  On Friday night I had the shock of my life. Hubby went out in - of all places - Wigan, with some of his ex-collegues. He had e-mailed me back last thing before I went home, saying that he wouldn't be out long. Thankfully, Big Brother was on, and I have E4, so I could watch wannabe TV presenters make fools of themselves all night. It got to two o'clock in the morning and I got very worried. Hubby doesn't have a mobile, so I couldn't call him.
The last train back from wigan left at eleven, and I knew he wouldn't get a taxi, because money was very tight. Anyway, he rolled in pissed as Boris Yeltsin at half past two. I was a little upset; well, more than a little upset. I had had a few drinks myself, and was "tired and emotional" (as they used to say about aforementioned ex-president). I asked him where he'd been. "The train was cancelled, so I had to get a taxi.
" "So the eleven o'clock train was cancelled, and it took you three hours to get back in a taxi. Where were you? Birmingham? Wales? Leeds? " "Wigan as you well know.
Anyway, I don't give a shit. You're a horrible selfish woman with really odd teeth and I hate you, trying to stop my fun. " "So, I was sitting here trying to work out why you hadn't called, because you always do. I was worried that something awful had happened. " "Well... fuck off. Fuck you.
I'm not fucking watching this fucking shit anyway I'm putting a DVD on so fuck yourself. " There is no point in arguing with a man when he is blind drunk, and you're tipsy yourself. Things get out of control. Horrible insults are thrown around. I wonder if partners who go out know what the other person goes through? I'll tell you.
It happens in stages. 1) Happens at the time they say they were going to be back. So in hubby's case, about half ten / eleven. Stage one involves anticipation. You wait downstairs so you are near both the front door (to greet them) and the phone (in case they call to say they'll be late). 2) Happens about an hour later, so in this example, about half eleven / midnight.
Mild concern, and thinking up reasons why they might not have arrived or phoned. At this stage the reasons are along the lines of delayed trains, going for takeaways, popping into the 24 hour Asda on the way back to grab a Goodfella's pepperoni pizza. 3) Happens an hour later again. We're talking one in the morning here. Strong concern. The reason they haven't arrived or phoned gets less logical.
The train has broken down, at best. At worst, a terrible fear starts to form in your mind. You try to shut it out. He must be okay. You wonder if his work salary package includes life insurance... 4) This is another hour later. He is definitely dead, or injured, lying in a road somewhere calling out for help.
This is normally the point at which he walks in, ten-pints-of-stella pissed. Your initial reaction is relief; he's alive! Hurrah! but after that, you're angry. Really angry. Seething with uncontrollable anger for the sick feeling in your stomach.
Boiling over with rage for the hot tears in the corners of your eyes. Knuckles clenched and white, you shout, and shout, and shout until your face is purple. Ever tried shouting at someone who is so pissed they might as well have had a labotomy? It achieves nothing! It makes matters far worse. You are a controlling evil witch bitch harpy tart slag who is trying to ruin his life.
Woke up Saturday with a very sorry hubby. I managed to get him to make me a coffee out of guilt, but I didn't want to milk it. I used to do that if he'd upset me; milk it for all it was worth; get a couple of days dishwashing out of it. Not now. I'd rather it was forgotten. Anyway, we went out that evening to a Stone Roses tribute band and had an absolutely fantastic night!
On Sunday, hubby remembered something that had happened on his Friday night trip out... and started acting shifty and guilty. I knew something was wrong 'cos he was tidying the kitchen, and getting all huggie and kissy with me in a completely non-sexual way, which is normally a sign that something is wrong! It transpired he'd made a pass (a quaint expression meaning tried to feel-up / snog) at an ex-colleague. A pretty 20 year old ex-colleague who, on being ogled by what to her was a dirty older man (hubby is only 26 but I remember what I thought of 26 year olds when I was 20) had, with her friend, immediately left the club and gone home leaving him on his own in Wigan in the middle of the night. The guilt continued through Sunday. I wasn't at all arsed; he won't be the first or last bloke to make a pass at a younger woman when drunk and pissed off with the wife.
Why couldn't he feel guilty about the right thing? Why wasn't he overcome with shame about not calling me, instead of about something trivial like this? Sometimes I don't get hubby one bit. Still, at least we're talking now. 
