Page 2 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
Her.
On her knees.
Pigtails. Tartan mini skirt. Shirt tied under her chest like some sort of budget Britney cosplay. She’s bobbing up and down with real enthusiasm, as if she’s auditioning for a scholarship.
Sim-Sim’s got his head tipped back, shirt half-off, tie dangling like he’s just got home from an exhausting day at the office and now this is the reward. He moans.
“You’re such a good baby girl for daddy.”
For a moment I honestly think I’ve walked into someone else’s flat. I look at the rug. It’s ours. The curtains, the painting over the bed—ours. That is, in fact, my husband. Getting sucked off by a woman more than a decade younger than me.
I don't move. I don’t utter a sound. My brain is still rebooting.
Daddy.
What the fuck? Is that what he is into?
I freeze for three seconds. Maybe four. Long enough to really take it in. The way her pleats swing. The way his hand is on her head guiding her until she makes a gagging noise… a noise that seems to really get him going.
Happy fucking birthday to me.
When I step into the room, they both freeze. She’s halfway to standing, mouth slightly open, pigtails and tartan skirt doing her no favours. He’s just standing there, eyes wide, pure panic on his face, trousers around his ankles and a rapidly softening dick—never a great sight if I may say so.
“Miranda—”
“Oh, do shut up,” I stop him. “I’d hate to interrupt whatever GCSE roleplay this is.”
The woman tugs on the hem of her skirt but she won’t meet my eyes.Good.
I stare down Sim-Sim. It feels like this is the only power I have left: confronting this head on.
“I got the flowers,” I say. “Lovely arrangement, really tasteful. Almost made me think you gave a fuck.”
He winces.
“And the note. Very touching. Really. Especially the part about me being the best thing that ever happened to you. I must admit, I didn’t realise you were measuring that against a blowjob from someone who still gets ID’d for paracetamol.”
She mumbles something. I hold up a hand.
“No. Don’t. You don’t need to explain. I’m not here to scold you. I’m here because it’s my birthday, and I thought myhusbandwould love for me to pop by given that his card said he wished I could be with him. I thought maybe I can do something nice for him. My mistake to assume he wouldn’t arrange for someone else to give himthat.”
He takes a breath like he’s about to go for sympathy. I shake my head.
“I left SJ in Cornwall. I sat on a train for five hours next to a man eating egg salad out of Tupperware. I was going to wear that red underwear I bought for a special occasion. My marriage falling apart wasn’t quite the special occasion I had in mind.”
He still says nothing. Nothing.
I let the silence stretch.
“Well,” I say. “You’ve certainly made this birthday one to remember.”
Then I turn on my heel.
“I’m going to shower. When I come back out, I expect her to be gone. And you to decide whether you’re going to come clean or keep lying through your teeth until the bitter end. Either way, this is over.”
I don’t slam the door; he doesn’t deserve my anger.
Chapter one
