DIARY – LOVE AT CUMBERSOME CORNER – CHEATING – PT 11
By Bruce Williams
‘So I said to him: ‘Ernie, would you ever have an affair”. And do you know what he said”
Neither Colette, nor Sally, nor Sabina, nor I, were game to say, even if we thought we knew.
And Sophie continues: ‘He said: ‘Of course not. How would I get the time to have an affair” Right’ Not ‘No darling, you’re the only one for me.’. Not: ‘I would never even look at another women.’! But ‘how would I find the time.’!
And we tut-tutted in time with the chain-creaking as we pushed a phalanx of pre-schoolers on the swings in our favourite kiddie park in Camperdown, north of Cumbersome.
There’d been an article in the Good Weekend the previous Saturday along the lines of: ‘Can an affair be good for a relationship”.
And Sally and I had recently seen Little Children at the Newtown Dendy, despite a scathing (and accurate) review in the City Hub. Two reasonably happily married folk had one reasonably torrid affair. Parallel to which a pervert cut off his own penis. And (those who lived) all continued to live: fairly happily.
Can an affair be good for a relationship’ The answer, of course, is: Yes; it can. It’s just not very likely to.
Colette excuses herself to light up a smoke down-wind, and I take up the slack with a double-handed pre-schooler swing-push.
This is our regular Tuesday morning, coordinated in a clutter of texts and emails and phone calls ‘ while breakfast is being funnelled down pre-schooler gullets and spouses are being waved out the door.
Colette’s eldest boy, Dan, is heavier than my eldest girl, Sam, although they were born within a week of each other. And I try not to doubt my parenting, as I feel with my left hand (Dan), a no-nappy butt, and with my right hand (Sam), a Huggie’s-super-girl-junior butt.
About a year ago I switched to part-time at my job at the Ministry of Truth – where they all do very well – and have since been doing my best to be a fully mothered-up member of our mother’s group.
And now I find myself talking about cheating with four women, in the company of nine children, on a glorious winter morning, two-kilometres north of Cumbersome.
So, the five of us discuss the various merits and drawbacks of a boozy back-seat bonk, a same-time-next-year pact, a new love that just cannot be denied, and must at least be tried.
Sandra, she tells us, leans towards the yearly tryst. Colette (now back at the swings and smelling of Marlboro), believes an occasional slap-up is practically inevitable. While Sally can’t believe we’re even talking about this.
And I let my mind wander to the hypnotic rhythm of the swings and chains. And I’m thinking that none of the cheating options before us really works: A tryst is too serious, therefore a threat to our relationship; A bonk is too trivial: therefore, why would you jeopardise our relationship for that…
‘I’ve got it!’ I say.
And I really have. And it’s really it.
Four women look my way.
‘Hookers!’
