Antidote to Infidelity
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Authors: Karla Hall
Antidote to Infidelity
By Karla Hall
This novel is entirely a work
of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of
the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events or localities, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright Karla Hall ©2013
Karla Hall asserts the moral
right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may
be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by
any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,
without prior permission of the author. This book is sold subject to the
condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold,
hired out or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent.
Thank
you….
To
my wonderful, patient, talented – and faithful! – husband, Mark, who works
harder than is fair and who I will adore forever for being my best friend, my
soul mate, for knowing me inside out . . . and for still loving me anyway.
Without your cuddles, 3am coffees, support, belief and relentless editing,
there would be no manuscript, just hamster bedding!
To
my beautiful, funny and wholly unpredictable children, for making getting out
of bed an adventure and for filling me with sunshine and pride every minute of
every day. To Scarlett, for loving camping in the rain; and to Josh, for hating
it and keeping me at the keyboard in the hope that ‘maybe one day, mum . . .’
To
my mum, for being worlds apart from Sally’s mother and, instead, my friend
forever and the best mum anyone could ever wish for. For knowing when I’m
struggling, for picking me up when I’m sinking, for sensing the unspoken and
for always having my best interests at heart. What we have is rare and
cherished, I’m very lucky to have you.
To
my dad, whom I idolise and owe so very much. For the wavelength we share, your
unconditional love and for always giving me so much more than I deserve. For
your wit, sincerity, strength and support; for wanting the world for me and for
always offering a hand out of the holes I dig. At the age of 34, dad, I finally
realise . . . you are not an ATM machine x
To
Susan Armstrong at Conville and Walsh, for loving the novel almost as much as I
do and for painstakingly improving it. For the sound advice, infinite words of
wisdom and for every minute invested into helping me achieve my dreams.
Christmas Day (rise ‘n’ shine
time)
Chapter 6 - Slay it With Flowers
Sunday 30
th
December
(afternoon)
Chapter 8 - Get Mad, Get Out .
. . or Get Even?
Chapter 9 - Love in the Fast
Lane
New Year
’
s Eve (early evening)
Chapter 11 - Ride,
Sally, Ride!
Chapter 12 - Oh, oh, oh, Baby!
New Year’s Day (early morning)
Chapter 13 -
Sharing the Dog
House
Chapter 14 -
Where There’s a Will . . .
There’s a Way
Chapter 15 - Trouble in
Paradise
Wednesday 2
nd
January (early hours)
Chapter 16 -
Million Dollar Mug
Wednesday 2
nd
January (morning)
Wednesday 2
nd
January (afternoon)
Chapter 18 -
The Choppy
Sea of Jealousy
Wednesday 2
nd
January (evening)
Chapter 20 - Horny Opportunist
Hookers
Friday 4
th
January
(early afternoon)
Friday 4
th
January
(late afternoon)
Chapter 22 - Shattered Glass
and a Blast from the Past
Friday 4
th
January
(early evening)
Chapter 24 - Enough to Shock
your Spots off . . .
Friday 4
th
January
(late evening)
Chapter 25 - The One With the
MFI Agent . . .
Chapter 26 - Butterflies by the
Billion and a Vigilante-style Brazilian
Chapter 27 - Keep Your Friends
Close . . .
Saturday 5
th
January
(early evening)
Saturday 5
th
January (late evening)
Sunday 6
th
January
(early hours)
Chapter 31 - School
Socks, Docs and Goldilocks
Chapter 33 - Monster
Role Reversal
Friday 11
th
January (early morning)
Chapter 34 -
Learning the Hard
Way
Chapter 35 -
Too Little, Too Late
Friday 11
th
January (mid afternoon)
Chapter 36 -
Just What the Doctor
Ordered?
Chapter 37 - Call me
an Ambulance
Saturday 12
th
January (early morning)
Saturday 12
th
January (afternoon)
Chapter 39 -
Holy Shit - an
Angel!
Saturday 12
th
January (early evening)
Chapter 40 -
Forsaking all Others
Saturday 19
th
January (just before midnight)
1 - Grinch Gone AWOL
Christmas
Eve (evening)
Creeeek. Click. Phew!
Hearing nothing but the sound
of even, contented breathing, I pull the bedroom door gently to and tiptoe
across the landing, hopping over a squeaky rubber duck with a triumphant skip.
Side-stepping a xylophone and a whistling Thomas the Tank Engine, I have that
tingling festive feeling you only get when you’re a mum – bubbling excitement,
pride and anticipation all rolled into one.
It’s Christmas Eve at long last
and, single-handedly, I’ve wrestled home and wrapped so many glorious goodies,
it’s almost as if elves have commandeered our house and decked it up like a
dazzling grotto.
Under the bed, in the loft,
behind the wardrobe - even crammed in the tumble dryer - I’ve got pretty bowed
boxes spilling out of every nook and cranny. Oh, and wet bloody washing on
every radiator.
Somehow, since October, I’ve
managed to shop and stash in secret. Now, like a shattered squirrel, I’m ready
for holing up with a sherry and some mixed nuts.
Unfortunately, it looks like
being a lonesome feast-for-one now that the twins, who’ve been high as kites
since Hallowe’en, are fast asleep, snoring and waiting for Santa.
Usually at eight o’clock at
night, they’re whizzing from room to room like boisterous little whirlwinds,
scurrying behind the sofa if I so much as
mention
the dreaded b-word.
But tonight, rather than risk making the naughty list, they’ve been positively angelic
. .
. which is a shame really, considering I’ve rustled up a lorry load of
Chicken Dippers, anticipating the customary Santa stakeout.
***
I’ll make the most of this
five-minute window between tasks to tell you a little about me: I’m Sally Moss
- super-mum, part-time sports reporter and domestic chef extraordinaire. Okay,
okay, maybe not quite extraordinaire but I
am
learning . . . and I do
make a mean beans on toast with cheese! For the past five years, I’ve been
married to my workaholic hubby, Will, who runs his own magazine franchise - or
rather,
it
runs
him
- and the twin terrors I’ve just tucked up
are Rosie and Ryan, our adorable, hyperactive four-year-olds who keep me in a breathless
tizzy for at least twenty-one hours a day.
I’ll leave it at that for now
as I’ve got a million things to do before morning and if I wake them, I’ve had
it. Oh, it might seem all calm and quiet at the moment but believe me, it’s the
first time I’ve been able to hear myself think
all day . . . and I want
to savour it, just for a second, before I roll up my sleeves and get stuck in.
***
Earlier, whilst the kids’
twinkling eyes raked the sky for reindeer, mine searched for headlights shining
through the blinds. I’m not waiting for Santa, you see. As usual, I’m waiting
for Will.
Knowing full well Christmas
gets me whirling like a dervish, my clueless other half promised faithfully to
be ‘back by lunch at the latest, babe’ from his ‘critical’ morning meeting. So,
being a total mug, I left a big bag of presents in the airing cupboard for him
to deliver.