Free Antidote to Infidelity by Karla Hall Page B

an anorexic
stick insect - plonks her skinny little bottom beside me, slapping my hand as it
slides towards the stray nacho I’ve spotted under my napkin.
    “Oi, piglet - no!” she chides.
“ All of them? That’s sheer gluttony! Christ Sal, what’s up?”
    Bubbly Bianca - thirty-eight
years old, with a long brown bob, the body of a page three model and the
spending habits of the Sultan of Brunai - squeezes Amy’s shoulder and shakes
her glossy head. Thankfully, she doesn’t bollock me. Obviously she knows
a good-old-comfort-binge when she sees one.
    “Oh-oh, looks like we’ll be
needing the hard stuff!” she declares, in mother-hen mode. “Put your purse away
young Amy, this round’s on Howie! Who’s for cocktails?”
    ***
    I think now’s a good time to
tell you that I am, it has to be said, in utter awe and amazement of Bianca’s
resolve, given that her recent marriage problems make my predicament
look like wedded bliss. You see, she’s currently pushing for a mega divorce
pay-out having arrived home one cold November day to find her
forty-nine-year-old banker husband, Howard, handcuffed to the bed, with a
cheeky young stud slapping his bare arse.
    Whereas such a hideous sight
would have left any normal woman mentally traumatised, or, at the very
least, knee-deep in Kleenex, Bianca took it all in her stride. She simply
tossed them their boxers and strutted out, declaring that when she returned,
she expected the house to be empty.
    Amazingly it was, and the
result: she hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Howard and his chum for almost two
months. She’s got no idea where he is, what he’s doing (or who he’s
doing), and what’s more, she doesn’t seem to care one iota. She’s completely
shut him out, just like that. Instant closure without a hint of dramatics,
unlike your’s truly. The only conversing they do now is through Bi’s
hard-hitting lawyer - and unless Howard wants his dirty laundry airing in the
courts, it’s gonna cost him. Big time.
    With her own successful image
consultancy - Bi Unique - to boot, Bi’s chic, confident and generous to a
fault, despite the fact she’s recently despatched of hubby number three. She’s
got cash aplenty and splashes it freely, particularly estranged old Howie’s,
with a twinkle in her eye and gloating satisfaction.
    You see, perfect closure! Pity
the same can’t be said for me. I could drag Will kicking and screaming through
every court in the land but it wouldn’t get me anywhere - he’s got bugger all
in the bank to blow! What am I going to do - recklessly run up the overdraft?
Oooh, the excitement . . .
    ***
    Hips swinging like a salsa
dancer, Bianca sashays back to the table with enough Mojitos to sink a battle
ship. Eh-eh. I’m sticking to milkshake or I’ll be up on the bar crooning ‘Your
Cheating Heart’ into a pepper mill. Not a pretty sight. My friends are
staring at me expectantly and I’m feeling strong enough (and oh-so-full enough)
to begin.
    Twenty minutes later, dirty
laundry aired, I’ve lifted the lid on everything from Will’s fling and my awful
Christmas to sexy Doctor Foster, his flowers and yesterday’s torture at the
hospital. As I display my scabby wound for all to see, Liselle has her arm
around my shoulders, Amy’s scowling, Rowan’s sobbing and Bi, well - wouldn’t
you just know it? - she’s laughing. In actual fact, she’s nearer hysterics.
    I can’t see the big joke.
    Clucking like a mad chicken, Bi
wipes away a crocodile tear, tosses Rowan a napkin and slaps me on the back.
    “Ohh Sally, don’t look so
serious. Welcome to the real world, honey! Thank God Will’s finally got
his knackers out the vice and shown you some red-blooded-male!”
    “Bianca!” we all chorus, but
true to form, boisterous old Bi doesn’t budge an inch.
    “Well it’s true . You’ve
got poor Will on way too short a leash, Sal. You should be pleasedthe
balance of power’s shifted, it all makes for a good marriage!”
    Rowan stares