I dash inside and call his work place, my hand already on our house phone – ready to call the police. The phone rings for several minutes whiles my mind, already in over-drive, goes crazy.
“Yeahhhhh,” Someone slurs down the phone.
“It’s me! It’s Vivian, is Marcus there?” I ask panicked.
“Viv?” The person slurs again and I can practically taste the alcohol through the line.
“Where is Marcus?” I repeat practically shouting through at the person.
“Who whoa, no need to shout, shhh, I think Marcus is being naughty in the filling cabinet.” The person giggles.
I pause. My breaths which have been rapid, slow down, I feel my eyes grow wide and my mouth forms an o. My husband, the square, incapable of being even ten seconds late is in the filling cabinet being naughty, doing what and more importantly with whom? The new receptionist, my mind whispers softy, but I can’t believe it, they hired someone experienced; ‘looks like my aunt Unis’, my husband said, no one young works in the office except other family members, daughters, sons, cousins, people generally off-limits or treated like children. So who could it be? And the question galvanizes me into action. The person is still giggling but I click the call off and dash so fast around the corner my foot actually burns. I run to my coat and grab my pumps out of cupboard. My car keys are next. I spare a quick glance for the kitchen to make sure I haven’t left anything on. And I’m in my car going fifty miles in a thirty mile zone before I know it. I don’t like speeding I’ve been in a car accident before, but this is life and well my marriage!Follow @Anzy_aa