Little did I know on the evening Honey Dixon clattered into my life just how much she would change my future. All because of her, my marriage was in for a shake-up – and Honey wasn’t even her real name.
On the evening in question, I briefly kissed my husband Jeff on the cheek before leaving for my art class at the local college. He gave the obligatory smile without actually looking up from his newspaper.
‘See you later,’ he added. As he did every Tuesday evening – like clockwork.
Was a budding romance on the cards?
Half an hour into the class, and with head bent over my canvas, my concentration, and that of the whole class, was suddenly broken when a lively young woman almost fell into the room.
She was armed with canvases and a see-through bag of paint brushes. In her late 20s, I would say. She had blonde hair, which just tipped her waist, and I swear the bright blue jeans she wore must surely have been painted on to her long slender legs. Her little red blouse was topped with an oversized denim jacket.
With a huge grin, she focused on the handsome, arty-looking chap seated at the front of the class. He returned her smile.
‘You must be Alex,’ she beamed. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late… I should be on your list. Honey Dixon.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Honey.’ He extended a hand and looked at his pupil list.
‘Yes, here you are,’ he replied. ‘Have you got a copy of our syllabus?’
‘Certainly have! Though I’ve forgotten to bring it,’ she said, breathlessly, as she held on to his gaze – and on to his hand.
Alex appeared flustered, giddy almost. It was not like him at all. And it seemed an age before he spoke.
‘No worries. Let me find you a
