going to
buy me lunch?’

He looked shocked. ‘Oh no, no, no!’ he exclaimed. ‘I am in love with you, my beautiful English Binnie. I want to give you the
psoli
.’

Something told me Argos had yet to find out what real love was.

‘Thank you, Argos – and my name is Bernice, actually,’ I said with a wry smile. ‘You don’t know what it means to a woman like me to have a young, attractive man like you throw himself at her. However, on reflection,’ I took a piece of bread from the basket and bit into it. ‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘The
psoli
here is certainly very good. But I’d really rather go dip my toes in the Aegean, if you don’t mind.’

And with that I left him, speechless, at a table next to the sea. My young, randy, could-have-been-fun guy . . . who had told me I was beautiful.

It was a long walk back up to Villa Miranda now that I didn’t have my little moped, but I suspected the island’s motorists were all breathing a huge sigh of relief there wouldn’t be a mad woman hurtling towards them on the wrong side of the road each day. When my tired legs had finally carried me up the hill, the first thing I saw was Ginger’s hire car in the driveway. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I strained to see if they were visible out on the balcony. They weren’t. Everything was still, and everyone was quite clearly, and on a roasting hot day too, indoors.

‘It could be perfectly innocent,’ I told myself, untying the bike lock on the gate and tiptoeing up the gravel path.

Nothing stirred. There was no-one in the garden either; but as I got closer to the house, I heard Ginger cry out from what must have been the balcony. She sounded like she was in ecstasy.

‘Oh, Chrrrrisssss! That is so good!’

I covered my ears and hurried into the apartment so as not to be heard, feeling angry. So my suspicions had been right – even Chris was a rat. All men were rats! I wasn’t sure why I cared, but I fell on the bed and cried.

Are you going to be at the square tonight?
Hope to see you there. Chris

The text woke me from a deep sleep and, checking the time, I jumped up to get dressed. It was almost six-thirty and dinner was in half an hour.
Shit!

Throwing on a beautiful, turquoise-blue maxi dress that I’d been saving for a special occasion, I combed my hair, swiped on some mascara, grabbed my bag and raced out of the door. Shit! I didn’t even have my moped to get me to the village square tonight. Ginger’s car had gone too. Shame. I’d really wanted to shout up, ‘Hey Ginger, have you finished shagging Chris now because I could really use a lift to the village square?’

Chris was coming down the stairs carrying what looked like a huge, covered canvas.

‘Hey there,’ he said, looking ever so slightly sheepish. ‘Do you want a lift?’

‘No, it’s okay’ I said, curtly.

‘But I thought you invited me to the street party?’ he said, looking confused.

He jumped off the last few steps, grabbed my arm and swept me towards his car. ‘It’s your last night, Bernice. Let’s make it a good one. Plus,’ he added, more seriously, ‘I really need to finish our chat from the other day. I think, seeing as you are going home tomorrow, now is the time.’

What was the point in arguing? What was the point in asking none of my business questions like, ‘What the hell were you doing with that married woman this afternoon?’ None of it had anything to do with me.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘But let’s do it here and now, before we leave.’

He breathed out. ‘Right then,’ he said. ‘Come on, we’ll take a seat under the pergola. And for heaven’s sake, please will you let me do the talking this time?’

With the canvas stored in the car, Chris brought us two iced teas and sat across from me at the huge table he used for his art classes.

‘How did you get on with David the other day?’ he asked.

‘You knew I was going to meet him?’ I said.

‘Yes I did,’ he replied. ‘We spoke on the phone and then again yesterday, I went to meet him for a drink. He’s
a mess, Bernice.’

I felt a lump in my throat and willed myself not to cry. ‘I know,’ I said, taking a sip of the iced tea he’d given me before remembering I hated it. Note to self, stop drinking stuff you don’t like because someone made it specially for you.