Why I Publicly Shamed My Lying Ex - In Front of the Girlfriend He Cheated On

Giving it to my ex with both barrels - before bringing in the big guns

Liar. Cheat. Shit. The words came out in full force.

For months, I had been imagining what I would say to the man who lied his way into my heart and unceremoniously broke it if I saw him out with his girlfriend (who he had led me to understand he was leaving), none the wiser to his deceit.

When things came to an end, I told him that it was her I felt sorry for and, having given it to him with both barrels last night, I feel the same. Poor woman.

Before I get to my proudest moment (or not, depending on your viewpoint), here's the back story.

I first met the man, an interior designer (not his real job but same ball park), 30 years ago when he came to look at a house I wanted made over. I ended up not having the work done and hadn't set eyes on him since. All that changed when I rented an apartment in Cardiff that he had designed. I bumped into him and the woman he introduced as his girlfriend. We spoke about the building I was living in and we stayed in touch.

We met a few times for drinks and lunch. I didn't think anything of it. I have several male friends and there has never been a hint of anything sexual between us. Alarm bells started to ring when we were supposed to be going out for lunch and he arrived at my apartment where he quickly downed two bottles of my very expensive Amarone. Then we went to the pub (which had stopped serving food) and he drank the best part of a bottle of Rioja.

When we next met for drinks, he became more affectionate and I told him that the timing was all wrong. I've never been a saint, but I stopped becoming involved with attached men well over 20 years ago, not least because I discovered what it's like to on the receiving end of it and I never wanted to potentially do that to another woman. I stressed I was not going to be the Other Woman again.

He told me that the timing was perfect; that his relationship (of ten years) had been on the rocks for some time; that he was moving back to Cardiff by himself and leaving the rural house X had pushed him into buying with her. He told me was bullied in the relationship and 'What X wants, X gets.' He told me how much he loved and admired my writing (I feel that might be about to change), my adventurous spirit (I had just been travelling in Eastern Europe), everything about me. It was full on love-bombing. And so, when he left the bar and I got a call from his office asking me if I'd like to call in, I did. We became intimate (not full sex) but I backed off. My gut told me to beware - emotionally, but also because of his heavy drinking.

When we next met - for dinner - he greeted me with a kiss so hard, it severed my lower lip. When I tried to eat my fish and chips, it was hard to see where the ketchup began and the blood ended. He asked me if I'd like to go to a hotel. I declined. 'I am leaving a relationship' is not the same as 'I have left' and I was sticking to my vow.

Fast forward. His tenants had left his Cardiff property and he was moving back. By himself. There was even a date and an arrangement to meet at his place. At this point, I thought I was safe and we began a relationship. We even had a date in the diary to meet at the house rather than a hotel.

I smelt a rat when, in the Marriott, his girlfriend called him and he instructed me to hide in the bathroom. Then, he squealed 'Oh, no, she's Face Timing me! We're going to be rumbled.'

Eh? I had specifically asked him, before meeting, whether our night was something that might have to be explained. He assured me not. He was in such a rush to get out, he put on my T-shirt by mistake. I am five feet; he is well over six. I was already thinking about how I might write it up. He rang me sobbing from the train and, when we next spoke, he said that he just 'needed time.'

He had been encouraging when I started publishing articles about him and our relationship (in fact, he loved being the subject of them), but the rat-smell became an infestation when I tried to pin him down to a day I could go to the house. He explained that X would be there three days a week and they were splitting their time. 'WHAAAAT?! CURVEBALL!' I shouted.

That was the beginning of the end, though not before he tried to whine his way through many excuses for his behaviour. Having told me how much he loved me and had seriously 'fallen' for me, now he suspected he'd been having a nervous breakdown. Thanks!

So, back to The Moment in a Spanish restaurant last week - or four moments, as the friend I was with pointed out.

For months, I had been festering about what I might say when I saw him. I knew that it would happen at some point because we live not far from each other. Over and over in my head - the loss of hope, the evaporation of the belief that, even at 66, love can still find you in the most unexpected ways. The mapping out of a future that had evaded me in the past.

I had never asked him to leave his girlfriend. I told him specifically that if he was unhappy, he should leave because he wanted to, not for me.

Last week, I bumped into him at Cardiff station and gave it the first barrel - I had been little more than a bit of 'fun' to him (how he categorised it in the details part of the transactions when he paid for a hotel) and how he had torn my life apart.

I could tell it still hadn't sunk in with him. His inability to face anything or take responsibility for his actions brought about nothing but his whiny Welsh accent (that had always irritated me) saying 'I'm sorry.' So, I was still at boiling point when I saw him in the local restaurant with X.

We first met outside the toilet, he told me who he was with and begged me not to say anything. But why should I be an accomplice in his lies? Why are women always expected to keep the secrets when it's the man who's been unfaithful? Why should he be able to move on as if nothing had happened and I be left with nothing but his gratefulness for my having been his therapist? 'You've really helped me,' he said, when it ended. Thanks, again.

I headed over to the table, where he turned and said 'Hello!' as if he hadn't known I was there - despite his having given me my official warning only five minutes before. I gave it to him with both barrels. Liar. Cheat. Shit. I told X she'd been right when she thought he sounded guilty - the reason she had Face Timed him. I wished her luck. They both just smirked at me at me like I was some sad, deranged, mental patient on day release. At that point, I was going to do anything to wipe the smiles from their faces.

Shoulda left it. Or was I right? After returning to my seat briefly, I was back for round two. More of the same. Then, I left. They were still smirking. I crossed the road and asked my friend to find June 2024 on my phone. Oh, yes. The d*** pics he will regret having sent me (along with dozens of messages, e-mails and texts). Forget the two barrels; now I was returning with the big guns. I went straight back to the restaurant and waved it in their faces. 'And here's the evidence. Recognise it?' A selfie he had titled 'Suck on this.'

They weren't smiling anymore. The rest is a blur to me, although I remember him standing up and reaching for the phone and, my friend says I told her, he was calling for management. I was leaving anyway. Mission accomplished.

I genuinely don't believe he is a bad person. He has had a tough life in many ways and good people sometimes do bad things. I'm certainly guilty of that, but I hold my hands up, admit to my mistakes and try to right them. I also suspected he was not 'the one' for me - the me me me moaning, lack of laughter (well, one-sided - I was the entertainer), and the drinking that also affected him sexually. I wish I'd added, during my outburst, that he'd bought the Viagra for me, not her. Fat lot of good it did, anyway.

I had not thought I was capable of what I did, but the people I have told about it applaud me - men and women. I feel bad for X, but I had told the guy repeatedly he should come clean because she had kept questioning him about why he was 'distant' with her and, as women do, seemed to be blaming herself for his mood swings. Have I done her a favour? If it were me, I'd want to know.

I feel fine about it. I don't like being the bad guy, but nor do I like being made to feel like the bad guy when I have done nothing wrong. Yes, I feel better, and the endless scenarios of what might happen if I saw them together have been emptied from my head. Sometimes, you just have to let off steam. Others will get burned in the process. Sometimes, they deserve it.

Hope you enjoyed your tapas, mate.

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