The Shoe Princess's Guide to the Galaxy (24 page)

       
‘Welcome back to our special item this week on marital well-being,’ announces Tamsin earnestly.

       
Why is everybody so hung up on bloody well-being, wellness, well this, well that, well, well, bloody well  ...?

       
‘If you think that your partner spending long hours at work, and not at the pub, will protect your marriage from the ever-present temptation of the extra-marital affair – think again.’

       
I’m thinking. And I don’t like it.

       
‘Marriage counsellors the length and breadth of the country are predicting an epidemic of something potentially more serious than physical infidelity – emotional infidelity. Or what’s becoming known as
mind sex
: the intimate, blatantly open, non-physical bond between two individuals. Yes, Gavin, this cocktail is dynamite to the modern marriage.’

       
‘But how does someone know if their partner is having mind sex? Or is maybe a candidate for mind sex?’ Gavin asks, wide-eyed.

       
Yes, do tell.

       
‘Marjorie Moore – marriage guidance counsellor, industrial psychologist and leading authority on mind sex at work – is here to walk us through
the five deadly Ts.
Welcome, Marjorie.’ Tamsin guides Marjorie and her beige brogues to the silk-covered sofa.

       
‘Thank you,’ she says gravely. ‘The first and biggest risk factor is
time
.
Lots and lots
of time spent away from the spouse in the company of like-minded individuals.’

       
‘So what’s your view then on work functions, like, say ... the annual conference – which often requires employees to live closely together in hotels or boot camp environments?’ says Tamsin.

       
A bright-red rash spreads rapidly northwards from my chest.

       
Marjorie slaps her hands together to make two thunderous claps at the same time as saying. ‘Double! Trouble!’ Florence and I both flinch. ‘Competition-driven environments are the
worst
offenders: their very nature is to encourage strong bonds between work colleagues, who are often placed in high-stress situations together. I call them
mind-sex multipliers
: one week at conference equals one year in the office. It’s quite astonishing.’

       
I squirm uneasily.

       
‘So, is mind sex the same as a fantasy?’ says Gavin.

       
‘I’m glad you asked that, Gavin. In short, no, it’s not. With a fantasy, something that’s missing from a relationship (be it emotional or physical) is transposed on to a person one rarely spends time with – like a celebrity or a handsome shop assistant. With mind sex, the workers are attracted to each other
and
are constantly together. So the lure of the unfulfilled ‘what if’ scenario is the sexual electricity that powers their day. And that’s our second risk factor:
tension
.’

       
Mmm.

       
‘The third is:
tools.
Willing accomplices in the workplace war against monogamy are email, text and MSN, just to name a few. The immediacy with which the straying spouse can get a fix of their forbidden fruit is unprecedented. A common giveaway is a partner’s preoccupation with work emails and texts, which they keep private.’

       
Bloody hell. Three out of three.

       
‘The fourth risk factor is
tedium
. What we’re finding is that the straying spouse is almost always attracted to an individual at work who does not obsess about the mundane pressures of child-rearing and family life. For example, no matter how essential the housewife may feel it to express how hard done by she is as an unpaid domestic slave, he will find it a major turn-off. With the husband often disengaging completely, and saving his interesting conversations for the mind-sex partner.’

       
Gulp.

       
‘This is particularly dangerous, because emotional bonding is an essential ingredient in the physical relationship for women. So the quality of the marital sexual relationship soon begins to suffer. In turn, making the lure of the mind-sex partner even more intoxicating. A wandering eye is a good indicator of a wandering mind.’

       
I’m doomed.

       
‘And last but not least,
treachery
. If mind sex is left unchecked for too long, the final step in the path to physical infidelity is
almost always
taken.’

       
‘Thank you, Marjorie,’ says Tamsin earnestly. ‘You’ve certainly given us a lot to think about.’ That’s an understatement. Shall I call in the lawyers now? ‘Tomorrow, we follow the same theme but move our attentions further afield, to India. Where a seemingly innocent motivational culture of play-while-you-work at multinational-owned call centres has been rocked by allegations of lurid sexual shenanigans and binge drinking amongst employees. Bangalore is alleged to be the hub of such activities – with its well-equipped technical parks offering twenty-four-hour office facilities combined with alfresco dining, retail outlets, health clubs and social clubs galore.’

       
The camera pans over to Gavin and zooms in to his furrowed brow.

       
‘Join us tomorrow for our exclusive exposé, and we’ll let
you
be the judge.’

       
There’s clearly a conspiracy that I don’t know about. I thought Gavin and Tamsin were supposed to be on
my
side. I turn off the television in dismay.

       
Where did I put those Jaffa Cakes?

Florence has clearly picked up on my discomfort and was conspicuously quiet throughout the entire item, and now makes a polite excuse to leave.

       
My thoughts wander to Aunt Margaret’s email requesting all our ‘family news’, which has been hanging over my head ever since it came in. I mentally draft my reply:

Dear Aunt Margaret, What a year we’ve had to date. Most notably, Tim, your butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth nephew, has abandoned Millie and me for, at best, a mind-sex affair and, at worst, a full-blown illicit affair, with a malnourished Indian beauty queen IT director, whom he now practically lives with.

       
Coincidentally, one of my good friends is also having a steamy affair with a married work colleague. And quite frankly, I’m not that amused by it any more, and can’t bring myself to answer her emails.

       
As for me, I’m having increasingly lustful dreams involving me and my best friend’s boyfriend. And I wonder, does this prevent me from taking up his kind invitation to go to Milan with him for the day in early October? (Without my best friend.) So that I can attend one of his tutorials at the Ars Arpel Shoe School and further my own fanciful notion of venturing into shoe-making – considering that it’s something I actually seem to have an aptitude for, and may even be able to fit around the demands of stay-at-home parenting. (And hopefully make some money out of too.)

Oh, forget it. Aunt Margaret can wait ... I may as well do a quick check of the computer before Dad and Millie get back:

TrashQueenz e-lert

Catnap: There’s been a sighting of The Cat, passed out in the back of her limo with her minders, after yet another wild night out clubbing in the West End. Still with her dark sunglasses on. The tabloids are now running with the story too. At this stage, there is no comment from her management.

Stay tuned  ...

Hah! So much for Tim thinking I’m gullible.

From:        Sophie (work)

To:                Jane (home)

Subject:        RE: RE: Woof Woof I am a DOG!

Don’t worry, at all. Truly. Edward will get over it. He needs my support in his bid against David for divisional head, so am pretty confident he’ll keep mum on our mum-chats. And for the record, you look NOTHING like a spaniel.

       
I did get your phone message, and so sorry I haven’t got back to you earlier. I actually was on holiday for a change. James has just earned Husband of the Year Award for whisking me away on Eurostar for the day, to Paris, for our wedding anniversary. Absolutely indulgent and completely magical. Speaking of getaways, how was your lux country house? Did you go for the whole pamper package? Seems like ages since we’ve had a catch-up girlie chat. Can’t wait to hear all.

       
Though will have to wait a little bit longer, as we’re off now on holiday for the next two weeks – Greece!

       
S xx

I wish I
had
a husband at the moment, let alone a Husband of the Year. I wonder if Tim will be able to drag himself away from Alex’s lair in Bangalore to celebrate our anniversary this year.

       
Where did it all go so horribly wrong?

From                Jane (home)

To                Aunt Margaret (home)

Subject:        RE: Family News Update

Dear Aunt Margaret

       
It is so lovely to hear from you. Will write very soon when my new email address is up and running.

       
With All Best Wishes

       
Jane, Tim and Millie

It’s not quite the fob-off that it seems. I really do need to change my hotmail address, as I’m drowning in a sea of porn spam at the moment. But I need Tim to help me change it. Oh, hell, that’s if he ever talks to me again. If I was Alex, I could no doubt do it all myself
and
print off the baby photos
and
have the most wonderful baby album on the planet.

       
I’m yet again pondering the prospect of solo-parenthood, when I notice that a picture frame on the desk has fallen face down. And by the look of the dust on it, it’s been like this for a few months (my housewifery standards have slipped to an all-time low of late). I flip it over and immediately choke up with tears: it’s a photo that Kate took on her camera, during one of her Saturday visits, and had framed for me for Mother’s Day. I’m sitting on our sofa, holding Millie on my lap. And Tim’s behind, embracing the two of us with his huge arms while he nuzzles his face into my neck. I’m wincing with an enormous half-annoyed-but-really-enjoying-it-very-much smile from one ear to the other.

       
I remember it as if it was yesterday.

       
Tim was clowning around and pretending to give me love-bites – making large raspberry-like sounds. Millie must have been about four months old and has her head turned towards us – clearly delighted by all the noise and fuss. But what’s most striking is not just the aura of collective happiness that radiates from the photo, but the look of absolute love and admiration in Millie’s sparkling eyes – directed
entirely
towards Tim.

       
Mmm ... This little baby girl needs her daddy back. And I clearly need to find the pre-Millie me, if I’ve half a chance of releasing Tim from Alex’s fragrant spell.

       
I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand by and let my beloved little family disintegrate.