the casino and the strippers

To describe the humiliation of last night’s events is impossible. Our marriage has sunk to such a low that I can’t believe this is my life that I am living.

My daughter has been very ill recently with a chest infection and has been dosed up on all kinds of antibiotics. She coughs constantly, sometimes so heavily that she vomits, and I’ve had a couple of scares where she nearly inhaled her own sick. This has means around the clock care, sleepless nights listening to her breathing, frightened that she’ll chock in her sleep.

Last night was really bad. She coughed so hard she was sick, then couldn’t catch her breath and chocked on her saliva. I was on the verge of calling an ambulance. I phoned my husband to let him know she’d taken a turn for the worse, and he said that he was in London and would get the next train home. This was at 8.30pm. At 10pm I phoned him again to ask on his progress and he was steaming drunk in a bar somewhere. He admitted that he hadn’t had the money to get a train until midnight (when his wages go in) and that he’d hung out at a work social where the bar was free. He promised he’d get a cab at 11.30 to be home for 12.15am.

At 2.30am the phone rang. It was him. He slurred ‘I love you,’ then hung up. At 3.20am I got another phone call, this time unintentional; he must’ve forgotten to lock his mobile phone as it rang me but he had no idea I was listening. He was drunk, in a cab with a few other guys, all of them talking about the casino they’d just left. My husband admitted to losing £1800 in there, and then laughed saying ‘God I’m shit, I’m supposed to be a father.’ The guys then discussed where to go next and decided on Stringfellows. I heard them walk in and pay, and then decided to hang up – I didn’t want to hear anymore.

An hour later I had another phone call, same as before, he had no idea I was listening. He was chatting up a stripper, telling her how he’s some high powered financial executive (he wishes) and that he’s single and lives part time in New York. He was ordering Don Perinon champagne at £600 a bottle, paying two women to dance for him and was saying ‘stick your arse in my face.’ I listened for a while, sickened, then hang up and disconnected the phone.

Whilst I was sat at home, alone, looking after our seriously ill daughter, he was spending our rent money in casinos and spending his entire wages in a lap-dancing club.

I fell so deeply hurt and humiliated, for myself and my daughter. I’ve given him so many chances, and every time he throws it in my face. One conversation I overheard him having with a stripper was that no one could ever say no to him; that this benefited him in his career, but in his private life was a destroyer. Well, guess what honey? I’m saying no.