‘It was crazy!’ Kirstin said chuckling. ‘Lydia phoned me out of the blue and said – “Nightclub – are you in?”’
‘How could I refuse? We’re married to a couple of dullards, both of us, and we’d have a real laugh for a change. She was quite wild that evening though. Never seen her quite like it. She was so funny, and so pissed. A rather gorgeous guy 10 or 15 fifteen years our junior got really friendly, and they disappeared, and Good Luck to them, I say. You know me – always said I married too young, but I’d never have the balls to DO anything… you know, there’s the family to think of – the kids and grandkids…’
Louise looked utterly gobsmacked, ‘Oh, Kirstin, you’ve got a chip, and Henry is such a sweetie. How could Kirstin do that to him?’
‘Yes, sweet, but an utter dullard. I couldn’t imagine him laughing and dancing like Lydia did on Saturday night!’
 
Louise bumped into Marion, ‘Haven’t seen you for ages – let’s grab a coffee, eh?’ The conversation came around to Kirstin and Lydia’s wild night out. Louise was still horrified that Lydia could act like a teenager – at her age. How could Lydia treat her husband like that? Louise hadn’t meant to mention names but Marion subtly probed for details and slowly details came out. Eventually Marion said, ‘Wow – you must be talking about Henry Faucet’s wife! You know I work with him these days? He is SUCH a lovely man – so considerate, so kind…’
‘Oh dear…’ Louise had said far too much. ‘Err – but this must go no further, okay??’
‘Okay,’ Marion smiled.
 
Later Marion was in the pharmacy and she thought she half recognised the person ahead of her in the queue. Then the pharmacist said, ‘Mrs. Faucet?’ The prescription was supposedly safely concealed within a white bag but Marion had been a nurse and knew that the packet of medicines was small and very light: azithromycin, no doubt.
‘Ah Lydia,’ Marion said as her boss’s wife was about to brush past. A shadow clouded Lydia’s face, then, ‘Ah umm, you work with my husband, don’t you? Sorry. I was far away.’
‘I expect you aren’t feeling well. Chest infection is it?’
Marion was going to wring some more out of this. She loved a good scandal and if she could protect the honourable, fanciable Henry, she would be vindicated. She might even get lucky herself.
‘Err – ummm yes, awful. Been coughing all night.’ And Lydia tried to fake a cough.
‘Get well soon, and I’ll tell Henry I saw you!’
‘Oh – ah – no need. Please don’t – I wouldn’t want to worry him.’
 
When Henry came home from work that night he glared at his son playing some awful zombie killing game in the living room. ‘Hard day?’ Lydia asked Henry.
‘Not exactly. But I had a strange conversation with Marion. I was wondering why you lied to her – about you being ill, Lydia? You aren’t ill, are you? I know you looked a bit seedy on Sunday morning but I put that down to being out late and drinking too much. Is it something to do with the weekend? Is there anything you need to tell me?’
Lydia never had liked that woman who worked as Henry’s personal assistant. Far too chummy with him. Now look what she’d done. The bitch.