Grand Slam

“One heart,” the bitch opens.

“No bid,” Andrew says, oblivious to the unmistakeable signals his wife is sending my husband.

I stare into her black core, seeing all. We may be partners at bridge, but there it rests. If I could bring her down, I would.

“One spade,” I respond and dream of digging six foot holes.

Andrew waits for James to make his bid. How many times have we gone through this charade? Our partners are screwing with their eyes in public and with their bodies in private. Twice a week we play the mating game of bridge. One heart, I need you. Two hearts, I want you. Four hearts, game call.

“One no-trump,” James says, looking not at his partner, but at her.

Cheryl smiles, a classic Princess Di from under her lashes.

“Two hearts.”

Diamonds aren’t mentioned, yet I’m sure Cheryl’s new ring was paid for with my bonus. My money disappears into our joint account, where the balance is always overdrawn. James blames me. Says the house is too large for a childless couple, but he’s the one who doesn’t want children. I want them. Dear God, I want someone; someone who’ll love me.

In the meantime my poor fool James can’t keep his pathetic hands to himself.

“Would you like a drink, Cheryl?” he asks, but his unspoken words hang in the air. A touch, it’s all I crave.

On the weekends when James goes to business meetings in the north, Cheryl works late. She says she stays overnight at her office. Andrew doesn’t believe me when I tell him they’re together, but then he still believes in coincidence, Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy.

Andrew, oh Andrew, why don’t you help me, instead shutting your eyes to the truth?

Finally they leave and we are alone in this emptiness called marriage.

At the weekend I anoint myself for bed, knowing James is somewhere other than where he’d said he would be, probably removing Cheryl’s clothes. Does he linger over it, a touch here, a caress there? My mind runs on visions of naked bodies. I picture fingers making their slow progress over soft flesh. Is she as eager as I once was, as I still am, for those brief moments of fusion?

My body aches, desire now an unbearable torment, and the void must be filled. I’ve spent too many nights alone with black hatred and red desire. My mind is set; let the cards fall where they may.

“Cheryl and James really are having an affair,” I insist, pulling back the covers to slide between the sheets.

“Rubbish,” Andrew says, reaching for me.

His shaking hands denote what? Fear? Excitement? Desire?

Who cares? I’ve raised the bidding and declared his heart as trumps. The joker couldn’t resist.

Grand slam – called and made.