Menage à Trois

Menage à Trois

by

Anne Olivant

1084 Words

He’s got another woman. I could tell the minute he walked in. The smell was all over him. He gave me a funny look.

“What’s up with you then?” he asked, but I didn’t say anything.

We’ve been together four years and he’s the centre of my life. I thought I was the centre of his, until now.

I wasn’t exactly off the streets, but I came with nothing. That never seemed to bother him.

“You’ve got nothing on paper but you've got class,” were his words and I believe he meant them, then.

His friends laughed at him.

“She’ll wear you out,” they warned. “Think of the age gap, Geoff.”

But he didn’t care. We were perfect together. I don’t need to do everything at top speed and an older man - well, he can pace himself.

For example. We’d go out every day.

“Just because I’m an old fogey doesn’t mean I can’t take you out and about,” he said. “Can’t have you moping indoors. Besides a gorgeous girl like you needs to be seen.”

I enjoy walking best. I might look a bit on the giddy side, but I do love our long walks together. I’m very observant and often find things for him, a bird’s feather for instance or an unusual stone. He calls me “Miss Sharp Eyes” and says the walks have never been the same since I came along. Not that I don’t go out on my own sometimes. Usually down to the shops for the paper. The newsagent always calls to his wife and they both come and speak to me.

But it's all changed - ever since she came on the scene. And he’s in it far deeper than I ever thought.

“Come over here Pet and sit on my knee. This’ll be hard for you to understand but, erm, ever since my Gillian died, I’ve been very lonely. When you came along Gorgeous, it made a big difference but it’s still not quite the same. I met Margaret at Howard’s” (and he’d said it was a card game!) “and we’re probably going to get married!” That was it - bald statement, big unfeeling grin, absentminded kiss. “Oh, and she’s coming on Saturday to see the house so we’d better have a tidy up, eh?”

And that was it - end of subject.

A menage à trois? He can’t be serious. Carry on as if nothing has happened? What kind of a monster have I been living with? Gentle, thoughtful Geoff - he must be having a breakdown!

My first instinct was to run, but then I thought, why should I? I was here first, I’m the one being pushed out. No, if I value what I have, I should fight for it. And I do value it - not just because of the roof over my head. It’s been like living in an oasis after years in the desert. I can’t give him up, to her or anyone.

I’m going to stay and fight.

So here we are, waiting for her to turn up and I’m beginning to regret my foolish bravado. Can I really go through with this? Can I stay, with her here? There has been no mention of my leaving, everything has been going on surreally as normal, as though nothing will change. But it will.

Getting down to the nitty gritty, what about bed? I feel with some men you have to be . . .assertive. Subtlety will not do. And from our first night together Geoff has been under no illusions about my feelings.

“You’re a bit of a forward young lady,” he laughed as I climbed in. I put it down to the age gap. My generation expects this sort of thing. Anyway, he hugged me and murmured “Mmm, I’ve missed someone in bed with me!” And there I’ve stayed, until now.

And what about the children - his grandchildren I mean? They adore me. They loved me from the start and their rough and tumbling has never bothered me at all.

“Look Dad,” laughed Geoff’s son. “She’s like a proper granny, keeping an eye on them and fussing!” How will they get used to someone else?

Too late now: we’re waiting for her, watching through the front room window. We’re both nervous in our own way. He’s rattling change in his pocket and whistling tunelessly. I keep going and checking our unusually tidy house. We’ve played “shall I, shan’t I?” for two hours with his late wife Gillian’s photographs. I’ve never had a problem with her looking at me from all over the place. For the first time he started to look a bit shamefaced.

“I don’t know what to do for the best. If I put them all away she’ll think I’m cold, if I leave them all out, she’ll think I’m clinging on. What shall I do Pet?”

I think it would be better to call the whole thing off, but I don’t say anything. In the end, we keep the sideboard one out and put the rest away.

“Here she is,” he says abruptly and starts for the front door. I beat him to the top step in time to see a small car park tidily behind ours. A grey head ducks down, a hand waves.

We walk down the steps together as she gets out - and I’m sticking like glue. She’s going to see me first, side by side with him. No illusions from the start.

As she comes closer I can smell her distinctive smell. She’s short, plump and, of course . . has eyes for no-one but me.

“Geoff,” she says in a pleasant, firm voice, “you never told me about this.”

We both look at him, reproachfully. She has instinctively understood the situation - just like any woman would.

He has the grace to look ashamed. “I’m sorry Margaret, love. I thought you might not …er…”

“Might not like dogs! If only you knew.”

She squats down so that our eyes are level and speaks. To me. Privately.

“I had a little one like you for twelve years. I lost him last year.” Pause. While she remembers. Her voice and eyes are liquid gold.

She picks me up and hugs me lightly. From her arms I can see into her car. Wellies, waterproofs , walking stick neatly packed into the tailgate. I lick her nose.

A menage à trois? Bring it on!!