You’ll end up childless, sex starved and cutting his toenails: Bride whose husband was 22 years older confesses about their relationship
From the outside it was an idyllic scene — one I can still conjure up to this day. Sun flooded the terrace of our detached house in rural France, and the champagne flowed freely as my husband and I hosted a barbecue at our new home.
We’d pulled out all the stops to impress one of his oldest friends, spending a small fortune on steak, prawns and foie gras. Just six months earlier we’d left behind our life in Bovey Tracey, Devon, and bought a beautiful property in Charente, South-West France.
At the insistence of my husband — who is called Carol, named by his Europhile parents after King Carol of Romania — it had to be the largest in the village, and the garden grandly led down to the banks of the river. He revelled in the praise his friends piled on him for enjoying the perfect lifestyle — a stunning house and, of course, the icing on the cake, a nubile young wife. Me.
The consensus was that in bagging a bride 22 years younger than him, Carol had done very well for himself.
As the afternoon passed lazily by, I went to fetch another bottle of champagne from the fridge. On returning to the terrace I overheard one of our guests inquiring how life was with the ‘young bimbo’.
I watched with morbid fascination as my husband — sporting a pair of comfortable loose-fitting trousers, calf-length brown socks and his favourite Velcro-strapped sandals — strutted about our terrace like a bantam cockerel.
Oh yes, life was great, Carol crowed. We’d been ‘at it like rabbits’ all over the house.
His friend sniggered appreciatively like a schoolboy, urging Carol to ‘give her one from me next time’.
From my hiding place behind the door, I was frozen with revulsion and disbelief. Not only at my husband’s betrayal — but because our marriage was nothing like the one he had described in such prurient detail.