Authors: Pamela Fudge
‘It’s
a
bit
early,’
I
told
Will,
and
watching
his
little
face
fall
I
continued
quickly,
‘but
what
about
an
ice
cream
for
now
and
then
we
can
go
to
McDonalds
when
we
get
back
to
Brankstone.’
‘Oh,
ok,’
he
said,
looking
round
immediately
for
an
ice
cream
vendor.
‘Good
thinking,
Mummy,’
Jon
applauded.
‘We’ll
have
far
more
chance
of
making
it
home
without
him
falling
asleep
if
we
leave
now,
and
therefore
less
of
a
tussle
at
bedtime
after
he’s
had
his
meal.’
‘Exactly,’
I
agreed,
though
thoughts
of
Will’s
bedtime
couldn’t
have
been
further
from
my
mind.
It
was
all
that
I
could
do
on
the
way
back
to
the
car
park
not
to
keep
glancing
over
my
shoulder
just
in
case
we
were
being
followed,
and
all
I
could
do
not
to
heave
a
massive
sigh
of
relief
once
we
were
in
the
car
and
driving
safely
along
the
M27
heading
for
home
–
and
safety.
It
wasn’t
until
very
much
later
-
after
the
promised
meal,
Will’s
bath
and
bedtime,
followed
by
an
evening
with
Jon
in
front
of
the
TV
and
our
own
bedtime
-
that
my
traitorous
mind
went
back
to
uncomfortable
memories
of
that
other
time
and
place.
Memories
that
I
could
have
sworn
had
been
long
forgotten
*
I
had
to
go
back
to
the
early
years
of
mine
and
Jon’s
marriage
–
to
when
things
weren’t
quite
as
comfortable
between
us.
We’d
been
trying
for
some
time
to
start
a
family
but
weren’t
having
any
luck
at
all.
Eventually,
we
both
went
for
tests
and
that
was
when
it
came
to
light
that
Jon
had
a
low
sperm
count.
We
were
advised
that
this
could
make
conception
more
difficult,
though
not
impossible,
and
that
there
was
also
the
option
of
IVF
open
to
us
to
improve
our
chances.
It
was
as
simple,
or
as
complicated
as
that,
except
that
Jon
refused
to
discuss
the
matter
any
further,
or
even
to
acknowledge
that
the
problem
really
was
his
low
sperm
count.
Instead
he
turned
the
whole
thing
around
and
started
blaming
my
weight
for
the
fact
that
I
wasn’t
getting
pregnant.
As
I
was
around
a
size
fourteen
at
the
time
and
hardly
what
could
be
classed
as
obese,
the
very
idea
was
ludicrous.
Yet
I
found
myself
accepting
the
blame
–
and
even
feeling
bad
about
it
–
rather
than
distress
Jon
further
over
something
he
had
no
control
over.
That
was
how
things
stood
between
us
the
weekend
Jon
was
going
to
be
away
on
a
business
course
and,
in
his
absence
I
was
going
to
a
wedding
with
my
neighbour,
boss
and
friend,
Tina
Reynolds.
We’d
already
been
shopping
for
outfits
and,
encouraged
by
Tina
my
choice
had
been
in
a
stunning
red,
instead
of
the
dismal
black
that
Jon
always
insisted
I
wear
‘because
it
was
slimming.’
When
Jon
left
home
on
the
Friday
evening
he
forgot
his
phone
–
though
he
later
came
back
for
it.
In
the
interim
a
text
came
through
for
him
and,
of
course,
I
read
it.
“Kerry”
was
promising
to
give
him
a
weekend
to
remember.
From
the
message
and
the
kiss
at
the
end
I
immediately
assumed
he
was
having
an
affair
with
the
boss’
daughter
–
a
woman
several
dress
sizes
larger
than
me.
The
irony
didn’t
escape
me.
I
could
say
that
tit-for-tat
was
the
furthest
thing
from
my
mind
at
that
point.
I
could
say
it,
but
I
would
absolutely
have
been
lying
through
my
teeth.
I
knew
before
I
even
set
off
for
the
wedding
with
Tina
the
next
day
that,
if
the
opportunity
presented
itself,
there
was
a
fair
chance
I
would
be
getting
my
own
back
on
my
cheating
rat
of
a
husband.
The
wedding
was
ok
as
weddings
go,
but
things
livened
up
considerably
when
the
rugby
playing
groom’s
team
mates
turned
up
for
the
reception
later.
Tina
shared
her
favours
equally
between
the
burly
blokes
but,
while
she
was
dancing
with
one
and
all,
I
found
myself
commandeered
by
one
particular
blond
Adonis
and
I
can’t
deny
that
I
found
his
very
evident
admiration
of
my
curves
a
soothing
balm
to
my
wounded
and
sorely
tested
pride.