My Husband Kissed His Girl Best Friend in Front of 200 People, So I Filed for Divorce novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: Six Feet Away
Steph jumps off the bar into Alfie's arms and kisses him on every screen in the pub, he tells Tash not to make a scene, and she leaves her scarf on the bar and walks out, only to find their savings gone to the pub.
My husband's girl best friend kissed him in front of two hundred people.
And Alfie didn't push her away.
Spain had just scored their second goal in the World Cup semifinal, and the Gold Hound went off.
Beer flew. Grown men screamed.
Strangers hugged under the red-and-gold flags Steph had strung from every beam.
Alfie and Steph were as English as a wet bank holiday, but they'd followed Spain together since their first year at university.
She'd sold tonight as Spanish supporters' night, and a local sports channel had sent a crew to film the crowd live.
Then Steph climbed onto the bar and jumped.
Alfie caught her.
Her legs went round my husband's waist.
Her hands went to his face.
And she kissed him.
Not his cheek.
His mouth.
Long enough for the camera to swing round and find them.
Long enough for their faces to fill all six screens in the pub.
The room cheered.
Somebody shouted, "Get a room!"
I was six feet away, holding the pint I'd just queued twenty minutes to buy him.
Steph finally came up for air, laughing.
"Twelve years, Alf!" she shouted. "Every big match, you've been next to me!"
Alfie was laughing too.
He was still holding her when he saw me.
The grin slid off his face.
Steph turned her head to follow his eyes.
"Oh, Tash." She slid down him like he was a lamppost. "Don't tell me you're jealous. Spain are in the final."
The people nearest us went quiet.
I could feel them waiting.
They wanted the jealous wife.
I'd played her before.
When Alfie vanished for an hour after our wedding rehearsal, Steph had been having a panic attack, and I was heartless for asking why it had to be him.
When she gave him a photo album for his thirtieth called The Life You Could Have Had Without Her, I was the one who couldn't take a joke.
Every time, Alfie gave me the same line.
"Steph doesn't mean anything by it."
I looked at him now.
"Well?" I said. "Anything to say?"
He came closer and dropped his voice.
"It was a goal celebration. Don't make a scene."
I nearly laughed.
His best friend had just had her tongue in his mouth on live television, and I was the embarrassing one.
"You held her," I said.
"She jumped at me. What was I meant to do, drop her?"
"You could have stopped kissing her."
"I didn't kiss her. She kissed me."
"And you let her."
His jaw set.
"You don't understand football culture, Tash."
Steph put her hand on his arm.
"Leave it, Alf. Tash always assumes the worst about me."
Alfie didn't tell her to stop.
He stepped in front of her.
Between her and me.
Like I was the one who might do some damage.
That hurt more than the kiss.
I set his pint down on the bar.
Then I unwound the red-and-gold scarf from my neck.
He'd bought it for me on our first date, six and a half years ago, at a match I didn't understand.
I'd learned the offside rule for him.
I folded the scarf into a neat square and laid it next to the pint.
"Enjoy the final," I said.
Alfie frowned. "Where are you going?"
"Home."
"Don't be like that. We'll get a cab after."
"There's no after, Alfie." I said it loud enough for the people around us. "Your things will be on the step by midnight."
Steph's mouth fell open.
Somebody behind me said, "Oh my God."
Alfie actually laughed.
"It's my house too, babe."
"It's my gran's house," I said. "You just live there."
I walked out as the final whistle sent the pub into another roar behind me.
Cold rain hit my face the second I reached North Street.
My hands were shaking.
I didn't ring Alfie.
I stood under the bus shelter and blocked Steph on everything she'd ever made an account on.
Then I changed my profile picture.
The photo of Alfie kissing my forehead on our wedding day disappeared.
For the first time in six years, my picture was only me.
I walked the ten minutes home in the rain.
Gran's house was dark and smelled of the lemon cleaner she'd always used and I still bought.
I didn't turn the big light on.
I sat at her kitchen table in my wet jacket and opened the banking app.
I do the books for half the shops on North Street.
When something hurts, I check the numbers.
It's the only thing that has ever calmed me down.
I wanted to cancel his card on the joint account before he bought her a round with my money.
The current account was fine.
I tapped the savings.
The loft fund.
Two years of Saturday overtime and no holidays, so we could put a bedroom in the roof for a baby we kept saying we'd have next year.
It should have said thirty-eight thousand, four hundred and twelve pounds.
It said £0.00.
One payment, today, at 4:02 in the afternoon.
Four hours before kickoff.
To GOLD HOUND LTD.
The reference line said: OURS 12 YRS x
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