SNAPSHOT

“BULLYING is a partnership. It relies on the consent of the victim.”

It was just the sort of thing Carol should have expected Maggie to say. The rest of her narrative about her selfish boss withered to a halt. She was stung by both the criticism and her friend’s apparent disinterest in her predicament.

“You’re supposed to be my friend, you know,” she reminded Maggie tartly. “Only siblings talk like that.”

She pulled down the top of the pocket diary which Maggie was leafing through. “Perhaps we should skip lunch next week? I wouldn’t like to bore you.”

“You’re not boring me,” Maggie didn’t even bother to look up. She was holding her pen near her cheek, click-click-clicking the end of it. The ballpoint appeared, retracted, reappeared again, with the mechanical rhythm of a weapon in use. “I just think you should stop putting up with it and start doing something about it.”

“I am doing something about it. I’m looking for a new job, remember?”

“Hm. I wasn’t just thinking about running away.” Maggie stopped clicking her pen. A slow smile started to curve her lips. Now she did look up, mischief in her dark blue eyes. “Have some fun, Carol. Be sassy. When he starts having a go at you, produce a mini tape-recorder. Let him watch you using it.”

“A mini tape-recorder?” Carol stared blankly. “That’s your solution to industrial relations problems, is it?”

“No,” Maggie’s smile was almost sleepy. She was imagining the scene and enjoying the prospect. Her voice dropped to an almost seductive whisper. “But wouldn’t it be nice to wave it in front of him, just the once? I bet he’ll be more careful when choosing his words.”

Carol laughed. “I’d hate to be your boss. Why is it you always have so much self-confience? I wish I could be more like you, Maggie.”

A flicker of impatience showed in Maggie’s eyes. “You can be almost anything you want.”

“I knew you’d say that. You’re becoming predictable.” Carol looked at her watch. “I really must go. I don’t want him nagging about me being late back from lunch.”

“Buy a stopwatch,” Maggie advised. “Inform him when you are seven seconds late and apologise profusely.”

“He’d probably deduct seven seconds’ pay.” Carol sighed. “See you on Thursday?”

“Seven-thirty.” Maggie wagged a finger. “Don’t be late. I’ll have my stopwatch.”

Carol giggled, then walked off, pausing at the restaurant door to look back and wave. She was unaware as she got up from the table that her lunch companion’s gaze fell on the back of her black stockinged legs, trim waist, and tailored black jacket. Her gaze shifted to Carol’s long wavy blonde hair. All trace of sleepy amusement was gone.

Her pen clicked once more next to her cheek. Maggie smiled quickly as Carol looked back and waved, gave an answering friendly smile, then she studied Carol’s rapidly disappearing profile until it left her sight.

Maggie picked up the bill and studied it, then murmered to herself out loud. To anyone watching, she could have been talking to herself about the bill, perhaps expressing disgust at the sum.

Instead her disgust was self directed. “Be anything you want, indeed! Why do you talk such guff?”

Impatiently she flipped open her purse and paid the bill with cash at the till. Outside, she stood a little hesitantly. Her last appointment for the day had been unexpectedly cancelled. There was plenty she could do at work or at home, but instead she cut through the park and sat down on the brickwork of a small bridge over the stream, staring morosely at the water flowing down below.

She should rush home. There was no end of chores that desperately needed to be done: washing, ironing, hoovering, wiping down the bathroom, but she had no intention of going home and getting on with it. She was enjoying her illicit moment of idleness.

In the park, there were people nearby in the play area: toddlers, mums, babies, two dogs, one lone dad. She stopped to smile in brief recognition at one person who passed over the bridge. Mrs Hart. Her son Jamie was a regular attender at Maggie’s speech therapy clinic. Mrs Hart had a nice smile, but her pretty face was care-worn. Jamie had special needs and was hyper-active.

Maggie shook her head in gentle self-recrimination and walked away, twisting the gold ring on the third finger of her left hand.

“Why am I here?” she mused ruefully.

She checked her watch. It was still only 2.20. She had time to pop to the supermarket and buy chicken burgers for the children’s tea. Chris had Scouts later on. She would sit with Michael and Sophie and hear them read.

Maggie went to the supermarket and carried her shopping home. She could hear the sound of sporting commentary blaring from the television as she slid the key in the latch. Her husband, and the father of all her children, lay sprawled on the sofa, dressed only in shorts. Crisp packets, dirty coffee cups, a dirty plate, and a collection of sporting magazines lay scattered on the floor in a large, rough semi-circle around the sofa.

“You’re home early,” Jon observed in surprise.

Even if she were late, the mess would still be there.

“I had some cancellations,” Maggie answered, stooping to pick up Jon’s T-shirt that he had thrown casually onto another chair and folding it. “Who’s winning?”

“Essex are 38 for 3.”

Maggie smiled. She had no idea whether that was good or bad, or even who Essex were playing. Nor did she care. She kicked off her shoes and glanced at the bills which had arrived in the post, all of which were addresed to her, but already opened. She popped them into her handbag, promising to sort them out later, then started to clear the debris near the sofa. Jon moved his head impatiently as she momentarily blocked his view, but said nothing.

She went through to the kitchen. Breakfast dishes were stacked on the work surface near the sink. On the other worktop, cheese, a margarine tub with the lid lying next to it, bread, cucumber, a jar of pickle - also with the lid lying nearby - a crumb-covered breadboard and smeary knife were spread out, like items in a piece of artwork, as though carefully arranged to create the maximum eye-catching effect.

Maggie sighed and checked the time. She had ten minutes to clear this lot and could just make it up to the school. It would be tight, but she should just do it.

It was too tight. She met Michael as he was halfway home. He pulled a face. “I want to walk home on my own,” he complained.

“That’s all right,” Maggie quickly walked past him. It was a macho thing. Michael didn’t want to look like a baby in front of his friends. “I’m going to meet Sophie. I’ll see you later.”

He hesitated, then ran to catch up with his friends. She didn’t bother to wave goodbye to her youngest child, knowing he wouldn’t look back.

Sophie was more welcoming, lavishing her with hugs and kisses before asking plaintively, “Does this mean Sarah can come and play?”

“Oh. Yes, all right.” Maggie felt her spirits sag. She felt so tired. She didn’t feel up to people coming around to play, but she was too guilt-stricken to refuse the request. Normally she was at work when the children came home from school, and the opportunity for them to have friends round was rare.

In the end it was as well she said yes, since Jon wanted to watch the cricket and wouldn’t allow the children to watch their favourite television programmes. Maggie recognised the storms of dissent the moment she arrived home and found Michael in tears. Fortunately, Sophie and Sarah included him in their games and kept him entertained.

Who thinks being a working mother is a good thing? Maggie asked herself that every night. Every night there was always a pattern. Make sure the children changed out of their uniform, wash the breakfast things, put on a load of washing, make separate evening meals for Jon and the children, whose eating habits diverged considerably, wash up again, peg out the washing, drop a child off at a club, come back, listen to children read, fetch a child back from the club, organise bathtime, get children changed for bed, tidy up bedrooms and make beds, kiss children goodnight, go downstairs and do some ironing until bedtime.

Maggie always went to bed alone. Jon went down the pub. His friend Danny owned a pub and Jon stayed there after lock-up. He rarely came home before three in the morning.

Didn’t she mind that he went to the pub all the time? her friends asked her. But if they hoped to provoke a reaction from her, they got none.

“No,” she would always respond. “I don’t mind at all.”

And she really didn’t. She didn’t care that he went out every night at all.

What she really hated was to hear the sound of the key in the lock in the middle of the night, and to realise, with a sickening, sinking feeling, that he had come home.

Didn’t she mind that he went to the pub all the time? Her friends asked her that all the time. But if they hoped to provoke a reaction from her, they got none.

“No,” she would always respond. “I don’t mind at all.”

And she really didn’t. She didn’t care that he went out every night at all.

What she really hated was to hear the sound of the key in the lock in the middle of the night, and to realise, with a sickening, sinking feeling, that he had come home.

When he came back home in the night, it usually meant he was either vomiting or amorous. It was marginally better when he was amorous, because when he was sick he was too drunk to clear up after himself. Maggie would get up to deal with it because she didn’t want the kids to wake up to that. But when she cleaned up after him it always took her ages to get back to sleep and it affected her at work the following day.

When he was amorous, it was just a case of tolerating his clumsy fumblings until he got too tired to continue and went to sleep, allowing her to drift off again with relative ease. She never refused nor encouraged him. She would merely lie in silent reproach, just wishing it was over.

He rarely got very far. He would slump in drunken exhaustion and not think it worth the effort, then he would curse her for being so unresponsive. If only he knew how she would like to respond. She was afraid one day she might and find herself jailed for life.

“I reckon you must be a lesbian,” he jeered at her, the night after her lunch with Carol.

“I reckon I must be too!” she retorted, because if this was normal sex between a man and a woman, then sex with another woman was bound to be better. It wasn’t the first time she had thought that.

He absorbed her comment in silence. “So, you seen anyone you fancy recently, then?”

“No.” Maggie turned her back on him and thought about the way Carol looked earlier that day. Like Maggie, she had children, but she had no permanent partner and it seemed to Maggie that Carol had half the hassle. Carol had no idea how much Maggie envied her.

All Maggie really wanted was someone to cuddle up to. She needed comforting hugs, for someone to hold her close and stroke her. She needed someone to be gentle with her, a person she could talk to intimately. Did you have to be a lesbian to find that? It seemed impossible to share this with Jon.

She had adored him once. Now he just disgusted her. It wasn’t just his drinking. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a job. She understood only too well how hard he had once tried to find work.

But these days, he sponged off her without even bothering to find a job. He had all that time at home, but he never even attempted to help around the house. He wouldn’t even talk nicely to his own children.

She hated him for his constant demands on her. She was always tired from struggling to cope with the job, the house, and the children. The last thing she needed was hassle from him as well. If he wanted to find anything he would never look for it himself. If the house or the children looked untidy it was somehow her fault. He grumbled at many of the meals she made because he said it wasn’t “proper food”. And if he failed to find a job that was her fault too, because of her “negative attitude”.

Maggie looked forward to him leaving the house every night, and once the door closed behind him she would feel her shoulders start to relax.

At least he didn’t pester her for money on a day-to-day basis. His rich friend Danny paid him for goodness-knows-what whenever Jon needed it. That was his pin money. Maggie never saw any of that. Nor did she care, as long as he didn’t keep asking her for cash.

But the big purchases Jon did pester her for. Wouldn’t it be nice if they had a car?

No it wouldn’t. Because Maggie couldn’t afford to run a car on her salary and she wouldn’t be using it. She walked to work, and if work needed her to drive anywhere, then work supplied her with a pool car. That arrangement was just fine, as far as Maggie was concerned.

****

Carol and Maggie went to a slimming club every Thursday and then went swimming immediately afterwards. Not that Carol needed to lose weight. She was so svelte that if she lost any more weight she would look positively anorexic.

Maggie returned on Thursday from work to find three children alone in the house, watching television.

“Where’s your father?”

Chris, her eldest child, was stretched out on the sofa in a way that reminded Maggie of his father. Even his voice was a passable imitation of Jon’s grunt.

“Gone to see some computers.”

That didn’t leave Maggie any the wiser, but she made no comment. She wondered if Jon would be back before she was due to go out, and was resigning herself to cancelling her trip to the slimming club.

“Did you get my boots?” Chris called, and Maggie at once froze and swore. Chris needed the boots for a school trip to a river the following day, and she had forgotten to buy him a pair at lunchtime.

Jon was at home all day and every day, but she was the one who had to schedule in the time to buy their son a pair of Wellington boots.

Chris was learning the art of moaning like his father. Maggie dragged all three children out to catch a bus to the local Asda’s. The store stayed open late. It might just sell boots.

Throughout the whole bus journey Chris complained sourly. “It’s always the same. You’re so disorganised. Everyone else’s mother would have made sure their children had their boots, but will Chris Anthony ever have anything when he needs it? Oh no! I bet you didn’t get anything for my packed lunch either, did you?”

“Yes I did,” Maggie was indignant. “It’s all in the cupboard.”

“What cupboard?”

“The one under the stairs.”

“I don’t want just one packet of crisps, mum.”

“There isn’t just one packet of crisps,” Maggie retorted. “There was yogurt, some bananas, a fizzy drink and some chocolate mini-rolls.”

“They weren’t there when I looked after school.”

Maggie’s mouth tightened. That meant Jon had discovered her latest hiding place. She squirrelled things away because Jon was always eating things intended for the children’s packed lunches, no matter how many times she asked him not to. She had tried to persuade the children to have school dinners, but only Chris was co-operating. He had the sense to realise Daddy couldn’t steal his food that way.

They didn’t find the boots, and then they argued about whether she should buy more things for packed lunches or not. Chris didn’t see the point, since he wasn’t going on the trip without his wellies and wouldn’t need a packed lunch.

It was a harassing trip all round. Besides Chris being sullen and argumentative, Sophie drifted off into the fashion clothing department and got lost, and Michael had a nosebleed - one of many in the past two weeks or so.

They returned home tired, laden with shopping, minus the all-important boots and heavily bloodstained, to find Carol waiting at the doorstep. They had missed the last direct bus and had to take one that involved a longer walk home.

“I tried to ring you before I went out,” Maggie knew she should have apologised more graciously, but she was so irritated with Chris that she had shaken him. Once she got that angry it took her ages to calm down. “I’m sorry. I had a crisis.”

The two women abandoned their usual Thursday night agenda, and adopted one that was disastrous for their diet. They went in and munched chocolate cake over a cup of tea and a cosy chat. Carol burst out laughing as Maggie drily recounted her evening’s events.

“What size shoe is he?” Carol asked. “He’s big, isn’t he?”

“Four.”

“I’ve got some size fives. He can borrow them if he likes.”

Chris looked suspicious. “What colour are they?” He didn’t want to look too girly.

Maggie snorted with temper. “Listen, sunshine, they can be bright yellow and pink for all I care. After all I’ve been through tonight, anything would be perfect.”

Chris sulked. They all went over to Carol’s house to pick up the black boots. Chris muttered “cheers” but it wasn’t until he repeated the “cheers, Carol” when they were back at his own home that the women realised he was feeling very relieved.

Carol stayed and chatted. Maggie made an evening meal. They ate together and continued to chat as Maggie put the children to bed. And after they had gone to bed, the women’s conversation steadily grew more embittered about the uselessness of men in general.

Looking back, Maggie had no idea how it had really happened. She had started to open up to Carol about what a louse she thought Jon was. At some point she must have looked upset. Carol put her arm around her. Maggie put an answering arm around Carol, and absently, she kissed Carol’s hair.

Perhaps that was the trigger between them. She really shouldn’t have kissed Carol’s hair. It wasn’t the sort of thing ordinary close friends would do.

But it was Carol’s reaction that was the shock. Instead of shying away in slight embarrassment, she hugged Maggie a lot more closely. And it was the way they hugged that didn’t quite fit Maggie’s expectations. Perhaps it was the way their bodies were pressed against each other from head to toe, legs entwined, the curves of their breasts brushing against the other’s breasts. Carol was planting a succession of little kisses on Maggie’s throat.

Maggie stilled in confusion. She was unsure if this was her dreams, or her nightmares, coming true. She only knew this was something she had been thinking about occasionally but never expected to happen. They had crossed some kind of line. Maggie wasn’t sure what to do about that.

Slowly, she drew back her head so that she could look Carol in the eyes.

“Well, hello,” she mused, her voice half questioning. “This feels very nice.”

“Yes it does, doesn’t it?” Carol replied, and kissed Maggie full on the lips.

Maggie was taken aback, but the touch was warm, compatible even. Was it pleasure, or curiousity, that led her to pursue with this? Tongues, as well! She curled her toes as a tingling began to melt all the way down her.

Carol pulled her closer, her exploration edging deeper, and her hands, on the small of Maggie’s back, began to trail inconsequential little games, finding a gap between Maggie's T-shirt and jeans waistband, and softly stroking the skin beneath it. Carol pulled ever so gently at the brushed cotton top to expose more of Maggie’s skin, and had her almost quivering in anticipation of being touched .... there, perhaps? ...How about here?

Carol eased her way lingeringly out of the kiss and paused to enjoy looking at the stunned expression in Maggie’s face. Confident, now, she let her fingers edge first one way, then the next, teasing her way towards Maggie’s breasts.

“You like it?” She whispered, her fingers bypassed Maggie’s breasts from her stomach to the delicate skin on her throat. She stroked Maggie’s face, then moved downwards. The anticipation game was still continuing. Here?... There?

It felt to Maggie like a dream, but no dream had ever made her tremble so violently.

Carol paused her stroking, the stillness of her hands a deprivation.

“Tell me you like it,” she was assuming total control.

Maggie couldn’t even speak, but her eyes betrayed her. She nodded her head once.

Carol laughed in triumph.

“You know what?” Her voice was deep and throaty. “I’ve wanted to do this for a very long time.”

Maggie’s dreamlike state remained unbroken. Surely this couldn’t really be happening?

“M-me too.” she managed.

She was rewarded with Carol’s feathersoft touch on her left breast, not directly placed near the nipple, but on the side of the swell, and in teasing little circular motions, Carol let her fingers travel slowly over her. She looked as if she enjoyed watching what was happening to Maggie’s body, but her quick, darting glances at Maggie’s face made her smile.

“Have you really thought about this?” She wanted to know.

“Y-yes.”

It was a lie. She had never dreamed - dared to think - of this. Not quite like this.

“It’s all I’ve thought about for months.” Carol boasted. She reached down, held the hemline of Maggie’s T-shirt and gently pulled it upwards, pausing the moment Maggie’s breasts lay exposed, cupped by the white cotton of her bra. Her fingers began to explore the exposed flesh. And still the anticipation games continued. There... or there...and here...

‘I shouldn’t be doing this’, Maggie remembered thinking later.

But she did it anyway and really liked it.

She had not considered until much later that Carol must have done this before. Maggie would not have quite known what to do. She only would have had her fumbling exploration, doing things by instinct.

But Carol was far more direct. Her expertise was indicative of experience.

In her illicit daydreams, Maggie imagined she was a “corrupting” influence over Carol, but it certainly wasn’t like that.

After their first burst of passion, Maggie should have been reclining in bliss. In a way, perhaps she was. They lay together on the sofa, stroking each other sleepily, and though Maggie looked outwardly content she was actually thinking of Jon - of all people. In the early days, when they had first got together, that had been blissful too. He had seemed so perfect.

What exactly had gone wrong since then?

A slow progression of misfortunes, and Jon’s increasing selfishness. Maggie thought of how much, over the years, she had tried to please him. She had done that because she was trying to keep the peace. She always wanted to avoid a row.

“Bullying is a partnership. It relies on the consent of the victim.”

Her own words came back to Maggie now, along with a realisation that she, somehow, had allowed this to happen. She had let it creep up on her.

She should have been less placid and spoken up for herself more. She should have committed the cardinal sin of nagging.

Maggie should not have been surprised when she heard the most despised noise in her world - the sound of the key in the front door, signalling that Jon was home.

He could have quite easily chosen not to come back until morning, but Maggie felt a sense of inevitability that he should find them together - his wife lying naked with another woman.

He tended not to betray his emotions easily, and his reaction to the scene before him was typical of the man. He paused on the threshold, eyeing the scene.

“Can I watch?”

Carol, tense, feigned a yawn. “Too late. The party’s over.”

Maggie rolled impatiently to her feet. “Go away, Jon.”

He stilled. He held a hint of menace in his surprise, but he looked outwardly amused.

“Go away? From my own house?”

Bad choice of words. Maggie turned on him in fury. She spoke with outward calm, without raising her voice. This was Jon the bully she recognised here. It wasn’t coming to the surface yet, but it would. She was sick of being bullied. The time had come to face him down.

“It’s not your house. I work for it, and I pay for it. But if you want, you can pay to live here and I’ll go somewhere else. Our marriage is over, Jon.”

Perhaps she should not have said that in front of Carol. It was a matter between her and Jon, after all.

The look on his face was a picture to behold. She knew from his expression that he had never thought she would say those words. He had been putting on her probably from the day their first child was born and probably thought he could carry on putting on her for ever.

The look was momentary. Maggie should have enjoyed it while it lasted. But she didn’t enjoy it. She felt sad. ‘We had a great marriage once,’ she was thinking. ‘Why did you have to kill it, Jon?’

It was dead. It had to be. Maggie didn’t think she could bear the thought of him sharing her bed for another night.

Jon sneered. “Suit yourself.”

Off he went, slamming the door behind him.

That was typical of him too. By disappearing when they should have been talking, by leaving them with unfinished business, he was hoping she would run after him. But she wasn’t going to do that. Not tonight. Not ever again.

Carol was overjoyed. She flung her arms around Maggie. “Well done! That can’t have been easy for you. I’m so proud of you! I love you, Maggie.”

Maggie felt numb and confused. It was easier than she would have reasonably expected. She murmered, “And I love you, too,” but she wasn’t really concentrating on what she was saying. She was wondering if Jon was going back to Danny’s pub. She assumed so.

She and Carol went to bed and continued their explorations of each other until dawn. They whispered secrets, and had conversations like, ‘when did you first realise you were gay?’ Their emotions were very intense.

They were interrupted in the morning by Chris. Michael was prone to nosebleeds. Chris, a good boy Scout, had dealt efficiently with all the necessary first aid, but they had been watching early morning cartoons when the bleed started and the sofa was heavily stained. Chris couldn’t wash out the stains.

With a sigh, Maggie rolled out of bed and prepared for the usual early morning frenzy.

“Why’s Carol in your bed?” Chris asked.

A moment of truth was answered by a lie.

“She drank too much last night to drive home.” The explanation was so glib Maggie surprised herself. It was Jon who excelled at plausible explanations.

Incredibly, Chris believed her. Perhaps the alternative was too hideous for him to contemplate, or perhaps because he knew his father’s mates were often too drunk to drive him home - apparently.

Maggie sensed Carol’s tension slackening and realised Chris’ question had momentarily thrown her too.

But there was no time to discuss it. Maggie knew she was plunged into the daily routine of getting everyone out of the house on time, including herself.

Carol had to go to work too, so she dashed off, promising to talk later.

****

Carol came round with her daughters Kayleigh and Stacey for tea, and they all helped make the meal. When they sat down and ate together, there was a happy, family atmosphere in Maggie’s home that had not been there for several months. Carol and her daughters were invited to stay for the weekend. It was a weekend of noise, but bliss. Only one thing marred it.

As they all went out to take the children to the park, Maggie spotted Jon in a car on a neighbouring road. She realised then he must have been watching the house, and watching them.

She looked at him questioningly. All sorts of thoughts were filling her mind. That he would now enter the house and occupy it, or smash it up, perhaps. Heaven only knew what Jon would get up to, if he had a mind to.

He met her gaze, then at once started the engine and started to drive away.

“There’s daddy,” Sophie said. “What’s he doing in that car? Where did he get it from?”

“I expect he’s borrowed it from Danny,” Maggie answered, disguising her own curiosity. “He’s probably just popped round to the house to fetch something.”

Sophie shouted and ran after the car. Maggie thought she would be too late and that Jon would drive out of sight, but the car kangaroo-hopped to a stop and Jon opened the door to greet his daughter with a brilliant smile.

They chatted briefly. Maggie had no idea what they were saying. She hung back, out of earshot. The only words she heard him say, obviously a form of farewell, were, “Give us a kiss, then.”

She watched Sophie stretch on her tiptoes, put her arms round his neck, and kiss his face. He squeezed her tightly, glanced significantly at Maggie, then let his daughter go.

Maggie felt her heart pounding over that look he had given her. Not hostile, not anything. It was devoid of emotion, yet it was an expression she couldn’t stop thinking about for the rest of the afternoon.

On the Sunday night, Carol asked Maggie how they were going to make arrangements for them all to live together.

Maggie had only a vague recollection of them discussing this once before, on the first night they had slept together, but she had thought it more of a joke than a serious suggestion. Evidently Carol didn’t think so.

Maggie loved the idea, but there were snags. It was all very well fobbing off Chris once or twice about why Carol was sleeping in Maggie’s bed, but explaining that his mother was going to start living with another woman, and that all the children were going to live together too, was a different matter. Maggie could see that Chris, certainly, wouldn’t like that idea one bit. It was harder to gauge what Sophie and Michael’s reactions would be, but she suspected separation from their father would hit them harder than Chris. They questioned Jon’s actions less.

Then, there were practical considerations. Where would Carol’s daughters sleep? All three girls would have to share a room. Sophie’s room was tiny, and the boys’ room wasn’t much bigger.

Maggie could see this was not going to be a good idea.

“Hold on,” she began. “I can’t just go rushing from one relationship to the next, and nor can the kids. They’ll have enough on their plate coping with their parents splitting up, let alone taking on this situation.”

They didn’t exactly argue - Carol seemed to understand what Maggie was saying - but the atmosphere was tense. Their discussion was definitely along the lines of a negotiation, the sort of conversation you might have with a boss if you wanted to ask him for a pay rise. They agreed Carol and her daughters could stay the following weekend, but Maggie knew Carol was disappointed. Carol wanted to take this relationship at a faster pace than Maggie could cope with.

More doubts crept in after Carol and her daughters left.

“Thank God they’ve gone!” Chris grumbled.

Their car wasn’t even out of sight.

“Don’t you like them?” Maggie asked.

“Carol’s all right, but Kayleigh’s just so bossy, and that stupid Stacey - “ Chris raised his voice in falsetto, and did an exact imitation of Stacey’s pitch. “I wanna have a go. Lemme have a go. I WANT A GO!”

“When’s Daddy coming home?” Sophie interrupted.

The week that followed was a difficult one. Maggie fobbed off the children’s questions by saying Jon had to go away with his friend Danny for a while. He had gone away with Danny several times to Silverstone and Le Mans, so the children accepted the explanation without question.

In the meanwhile, she experienced difficulties in finding someone to look after the children after they came out from school - at five past three - and before Maggie got home from work, usually at about six o’clock.

Chris was sulky. “I don’t see why we can’t just stay at home by ourselves,” he told her. “Dad leaves us on our own all the time.”

It was tempting, especially as the childminder’s fees were more expensive than Maggie first thought, but three hours a day of unsupervised time was just too much.

To add to her woes, she discovered Sophie had headlice and the school rang her up about Michael’s nosebleeds. They suggested that Michael see a doctor.

One of Maggie’s colleagues was on holiday. She spent a stressful week fielding all her inquiries, and her boss wanted to call several meetings which Maggie knew would be a complete waste of time. He was displeased when she arranged Michael’s doctor’s appointment at the same time as one of the meetings and coldly suggested that Michael’s father should help out more.

Cue for Maggie to blurt out Jon had left her. Instead of apologising, he said, with a note of disapproval in his voice, that he hoped Maggie’s “personal difficulties” would not lead to any more “emotional outbursts” at work.

Maggie said nothing. She tended not to when she couldn't trust herself to remain polite. But she was still angry about it when she woke the following morning, so she phoned and said she was too ill to come to work. Stuff him, she thought. And stuff his stupid marathon meetings.

She had hoped Jon would contact her at some point. She didn’t like unfinished business, but she hadn’t anticipated his manner of doing it.

He ran up to the front door on the Thursday night without warning, hammered his fists on the woodwork, and bellowed, “I wanna see my kids. Let me see my kids!”

Puzzled, Maggie went to the door and opened it, catching him off-balance.

“Why didn’t you use your key?”

He had to recover himself. He had been leaning on the door. He glared at her. His chest was heaving and he looked out of breath and dishevelled. Was he drunk? He didn’t smell drunk.

“Why didn’t you change the locks?” he retorted. “Don’t you know anything about throwing someone out?”

Sophie and Michael were racing down the stairs.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Sophie was flapping a picture she wanted to show off to him. Michael was following and fisting Jon’s legs.

“Bam! Bam! Bam!”

Jon at once crouched and put up his fists in response. He playfully punched back while Sophie squawked, “Do you like it, Daddy? Do you like my picture? It’s of your new car.”

Maggie was eyeing Jon’s appearance, unsure whether to feel disapproving or self-satisfied. She had never seen him look so rough. ‘Typical’, she was thinking. ‘I always knew he’d fall apart without me.’

But that thought worried her.

“Come in,” she invited. “Would you like a drink?”

They were the first civil words she felt like saying to him in years. He looked surprised, then stepped in cautiously.

“Does this mean - ?” he began.

“No.” She cut across him, anticipating his question. “I don’t want you back. I meant what I said last Thursday.”

He fell silent. As the children pressed for his attention once more, he dismissed them roughly. “Not right now, okay, Sophie? I need to talk to your mother.”

Once they were alone, he fired off a volley of questions. He wanted to know how long she had been “carrying on” with Carol, and wouldn’t believe the answers. He asked Maggie what she wanted to happen now, and who was looking after the children when they came out of school? He asked how often she planned to allow him access?

All of these questions Maggie answered coolly. Most of her answers were off the top of her head and therefore utterly truthful.

“Has she said she wants to live here?” Jon demanded at last.

“The question doesn’t arise.” Maggie felt weary of too much heavy conversation. “The kids will have enough to cope with as it is. There’s no way Carol and I are going to start living together.”

“Good.” He wasn’t smiling. “Only, I wondered, you know, especially with the eviction notice being served on her and everything.”

Not by a flicker did Maggie reveal this was news to her. Jon glanced up sharply and she realised he had been waiting to witness her reactions to his words.

“She told you about it, did she?” He asked.

“Of course.”

“Good.” It seemed he was preparing to go. “‘Cos you’ll need her to be honest with you, won’t you?”

He changed the topic as seamlessly as he introduced it, arranging to pick up the children on Sunday morning so that he could take them out for the day.

******

This was the first piece of information Maggie told Carol when she arrived with Kayleigh and Stacey the next day. Carol was put out. She had planned for them to do something with the children on Sunday.

“I’ll take my girls round to my mum’s then,” she suggested. “That will give us some time alone together.”

That sounded nice, but Maggie had something else pressing on her mind. She told Carol what Jon had said about the eviction.

“That’s right, I was served with a notice,” Carol confirmed at once. “That’s when Phil wasn’t paying the maintenance so I got behind with the rent. I had to get the Social to sort it in the end.”

“How long ago was this?”

“About a month ago.”

“You never mentioned it to me.”

Carol shot her a look of disgust. “Oh, I get it - “ she reminded Maggie of Jon. “Well, it’s been paid, so when I said I wanted to live with you, you needn’t worry about there being some alternative motive.”

She folded her arms, and when Maggie still did not answer, Carol said, “I can show you the receipt, if you like.”

“That’s not necessary,” Maggie spoke quickly.

Nothing more was said, but Carol sulked until bedtime. Maggie was irritated. When her children sulked she hit them. That was how much she hated unpleasant atmospheres. Jon could sulk for England but Maggie had somehow learned to ignore him. Perhaps that was because these days she ignored him nearly all the time, so nothing he did affected her anymore. But the children never sulked. They wouldn’t dare.

So Maggie refused to entertain Carol’s sulk. She suggested a game of Monopoly with the children that turned out to be a noisy affair. And if Carol’s children were subdued at the start, Maggie’s children had learned how to gloss over a sulk with consumate skill. Soon, they had coaxed Kayleigh and Stacey to relax, and eventually even Carol’s daughters were ignoring their own mother.

At bedtime, Carol seemed to deem it a kiss-and-make-up opportunity. She had a subtlety that was exquisite and Maggie couldn’t quite come to terms with her sense of helplessness. There was no reserve, no recesses of her mind which harbored secrets. Carol had access to all.

And she knew it. And enjoyed her power. The smile in her eyes told Maggie so.

Maggie woke just before dawn, aching in secret places from unaccustomed passion. She watched the beautiful woman beside her sleeping and wondered what Carol was dreaming about. It was not a nice dream. She looked tense round her mouth and her hands twitched. Should Maggie wake her? Was she having a nightmare?

Awake now, Maggie sat up, her gaze sombre in reflection. In recent weeks, Carol had said very little about herself, and in the past week, practically nothing at all. She had encouraged Maggie to release all her pent-up frustrations over Jon, but she had stayed quiet and strong.

Odd. Since the day they met - about 14 months ago at the slimming club - Maggie had always fancied herself to be more self-confident than Carol. Carol had moaned and wailed and seemed vulnerable, stirring all of Maggie’s protective instincts and prompting her to utter all sorts of assurances.

Maggie used to be good at giving Jon assurances, because she hated people around her to be unhappy. But for many months now, Maggie had given up trying to coax Jon out of the doldrums. She had tolerated his presence, and that was all.

In the meantime, Carol had lapped up all the nice things Maggie said to her, and in the past week had seemed more self-contained than Maggie ever dreamed she could be. It was almost as if she had changed over time, but Maggie wasn’t quite sure if that was really so.

When Jon came to pick up the children on Sunday morning he was prompt and business-like. He ensured all the children had swimsuits, towels, shampoo and a hairbrush, then ushered them out and promised to return them at 4.30.

They dropped Carol’s daughters off at her mum’s, where they were invited to stay for lunch. Maggie was disapproving when Carol turned down the invite. Carol’s mum was a widow, and very sweet and motherly. Carol spoke to her in a casual manner that Maggie disliked.

Instead they had a pub lunch, followed by a woodland walk.

The term “walk” should be applied in a liberal sense. There were many distractions.

“Stop it!” hissed Maggie. “Someone will see us.”

Carol laughed. “I love doing it outdoors, don’t you?”

Maggie might have, if only she could be sure they would not be seen. She kept imagining that one of Chris’ friends would be playing in the woods and might see them together. They would tell snigger and tell her children about it.

She had in her mind a whole grand disaster scenario - the children upset and isolated, the butt of all classroom jokes.

It occurred to Maggie then that her children were not equipped to understand this situation. They had a rigid sense that the world was made up of mummies, daddies and babies. A pairing of mummies would be outside their comprehension. And even if they accepted it, it would still stigmatise them.

If only Carol would be more discreet!

Maggie turned on Carol in agitation. “I can’t do this! You’re going too fast for me!”

She walked away from her at a furious pace.

They went home. Carol spoke softly to her for ages - stuff about how Maggie shouldn’t be ashamed. She was what she was. Get over it! Maggie said very little in response.

Jon returned the children at exactly four thirty. The way his gaze rested on her face told Maggie he realised something was wrong, but he said nothing. He only asked if he could see the children in their home on Wednesday. He would make their dinner.

“Why here? Why not at wherever you’re staying?”

He hesitated before replying.  “It’s not very nice where I’m staying,” he answered at last. “They’ll only get upset. Give me some more time to sort myself out, then I won’t trespass on you any more, okay?”

He had never once uttered a hint of a suggestion that he wanted to come back. Maggie knew it was irrational but this only made her feel worse - even though she knew she didn’t want him. She should be glad he wasn’t pestering her or making a nuisance of himself. She would have predicted that he would. All the same, it stung that all those years together seemed to mean nothing to him.

Before he left, she changed the date to Thursday, so that she could attend her slimming club. He looked towards Carol as Maggie made her request, but although there was anger in his face he said nothing unpleasant or impolite. He merely agreed, and called goodbye to the children.

Their muted response should have warned Maggie something was wrong.

“I’ll be off too then,” Carol announced, after Jon had left.

it was just as well, because Maggie needed all her energies to deal with the children. They filed downstairs, as though they had formed some sort of committee. Chris was self-appointed spokesman.

“Why didn’t you tell us you and Dad were splitting up?”

It was, to them, their moment of doom. Maggie looked and saw the misery in their faces. Their worlds were falling apart.

She wouldn’t have told them this yet. She would have given them longer to be without Jon. They hadn’t even questioned why he was away from the house for so long, because Jon’s coming and going as he pleased was part of their normal routine. But Jon had picked up a huge emotional ball and hurled it at them, and now they were flattened like skittles. Maggie was furious.

All her energies for the next week were consumed by trying to reassure distraught children. She didn’t seem to be very effective. Chris got into trouble at school and Maggie was called in to see the headteacher - more time off work. Michael started to wet the bed. Sophie told her every day that she had a tummy ache. She even got sent home ill from school. Maggie’s boss said nothing, but the look on his face said it all.

To cap it all, the washing machine broke down and Maggie realised Sophie still had headlice.

******

When Jon arrived on Thursday he was immediately apologetic. “I thought you had already told them. How’ve they been taking it?”

“Amazingly well, considering.” It was a lie. Maggie didn’t know why she lied. She wanted to say something that hurt him. He had made things harder for her. She wanted to make things harder for him.

“That’s good,” he said at once. “And how about you? Things going all right?”

She didn’t know what game he was playing, but Jon was up to something. “Fine, thanks.”

She added, as an afterthought, “The washing machine’s broken.”

“And what have you done about fixing it?”

That was typical of Jon. He was reminding her that she couldn’t look to him to do these things for her now. It was her responsibility. The trouble was, she had shouldered too much responsibility lately.

“At the moment, absolutely nothing.”

He didn’t smile. “I’ll have a look at it later on. Do you mind if I also have a bath while I’m here? The washing facilities where I’m staying are a bit naff.”

She was surprised he bothered to ask. Maggie looked at him suspiciously. He had a game plan. Jon was always manipulative.

“So long as you’re fully clothed by the time I come back,” her voice was tart.

“I will be.” He smiled, understanding her line of thinking.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Maggie told him.

*****

When she returned, she found Jon and the children in the living room. Chris was playing on the Playstation. Michael and Sophie were curled up either side of Jon on the sofa as he read them a story.

Jon reading them a story! Maggie had to look twice.

The little ones ran to greet her, full of stories of what a wonderful time they had been having with Daddy. Maggie looked at him suspiciously. He looked the picture of newly-washed innocence. He must have had the bath-water too hot. There was a pinky glow to his face and his hair was still wet.

He looked - damn him - absolutely gorgeous.

He was a man of larger than average size, with big, strong hands. She had always liked his hands. When she first met him his attraction was that he looked so big and strong he made her feel protected. She looked at his hands now. He had his arms outstretched on the back cushions where his children had been leaning. It was a subtle statement that they could feel safe with him. He was smiling and looked relaxed.

“There’s some dinner in the oven for you, Mags.” he told her, rising to his feet. “C’mon kids. I’ll tuck you up in bed.”

Chris rolled his eyes. He didn’t think he should have to go to bed at the same time as the younger ones, but he got up without arguing and followed them all upstairs.

Maggie had no expectation of Jon cooking for her, and no intention of eating it. Curiosity made her look. Baked fish in a tangy citrus sauce on a bed of rice. It smelled absolutely delicious.

Before she knew it, she had polished off the lot.

Maggie felt her waistband guiltily and heaved a sigh. She’d never succeed in her diet at this rate! At least Jon had made her something healthy, and it tasted scrummy. She recalled he often cooked when they first met, and always did it well.

He called downstairs to her, “I’m just going to have a shave. Is that all right?”

“Fine,” she called back, washing up her plate. Jon had even done the washing up. “Did you have any luck with the washing machine?”

“Yes, it needs a new belt on the drum,” he answered. “I’ll go to Jack’s in the morning and pick one up. I can fit it on Sunday afternoon, if you like?”

What? No cricket? For two weeks in a row?

Something wrong here, surely?

It was too awkward to keep shouting up the stairs so Maggie went upstairs to talk to him. She paused on the threshold of the bathroom with her breath catching in her throat.

He had removed his shirt and had foamed his chin. Most of it was now smooth and he was frowning with concentration as he watched the razor’s progress in the mirror.

“You’ve lost weight,” Maggie said, envious.

He wasn’t paying attention. He was frowning at the blade and muttered a curse. “Has anything happened to my razor? I only changed the blade the day I left. I can’t find any fresh ones either.”

Maggie stilled and pinked. She wasn’t quite sure how to answer. “I borrowed it.”

“What for?”  He was glaring at the blade in disgust.

Maggie still didn’t know how to reply.

He glanced up at her reflections in the mirror and saw her red face. He had started to look away but he looked back sharply at her and frowned. His hand stilled. All of him seemed to freeze. Realisation was dawning. He turned round to look at her with a stunned expression on his face.

“Jesus!”

She could take any amount of swearing except Biblical references. He saw her quick frown and apologised, but the apology was automatic. It was not commanding his attention. Jon couldn’t take his eyes off her.

He moved towards her. His eyes were like those of a miser who had just spotted a hoard of gold.

“Can I see?”

She giggled. “No!”

His hands trapped her. “Please! Let me have a look. Just one tiny peep.”

Maggie hardly knew which way to look. She had never imagined feeling so embarrassed in front of Jon before, but she had changed things for Carol’s benefit, not his.

Once, in a playground, she had let a boy look at her knickers. She had enjoyed having something he wanted to see.

This was no different. The way she stood still gave him his answer. Jon studied her face closely, as if trying to decide how much he could get away with. Evidently, he decided he could get away with a lot. He stepped forward and his fingers gently pulled away the waistband of her jeans and briefs. He looked down, then breathed harshly. His fingers unfastened her button and zipper.

“Mags, you look so beautiful,” he murmered. He began to stroke her.

The touch confused her. “Jon - “

Too late. She knew what this was leading up to. He pinned her, pushed a strand of hair from her face, and leaned forward. A kiss was seconds away.

“Let’s go to bed, Mags.”

The refusal was in her face, but she said nothing.

“Please.”

And then he added, “I won’t take very long.”

That was what their love-making boiled down to. He had to promise to be quick because she was uninterested. All she did was provide him with some kind of service that meant nothing to her. She didn’t even know why she did it, except it wasn’t unpleasant, and she felt that a good wife should.

“All right.”

Why did she agree? She had no idea. It was something she was so used to doing. It was mundane. It didn’t mean anything. She didn’t think about being disloyal to Carol. She didn’t even think about Carol. In a few moments, it would be over.

She couldn’t remember the last time Jon came on to her sober, but he wasn’t drunk now. And instead of it being just a quick fumble, it evolved into something she had not experienced for years.

She enjoyed it. She hadn’t anticipated that she would. It was only then that she felt she had been disloyal to Carol.

Maggie lay in bed afterwards and wondered what the hell she was playing at. She didn’t want Jon - did she? Why had she let him near her?

“Don’t think we’ve made up, Jon.” She warned. “I still don’t want you back.”

He pulled a face. “You had no complaints about me before your girlfriend came along.”

She felt cold anger wash over her, refreshing away the headache that had started to form.

“That’s not true,” her voice was quiet. “I had plenty of complaints.”

She listed them. It took a long time.

He started to protest, to attempt to argue with her, but after a while, he grew quiet and moody.

Eventually he rose slowly. “There’s no hope for us, I take it?”

“No.”

He said nothing and started to dress. He left the house without saying goodbye.

*****

They stayed like that for three weeks. He made arrangements to come and see the children. He stuck to his arrangements. He was polite, but quiet. He avoided discussing anything about himself.

The children were becoming used to Jon’s reliability and were becoming reassured by it. Maggie was not reassured. She began to worry that Jon might try to seek custody of the children.

He could argue that he had been at home with them all this time, that he was the parent who cared for them on an everyday basis. He was not, but he could argue it, and people might believe him.

He could accuse her of being more interested in her career. All she had tried to do was to provide for them when Jon failed to do it. It wasn’t her fault she was good at it.

Maggie enjoyed her work normally, but she did not think she could cope if she had to be separated from her children. She was starting to wish she had never worked at all. It could only be used against her.

She plucked up the courage one day to ask if he was going to try to bid for custody. He looked shocked.

“Maggie, you’re a wonderful mother. I’d never try to take them from you.”

She wasn’t a wonderful mother. She was painfully aware of too many failings.

And his reassurances didn’t amount to much. She worried now that she had planted the idea in his mind.

Maggie continued her affair with Carol without telling of her night of betrayal. But it seemed to Maggie that night represented a breakdown of her self and her certainty.

Carol always seemed to want more of her than Maggie was ready for. She wanted commitment. She still pushed for them to all live together.

Then one day, Carol quit her job. She got fed up and quite literally walked out of the office. Her employers invited her to discuss things, but she refused.

Which was all very well, but Maggie did not want assume responsibility for Carol or her children. Admittedly the pressure on Maggie’s purse had lessened since Jon left, but most of the savings were taken up by childminding fees. There was no way Maggie could absorb the cost of maintaining Carol and her daughters, even if she wanted to. It wasn’t as if Maggie had a mum just round the corner who could keep bailing her out, like Carol had.

Carol denied she was asking Maggie to support them. She just needed a loan for a very short time.

Maggie lent her the money. It wasn’t a big sum, but it felt a lot to Maggie because she didn’t have very much. After that, she never felt the same way about Carol again. Carol still wanted to move in, but Maggie felt she had to prioritise her own children’s welfare. When it came down to it, they were more important to her. Her first duty was to them. She held Carol off at arm’s length.

One Sunday, as Jon was dropping off the children, he turned on Maggie and pleaded - begged - that she think again about their marriage. He was desperate for another chance.

It was so typical of the man. Maggie had just started to adjust to the idea that she had a future to look forward to, alone with the children. He had not breathed a word in all that time that he wanted to make up with her, but that Sunday evening he cracked and cried.

She hardly knew what to think. He had tugged the rug from under her, just like he always did. He could always make her feel slightly unbalanced, as though she had taken in too much oxygen. To see him cry touched something inside her she had not thought possible.

Jon told her he had been a fool. He had been selfish and lazy. He was inconsiderate. He probably didn’t deserve another chance but he was asking her for one, and if he gave him that chance he was really going to work at it to make sure he never let her or the children down again.

Maggie was almost in a state of panic.

“You must be mad! Too much has happened, Jon. You’d be throwing Carol back in my face for years.”

He considered. “Well, I don’t know,” he said. “It seems there’s always something people will bring up for years if they have a mind to, it doesn’t really matter what it is. I let you down, Mags. Will you be throwing that back at me?”

“How can you change, Jon? All those habits? The drinking, that horrible Danny - “

He took her in his arms. “I’ve not spoken to Danny for weeks, Mags. After we split he tried to involve me in something dodgy. He didn’t think I’d be up for it before because of family commitments and everything. I couldn’t keep going round there, not after I knew what he was doing. I wouldn’t even risk being associated with him.”

“But he loaned you the car, didn’t he? How have you been managing for money?”

“I’ve been sleeping in the car. I borrowed it off Gary.”

Gary. Their best man. Maggie hadn’t seen him for years.

“I’ve been hanging around with Gary quite a lot recently,” Jon told her. “He’s been showing me a bit about computers. I went to pick one up from him that day - “ that Thursday Maggie first slept with Carol - “He said it would help Chris with his homework when he goes to high school.”

Maggie felt a warmth prickling the back of her eyes, but she remembered what Gary’s wife did for a living.

“Does Jane still work for the housing association? She had no right to tell you about Carol’s eviction notice.”

“She didn’t tell me, Carol’s mum did.” Jon replied. “She had no idea what was going on between you two. I met her in Sainsbury’s. She just starting banging on about us being such good friends to Carol and how worried she was over the eviction and everything.”

He fell silent. He had heard Maggie voice doubts but she hadn’t said she would not take him back.

“Does this mean I’m in with a chance?” He smiled roguishly.

“I don’t know,” Maggie’s panic returned. “I haven’t a clue, quite honestly.”

His smile faded, but didn’t disappear completely. “You’ve always had that problem, haven’t you?”

“What?”

His look was amused, but gentle. “You can’t say what you want. You’re too scared to have an opinion. You never believe yourself important enough, do you?”

Maggie turned her head away sharply. She knew what he was referring to, but they hadn’t discussed it for years and years.

He came up behind her and eased his arms around her. They stood, facing the same direction, his arms around her and linked across her tummy.

“You can beat it, Mags,” he whispered into her hair. “Your bad childhood isn’t going to ruin the rest of your life. But you have to talk to me. You’ve not been telling me when I’ve been doing wrong. You'd say, ‘Go on darling, you go out. Have a good time.’ And I’d get to thinking you really didn’t mind. I’m not a mind-reader, honey. I need you to open up.”

He paused. “Or she will, if you decide to stick with her.”

He kissed her hair and disengaged from her.

“I’m going to leave you alone and let you think. Try to work out what’s important to you.”

She was still standing there long after he had gone, listening to the quiet creaks of the house at night, and the hum of the boiler downstairs. She stood in the same position without moving, and wondered how much her childhood was to blame.

Recriminations were all very well. She cried her hot tears of self-pity as she had done time and time before, but her tears solved nothing. She still didn’t know who she wanted: Carol or Jon.

Except, something made her suspicious of Carol.

Jon? Oh, he was a louse in so many ways. He was manipulative and domineering. He could be difficult. But she knew him, and he knew her. They understood so much about each other in a way she could not explain. Maggie doubted Carol would ever get it. It was just... when Jon told her lies, she had never been deceived.

Maggie had been standing there for maybe an hour when she heard a soft moan.

Like a spell broken, the inertia left her and she made her way to the boys’ bedroom.

With the landing light on, and their door open, she identified the problem at once. Michael had fallen out of bed. In his sleep, he had become confused. Too tired to work out what was wrong, he pulled his quilt over him and tried to resettle on the floor.

Maggie went to him and spoke softly. “Michael, you’ve fallen out of bed in your sleep, so I’m going to lift you up and put you in your nice, warm bed, okay? I’m just helping you back to bed, darling.”

She talked like that often when they were tired. They seemed to absorb the message even if they didn’t appear to wake up. Instead of waking up and crying, they would carry on sleeping. She knew it didn’t seem logical, but she knew from practice that it worked.

Sure enough, Michael snuggled back down, and Maggie sat on his bed and watched the boys’ faces as they slept.

Unlike Carol, they didn’t frown in their sleep. Their faces slightly pink, their hair hot and sticky and disordered, they sprawled on the beds, quilts at odd angles. Michael slept in a foetal position. Chris sprawled on his back with his arms flung wide. Sophie, Maggie knew, would sleep on her tummy, stretched out in a tidy straight line.

What mattered to Maggie?

In the quiet, the answer came to her: her lovely, lovely children. They were innocent, vulnerable and though she knew she wasn’t a perfect mother, she had always wanted to give them a better childhood than she had.

*****

Maggie probably never did give Carol an adequate explanation. Then again, she didn’t think anything she said would prove to be adequate. Should she have said she feared being sucked into becoming Carol’s breadwinner? Was that fair? Probably not.

What Maggie did say was that she felt it would be better for her children if she stayed with Jon.

Carol looked at her with contempt. “If you go back to him now, you’ll be his bitch for the rest of your life.”

They were words that haunted her. Maggie flung them at him when they argued. He never flung Carol back at her.

They argued a lot, especially at first. They kissed and made up too. That was not so bad. They worked at making things better, but they had to work hard.

Jon looked for a job with renewed vigor, but it was three years before he eventually found one. It happened by sheer fluke. They had gone to a wedding reception and Jon fell into conversation with a man who ran a computer consultancy. Jon became a tutor, teaching others how to use specialised programmes. Maggie still always earned more than him.

Maggie expected for months and months that Carol would end up being evicted but she never was. It was left for Maggie to wonder what she had really based all her suspicions on? A resolved rent arrears issue? A small loan that was eventually repaid? The fact that Carol looked tense in her sleep?

The suspicions faded, like the memory of a song on a sea breeze. There lingered a sort of “Should I have, or shouldn’t I?” that never stayed resolved. It floated, tantalisingly, a memory to reflect on in lonely moments. Maggie was never to know, not for sure, if she did the right thing, but she thought she had.

She and Carol saw each other very occasionally, if Maggie had a day off and collected the children from school, she would see Carol at the gates. They spoke, but didn’t really talk. After two years or so, Carol moved away, and when Jon was offered his computer job, so did they. So they lost contact with Carol completely after that.

Over time, Jon changed. Not completely, but enough. He became a good father first, and a better husband later. Their lives had a complex balance, a co-dependancy that was not easy to explain, and probably not always happy or healthy - when one of them told lies, the other was never deceived.