It was the morning after Cait’s thirty-seventh birthday. She’d had to make the birthday dinner reservations herself as she knew he’d have forgotten. He’d laughed when she told him and he just gave that same shrug he always did. And then he paid for it from the joint account too.
He drank the dregs of his cup of tea and placed it back on the worktop, even though the dishwasher was sitting open. He left it for her to tidy up like he always did. He pulled on his jacket, told her he’d see her later and grabbed his keys. Just as she heard the front door slam, his phone beeped to signal a text arriving. She picked it up, already heading for the door to tell him he’d forgotten his phone when she glanced at the message visible on the home screen.
Don’t forget the scan is at 3. 2nd floor, Holles Street
She heard the front door open and he reached for his phone.
“You forgot..” she started to say but he just grabbed it and turned and headed to his car.
She slumped against the wall as the realisation of what the text meant dawned on her. Holles Street was the National Maternity Hospital. The only scans being carried out there would be on pregnant women. She’d been in Holles Street before.
Her mind drifted back to when she was seventeen. How her drug addict boyfriend’s reaction to her getting pregnant was to get her drunk on gin then push her down the stairs in an attempt to cause a miscarriage. As she lay in a heap at the foot of the stairwell he’d delivered a couple of final kicks to her stomach. Once he’d headed back inside to shoot up, she’d crawled to a neighbour’s door to beg for help. She thought about reporting him to the police but by the time she got out of the hospital, he was dead from an overdose. It was no great loss but it was then that she swore she was going to lead a boring life from then on.
She’d chosen Kevin for his predictability. He was the opposite of every boy she’d ever been out with. He was dull and she felt safe with him. He’d been Head Boy at their secondary school and despite her being the wild child in their year, she found his boring predictability a refreshing change. It was only after they were married that she realised just how boring a predictably boring husband could be.
He had graduated as an accountant and was working his way through the ranks at his firm. Spontaneity was frowned upon. He liked his dinner at six and there were only two restaurants he would go to as he liked that their menus never changed. She thought having a baby would fulfil her and finally convinced him to ditch the condoms. But after eighteen months of trying, when she finally visited a doctor, she found out that the damage inflicted during the miscarriage had left her infertile. He said he didn’t mind, that he didn’t really want children and that they’d only get in the way. She’d loved him for that.
But over time, he’d started to notice her less and less, familiarity breeding contempt and all that. Golf club outings, work dinners, any excuse at all started to take up more and more of his free time. As long as his laundry was done and his dinner was on the table, he was happy. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked her how her day working as a special needs assistant in the local primary school had gone. He’d told her one time she looked to be putting on weight. She’d joined a running club but even after the pounds had fallen away, he still didn’t notice her. She was beginning to realise that her husband was a walking cliché.
She told the headmistress at the school that she had a doctor's appointment and had to finish work early. After swinging by the house to pick up an old fancy-dress blonde wig and sunglasses, she got the train into town and headed to the hospital. She sat tucked in a corner of the waiting room and waited, scrutinising every woman as they arrived. One younger woman was sitting alone. She looked vaguely familiar. She racked her brain trying to place her. It was just as Kevin arrived and went up to the woman that she recognised her as his secretary. How fucking predictable. Mr Cliché having his mid-life crisis by fucking his secretary. Despite the voices screaming in her head, she resisted the urge to jump up and attack them both in the waiting room. Instead, she sat and watched and seethed as they kissed and then sat there with him holding her hand. He never held her hand like that anymore.
She waited while they were in the scan room. She was flicking through an out-of-date magazine for the seventeenth time by the time they came out. The look of happiness on their faces as they looked at the scan the woman held in her hand made Cait’s barren womb churn. She waited for them to leave before slowly following them out. A taxi had pulled up at the entrance, depositing another expectant mother. She slipped into the back seat and closed her eyes and let the tears come as the taxi headed out into the Friday afternoon rush-hour traffic.
The taxi slowly made its way out of the town centre. She could have walked to the station and got the train home easily enough but she preferred the silence and solitude. She needed some alone time to think. She’d known deep down that this, or something similar was going to happen but she hadn’t dared face it. To speak about it would have somehow made it real.
“How can I go home and face him?” she thought. That look of pride on his face as he looked at the scan was sickening. There he was, Captain Fertile. He wasn’t shooting blanks. He was ‘All Man’. It was all her fault, as usual.
When the taxi stopped at one of the innumerable sets of traffic lights, she watched what looked like a hen party coming out of a hotel. They were a group of women ranging from teenagers to women in their late forties and she imagined the fun they were going to have.
Her phone pinged. She reached for it on autopilot.
Sorry darling. I got my dates mixed up. Damian’s stag do is this weekend. I’ll be back on Sunday. We can do something nice then. K x
The fucker, she thought. He’d be playing happy families-to-be with his knocked up slut of a secretary all weekend while she was left alone. Well, fuck him. Two can play at that game.
The taxi crawled through the traffic. She glanced at the window displays of the clothes shops with the mannequins in their cocktail dresses and with a sudden rush of blood to the head, told the taxi driver to pull over. She thrust twenty euros into his hand and without waiting for change, headed into the department store.
When she emerged sometime later, laden down with carrier bags, she walked with a newfound purpose into the hotel from which she saw the hen party emerge earlier and enquired if they had any rooms available.
Once inside her room, she stripped her dowdy clothes off, leaving the faded jeans and the baggy top in a heap on the floor. She stood naked under the shower, washing the stench of betrayal and the past twenty years from her skin.
She was still toned, thanks to a twice-weekly gym routine, her running and her yoga class. Her breasts were still firm and had been described as a perfect handful. She’d seen how her friend's boobs had headed south after pregnancy and breastfeeding and was thankful that her perky pink-tipped boobs could still turn heads.
She slid her hand down over her stomach and massaged the shower gel into her curls. Her fingers slipped between her legs, fingertips teasing her slit and stroking her folds as the water from the showerhead ran over her body.
She shoved her two fingers in hard and deep. The fleshy heel of her thumb ground against her clit. She placed her other hand on the tiled wall to hold herself up as she thrust harder and harder. The water splashed on her back. Her hair hung down over her face, rivulets of water flowed over her and dripped from her nose and chin.
She could feel herself squelch as she fingered. She tried to stop the images of her husband as they flashed into her head but it was no use. Every fantasy she had or movie scene she tried to remember morphed into Kevin and his secretary fucking. She saw them in his office with her on her knees in front of him or her draped over his desk with her skirt around her waist and her knickers around her ankles. She thought of the evenings he worked late and the nights he stayed out drinking after a game of golf. Was that really where he was? She felt the orgasm threaten as her mind raced. How long had they been fucking?
Her knees buckled as the orgasm consumed her. She collapsed to the floor, crying out as the tears came, mixing with the shower droplets rolling down her cheeks. She curled into a ball on the floor of the shower cubicle, hugging her knees as the sobs racked her body.
Finally, she pulled herself upright and turned off the tap. Once cocooned in the fluffy white dressing gown the hotel had provided, she made herself a cup of tea. Now the tears had dried up, she could admit to herself that there was nothing left. She’d refused to see the blindingly obvious for long enough. It was time to move on.
Using the hotel’s hairdryer, she styled her dark hair into a neat bob. She didn’t wear that much makeup normally but always had some in her bag and tonight was the time to wear it. The foundation, eyeliner and lipstick felt like war paint, a mask, with the real Cait hidden behind the red lips and smouldering dark eyes.
She let the dressing gown fall and pulled the purchases from the carrier bags. Once she had fastened it behind her back, she ran her fingers over the champagne coloured silk and black lace bra. She loved the feel of silk against her skin. It always felt so sensual. The matching French knickers flattered the curve of her ass and she couldn't resist one slow sensual stroke with her finger along the gusset.
Sitting on the bed, she carefully pulled the black nylon hold-up along her thigh. The elasticated lace top gripped her upper thigh, leaving a few inches of exposed pale flesh between stocking top and knickers.
The dress was not something she’d normally wear. She’d normally think it looked slutty if she saw someone else wearing it but at that moment in the shop, that was the dress she’d wanted. She pulled it over her head and tugged it down into place. The hem just about hid the stocking tops and the material hugged her hips and boobs. It wasn’t as revealing as some of the dresses she’d looked at. This one had sleeves at least and her tits weren’t falling out but was still cut low enough to showcase her cleavage. The shiny teal material was certainly not her usual colour. She was a little black dress girl and liked to hide in the shadows, but not tonight. Tonight, she was going to have fun.
She stepped into the heels and felt her whole posture change. She glanced in the mirror and saw how her ass stuck out. She couldn’t resist it. She’s seen the Instagram feeds full of girls in dresses like this posing for a picture before heading out. She put one hand on the wall for balance, then lifted her leg like a flamingo and snapped a picture with her phone.