A Cuckold Husband… and Less

Chapter One Life is not cruel. But it’s certainly indifferent. So had run the thinking of Gordon Fordham, the divorced and no longer extant father of Brian, the son and heir to nothing spectacular in terms of either land or the monetary who was finding those fatherly words of wisdom hard to find common ground with at this particular moment. If it wasn’t cruel then why did his head thump as if a power-tool had just been inserted between his ears? Elaine, his wife of thirteen years, had just dropped a completely unexpected bombshell in his lap and it struck him over his sense of desolation and the hammering at his skull that if, given the number of the anniversary in question, his much-missed old man had been right and life wasn’t cruel then what it did have was a warped sense of humour. Even the mundane and nightly situation into which it had lowered its marital wrecking-ball could not have made his wife’s words any more repellent and shocking. Forget heart-breaking. Watching television together after dinner, as per their usual routine, had been guaranteed to make what Elaine seemed intent on saying to him seem all the more… Incredible! What with its unrelenting parade of weather-reports, bog-basic soaps, more weather-reports, and Simon Cowell productions aspiring to mediocrity only to fail in ways beyond the dismal as they made their progenitor still more wealthy, the nightly ritual of the TV, this after dinner was done and dishes rinsed dried and put away, served only to highlight the shocking nature of the decidedly not “bog-basic” words exiting the words of his loving wife. The weather girl that wife interrupted as she was in the process of warning him to expect severe storms in the North-East of Scotland, the same storms that were about to be transported in metaphysical form to the South-Coast of England, would seem to him later as symbolic of what was about to befall him. Yet another example of life’s warped sense of humour, in fact. Humour that bore out the fact his late-father had been a few light-years off the pace in regard of its non-persecutory indifference. Hell! There were stars yet to be discovered by the advances of modern-day astronomy that were closer. If a lot less disturbing. Before, however, we get to this revelation that was to change the marriage of Brian Fordham — and in ways that would have once seemed to his somewhat prosaic outlook on life impossible to accept - it would help those of you reading this to be given a fuller picture of the two individuals involved and their life to this point. They had married those unlucky thirteen years ago when Elaine had been twenty-five and he three years older. Not childhood sweethearts exactly, they had, just the same, known each other through their respective parents and frequent gatherings at each other’s homes and got on well enough. Even if Brian’s youthful good-looks and his precocious gifts as a footballer, along with the age difference that was more exaggerated at such an age, ensured she barely registered on the radar of his adolescent and still forming sexuality. A registration already made by the younger Elaine who, as is nearly always the case with boys and girls, was way ahead of her future husband in terms of both s****l knowledge and maturity. An attraction on her part that was to last into their teens and beyond — even if Brian’s footballing prowess was destined not to progress upwards to the heightened altitude of professional football those around him, not to mention Brian himself, saw as a given. Those “frequent gatherings”, you understand, having come to a full-stop after his mother had divorced his devastated father and taken herself off to Australia with his replacement — a replacement who, to this day, Brian Fordham had not met and had no idea how he had found a way into his mother’s life. A mother with whom there had been no contact since and none wanted — at least on his part. Understandably, given his devastated and humiliated father’s decision to up sticks from the scene of his wife’s desertion - this to move him and his only son away from all the knowing eyes in their neck of the South London suburbs to live near his brother in Northamptonshire - the social connection between the Fordham’s and the Pierce family had been ended apart from the inevitable Christmas and birthday cards. It was not until Brian Fordham had accepted a new placing at the Department of the Environment in London after being promoted to HEO level, and an intervening period of some eleven years, that they were to meet again. Life, whether cruel, indifferent, or just plain mischievous, had set Elaine down as a legal secretary in an upmarket chambers in Westminster’s Eccleston Square that was a cough-and-a-spit from the massive and monolithic offices in Horseferry Road of the Ministry employing the former footballer who had been the unknowing recipient of her teenaged desires. Working in such close proximity, it was inevitable that they would meet at some time and this they did. Both by chance deciding to take a solitary lunch in the catacombs cafeteria of the famous church of St John in Smith Square, renowned for the classical concerts and recitals, amateur and professional, held in the place of worship above. The square itself equally as famous — or infamous, depending on one’s voting inclinations — for being the long-time headquarters of the Conservative Party. The twenty-four-year-old who recognised him instantly and came rushing over to his table was no longer the gushing and somewhat toothy twelve-year-old he remembered from his time in Carshalton and was, instead, a full-bodied twenty-something with a very definite s*x appeal to a young man who, while not unsuccessful with women — most of them from the DoE where he worked — was not exactly tearing up the bedsheets either. On that autumn day when indifferent life decided to get involved and play cupid, Elaine had been wearing a correct navy shirt in cotton that could do nothing to hide the shape and firmness of the full breasts it struggled to contain and a tight gun-metal grey skirt that hugged her curvy hips and left enough space between black spiky heels and the knees where it ended to show something of a pair of shapely legs - legs with exaggerated calf muscles that were somehow made to seem even more powerful by the opaque tights, also in navy, clinging to them. The overall effect coming across as a mix of the efficient and the voluptuous. No catwalk model, for sure, her former neighbour and one-time golden-boy had told himself when they were seated with their lunches prior to catching up. Then again, he was compelled to admit also, if the erection already tenting his suit trousers beneath the table as they set about reacquainting over their risotto’s and lasagne’s was an indicator, there was a far more womanly magic at work than that possessed by the stick-insect clothes horses so loved by the lens and coming up short in terms of s*x appeal. For him, anyway. Though there appeared to be no shortage of ageing and ludicrous rock-stars, unable or unwilling to let go of their more vital early years, who had a different take on the phenomena. At 5’8” and weighing in at just under eleven stones, she was hardly anorexia material and her weight would prove to be an issue for her throughout their married life, but to the instantly smitten Brian Fordham there was so little separating her from the voluptuous goddess that was his ideal as to make no difference. None whatsoever. Her hair was so black he couldn’t help wonder if an artificial aid of some kind had been called in to create the effect. And he would go on doing so until their relationship firmed up enough for them to move in with each other prior to marrying. After which their sharing of a bathroom, together with the absence of tell-tale roots and over frequent salon appointments, along with no sign of Clairol, John Frieda, or any other like colouring agent, put paid to his suspicions for good. She was not forward, but neither was she shy. Although she had seemed content to leave all major decisions to him. This despite out-earning his Civil Service salary quite comfortably. In fact, perhaps because of the age difference and the former golden-boy status conferred upon him by his youthful footballing prowess, she seemed quite in awe of him still. A response common to most women who finally land themselves the adoration and commitment of their one-time love and fantasy object. Even if it was equally common that such awe and deference seldom lasted. The two only children were married a year on from having moved in with each other and their respective families were delighted — a recently widowed mother along with two aunts and a couple of seldom seen cousins on her side, and Brian’s father and bachelor uncle in the Northamptonshire village of Wootton on his; the renegade mother still, and as she would remain, out of the picture in her aussie idyll. There was no desire for children on either part and this proved a blessing when tests connected with a totally unrelated illness came back with the revelation of Brian’s low-sperm-count. Low as in being almost non-existent. A lack, despite both their avowals of it making no difference anyhow, she knew hit him hard. For despite his less than macho occupation, his earlier days as a star of the football-pitch had left him with a certain locker-room view of masculinity. A view in which sperm that could actually swim played a huge part. This aside, and by the time Elaine was head hunted by a prestigious Sussex law-firm to become their chamber’s office-manager while he took a voluntary redundancy rather than travel back to London each day from their new Pevensey Bay home, they were already settled into a comfortable domesticity - so comfortable, in fact, that Brian saw no problem being the one who looked after the home. Quite the opposite. He found he actually enjoyed being able to go at his own pace and not have to meet nonsensical government-set targets in an environment where such things made nil visible impact anyway — save that of allowing venal politicians to present them to a gullible public as a triumph of their own brand of party tub-thumping. The biggest change as they grew with each other in their different ways did not prove to be the change of occupation and address, however. That particular marital metamorphosis — and explaining the greater and more far-reaching change to come — was undoubtedly physical. Not between the sheets, you understand — the action taking place there had always been decidedly average and remained so, much to the growing frustration of a disappointed Elaine who had expected far more from her golden-boy, even if he did seem to think he pressed all of her buttons all of the time. No. The physical changes in question were his thinning hair and expanding waist-line that seemed to her in keeping with the unadventurous nature going hand in hand with a career in the Civil Service and his undeniable sweet-tooth. The latter explaining the waist-line, at least, and something she tried time and time again to get him to do something about. The thinning hair - save for expensive hair-replacement treatment not guaranteed to take - the fault of nature and genetics and not something for which he could justifiably be blamed. Even if she had suggested on more than one occasion that he simply have it cropped as close to the scalp as possible, forgoing in the process the strategic styling in front of a distinctly unimpressed mirror no more likely to be fooled than anyone else with functioning eyes. Other, that is, than her delusional husband himself. The physical changes in her partner of thirteen years were made all the more noticeable by the fact she remained the voluptuous and desirable woman he had married thirteen years before. Only now was she beginning to find the rare grey hair above and, more disconcertingly, below. The latter easily taken care of by a necessary, if painful, visit to the local beauty salon on a regular basis - the agony of hot wax being ripped from the flesh avec pubic-hair necessary to ensure her p***y would never be given the opportunity again to remind her of the passing years. Pain undergone despite his oft stated preference — mostly on those rare occasions when he cut loose enough to get inebriated and his conversation became more lewd - for a “natural and womanly bush” on his woman. A caveman approach that did not sit well with either his looks or his temperament and lasted only as long as the effect of the particular tipple he was drinking at the time. Since the move to Pevensey and a deceleration in a social life that had hardly been hectic to begin with, they had mostly spent their time, this when Elaine was not working at the Cooden Beach chambers a short drive from them, in each other’s company. Outings, such as they were, consisted mainly of long drives to take in nearby villages and hostelries for lunch. Either that or the odd evening meal out in their local Pevensey Bistro. To her growing s****l frustration she could now add boredom. At least when she was out of chambers. Her life there was far too busy and interesting for boredom to prove a factor in her current frustration and her sense of life — married life at least — passing her by. Tonight, though, was not a Pevensey Bistro night and Brian Fordham immediately sensed a change in in her mood when she reached across him for the remote-control that was usually under his control to switch-off a weather-report to which he had actually been listening. His first thought as she turned a serious expression on him and he was deprived of more crucial and extensive knowledge concerning low pressure over the Shetlands and the prospect of drizzle in the West, was that there was another problem at chambers and she wanted to run it by him. He was, however, not to be so lucky on this occasion. And not by a long shot… …”Brian,” she began, making a steeple of her hands across thighs that were, unusually but unsurprisingly, given she had yet to take the shower she usually took upon arriving home from chambers, still covered in the tan pantyhose she had worn to work that day, expression terribly serious and enough on its own to worry him, “what I’m about to say is going to shock you and you will certainly find it upsetting.” A cold hand seemed to grip at his vitals along with a sense of impending disaster that rendered him quite incapable of speech. An encouraging opening, she thought. At least for her. She pressed on: “But, if you allow me to finish what I have to say without interrupting and keep an open-mind, I am sure we can work our way through what I’m about to say to you and remain happily married.” As his stomach plummeted towards the carpet, his immediate fear that she was about to tell him she had been diagnosed with a terminal illness of some kind was soothed somewhat but left him certain she was about to confess to an affair with one of the partners or other men working out of her chambers. He also realised her somewhat school-mistressy request for his silence was quite unnecessary and that his sudden apprehension made it unlikely he could have spoken to interrupt anyway. Apprehension that was about to be turned into outright devastation. Even if it began almost encouragingly. “Brian,” she began with an assertive voice and manner he had only heard her use with the secretaries and admin staff she supervised on the odd occasions they called her at home, “you know that you are the only man I have ever loved and I fully intend it to remain that way if I can.” Her words had not been couched as a question and this was just as well seeing as he was finding it difficult to breathe let alone speak after her addition of the “if I can”; in fact, as she paused for some kind of response on his part he felt ready even at this early stage to throw up. She looked expectant, just the same, and he forced from himself a somewhat jerky nod. “Good,” she went on, as if she had just resolved some trivial office dispute between members of her admin staff and was now free to move on to more pressing matters. “Because I dearly want us to grow old together.” A small — very small — sense of relief calmed him and he began to breathe a little easier. “I also want you to know,” she went on, “that knowing how badly your mother hurt you when she left you and your father and to be with another man in Australia is not something I will ever put you through.” “At least not on the other side of the world,” she added in unspoken and amused afterthought. As he waited with growing unease for her to tell him exactly what was on her mind she took that unease and turned it into horror: “Not,” she finished, “if I don’t have to.” “Oh, my god!” he cried, his fear of the worst despite her words unlocking recalcitrant vocal-chords. “You… You’ve found… You’re going to leave me for someone else!” As she shook her head vehemently at this he could not work out if he was more relieved at her disavowal or shocked at the sudden turn their evening was taking and where it might lead. Though he would be in no doubt shortly. “Absolutely not, Brian. I asked you to listen and you haven’t. Did I, or did I not, just finish telling you that I would never put you through the same kind of ordeal your mother put you through?” Her tone towards him, he might have noticed had he not been so predictably preoccupied, was sounding almost… Authoritative. But then he did have more pressing matters on his mind at that point. “You also said ‘if I don’t have to’,” he reminded her. She ignored this and took his hand in hers. “Brian, believe me when I tell you that I love you very much.” Sensing he was the recipient of the usual female flattery as part of being softened up for something he would not find… pleasant… he made no response and she went on with her train of thought: “It’s because of that love that I’m still with you…” He looked thoroughly at sea and green-around-the-gills for his presence upon it as she finished: “...As well as being the reason why I intend to always be with you…” “But…?” he supplied the word over which he guessed she was hesitating. He saw a moment of indecision cross her strong and defined features before she drew herself up and answered: “But I’ve not been happy with certain aspects of our life for some time now and I’ve decided to do something about it.” “Wh-What aspects?” he stammered, feeling as frightened as he could ever recall feeling. “My doing something about it, Brian,” she told him, ignoring his question — for now, anyway, “does not mean we can’t remain as man and wife.” He waited, knowing she was not finished. “But, if we do, then it is only fair to tell you that there will be major changes in our marriage…”