Jilted

Short Fiction

Lesley sat at the bar, something she would never normally do. But then today wasn’t a normal day. Her husband of thirty-one years had just told her that he was leaving her. For a younger model, no doubt, she thought cynically, ordering another large glass of dry white wine. It wasn’t even good wine, despite it costing nearly £9 a glass. Christ, she could buy a whole bottle for that. What was she thinking? Oh, she wasn’t. She remembered. To hell with everything. Throw caution to the wind. So what if she had just blown nearly thirty quid on a few glasses of wine? In the whole scheme of things, it was nothing. Her life had effectively come to an end. The life that she had shared with her childhood sweetheart had just ended as abruptly and as scarily as a car crashing into a brick wall at 100 mph. She was the wreckage and the one left to deal with the fallout because he had gone tripping into the light fandango with his new lover. Bitch!

She ordered another glass of wine but this time carried it over to one of the leather couches near the log fire, which was neatly laid, ready to light in the cold weather. As she sat down and settled her glass on the shabby chic table, Lesley leaned back and took in the vista through the glass-walled bar of the plush country club. All sorts of thoughts were ricocheting around in her head. What’s going to happen to their beautiful home on the hill with the fantastic…