Joanna Cake Gets The Answer

She stayed to talk for a while, clearly a little the worse for drink.

Ruf’s Other Woman kept touching my arm and saying how much she loved Ruf and what a lovely chap he is. All I could do was nod mutely in agreement and try to steer the conversation in another direction.

The mental uncertainty hurt like a physical pain.

I wanted to watch him like a hawk, analyse his body language in response to her presence.

He was talking to his friend but observing our own interaction. I couldn’t tell if he knew that I knew.

The conversation came round to big pants and her assertion that women over 50 did not wear thongs.

Normally, Ruf would have demanded that such a view be challenged with a request to guess the age of his girlfriend. I looked up at him and said “I do!”

But she wasn’t listening and, whilst Ruf smiled his acknowledgement, he did not volunteer the information.

And then she called her boyfriend over. The man who was the only thing that had stood between the Joanna Cake that you know today and a spectacularly different and considerably more self-destructive future.

In comparison to Ruf, he was nothing. Taller, yes, and definitely rougher. But not full of testosterone-fuelled intelligence. Just your average beer-swilling, footie loving Joe. All I could think of was how fortunate I had been that she could not see all this.

As she said goodbye, she hugged me and whispered: “I’m so glad that Ruf has found a girlfriend that he really loves!”

And with that they were gone, leaving me shell-shocked and stunned in their wake.

It took me a while to try to recover my composure and when his friend had gone to visit the facilities, I whispered into his ear.

“Was that Sam Sam?”

He nodded the affirmative and we moved the conversation firmly in another direction.

But, whilst my mouth joined in the chatter, my mind was in pieces, scuttling here and there for crumbs of comfort and reassurance.

And she stayed there, an elephant in the room for the rest of the night as I resolutely fought back a repeat of The Question.

The following morning, he woke me with a cup of tea in bed, handed me my phone and then snuggled back in as we sat side by side checking our emails.

After about an hour of watching funny clips from Family Guy, he rolled over, enfolding me in his arms and said:

“You dealt with it really well last night…”

I just smiled up at him.

“She would have been so much more hard work than you. A really high maintenance girlfriend.”

I still maintained what I hoped was a Mona Lisa-like inscrutable smile.

“You can see that can’t you? She drinks too much and she’s not really into any of the things that I enjoy. She also doesn’t listen to what else is being said, she’s too busy trying to think of her next response.”

I commented on how pretty she is.

“Yes, but so are you. And if she had become my girlfriend, I wouldn’t be lying here on a Sunday morning, laughing at Family Guy whilst discussing the possibilities of how we could involve it in our business, and have the prospect of a day of cock and chocolate before us. You are such a special lady and I love you so very much.”

I turned my face away for a moment so that he could not see the tears.

Relief, reassurance and love for this man just coursed through my veins because that’s when I remembered what she had said:

“I’m so glad that Ruf has found a girlfriend that he really loves!”

She couldn’t have known that unless he…

Turning back, I kissed him, pushing aside the torturous images that had tormented me and looked forward into our rose-tinted future.