Authors: Pamela Fudge
I
tried
not
to
shudder
at
the
memories
Jon’s
words
evoked,
and
at
the
reminder
of
what
I
had
allowed
his
actions
to
provoke
me
into
doing.
I
had
tried
to
be
understanding
of
his
feelings
and
insecurities,
though
perhaps
not
understanding
enough
in
hindsight.
In
fairness,
it
had
been
hard
to
be
rational
in
the
end,
after
months
of
being
told
that
my
weight
was
obviously
to
blame
for
the
fact
that
we
had
been
unable
to
conceive.
Coming
across
what
I’d
believed
was
proof
of
his
infidelity,
had
been
the
final
straw
and
the
only
thought
on
my
mind
the
night
of
the
wedding
was
retaliation
and
if
pregnancy
should
be
the
result,
then
so
be
it.
Having
Jon
apologise
again
so
humbly
for
his
unfair
and
cruel
treatment
of
me
was
unexpected
-
especially
as
I
now
knew
full
well
that
the
‘proof’
of
his
affair
had
just
been
me
jumping
to
stupid
conclusions.
Discovering
the
truth
had
shown
my
flimsy
excuse
for
having
a
one
night
stand
up
for
what
it
was, just
an
excuse,
but,
of
course,
by
then
it
had
been
far
too
late
to
undo
my
own
rash
actions
or
to
wish
myself
un-pregnant
in
case
the
wrong
man
was
responsible
for
the
baby
I
had
soon
discovered
I
was
carrying.
I
still
felt
sure
I
had
done
the
right
thing
all
those
years
ago
in
keeping
quiet
-
for
Jon,
for
me,
and
especially
for
William
-
but
it
was
so
hard
carrying
round
a
secret
that
could
ruin
so
many
lives
if
it
ever
got
out.
There
had
always
been
just
one
other
person
beside
me
who
knew
the
full
facts,
and
I
had
always
trusted
Tina
so
implicitly
that
I
was
able
to
bury
the
whole
thing
deep
within
my
self-conscience
for
years;
to
the
point
that
I
could
almost
convince
myself
that
the
night
in
question
had
never
happened.
However,
everything
had
changed
since
I
came
face
to
face
with
my
past
that
day
in
the
department
store.
Seeing
a
face,
one
that
I
had
never
wanted
or
expected
to
see
again,
had
forced
me
to
acknowledge
there
was
someone
else
to
be
added
to
the
equation,
and
Tina
dismissing
my
fears
wasn’t
really
helping
much
anymore.
The
truth
that
there
was
someone
out
there
who
had
recently
recognised
me
and
seen
me
with
my
son
–
which
was
only
one
step
away
from
him
putting
two
and
two
together
and
working
out
that
the
boy
might
well
be
his
son,
too.
What
had
started
as
a
simple
chat
with
Jon
had
resulted
in
the
worst
time
in
my
life
suddenly
coming
back
with
horrifying
clarity
to
haunt
and
taunt
me.
I
found
myself
gripping
a
chair
back
to
stop
myself
from
trembling,
but
nothing
could
stop
the
tears
from
falling.
Jon
was
all
concern
immediately.
He
rushed
to
my
side,
gathered
me
into
his
arms
and
rocked
me
to
and
fro.
‘Oh,
my
love,’
he
murmured,
‘I’m
so
sorry.
I
know
how
much
you
hate
talking
about
how
it
was
for
us
back
then.
It
was
a
hugely
difficult
time,
and
made
far
worse
by
my
bloody
idiotic
behaviour.
I
can’t
believe
I
was
so
cruel,
I
was...’
‘Please,
Jon,’
I
pleaded,
wiping
the
tears
from
my
eyes.
‘Please
just
stop.
All
I
want
is
to
forget
all
about
it.’
‘I
know,
I
know,’
he
crooned,
‘but
–
and
I
know
it’s
a
big
ask
–
but
I
just
need
to
know
that
you
forgive
me
for
being
such
a
complete
jerk.
You
never
have
said
that
you’ve
forgiven
me.’
No,
I
haven’t,
I
thought,
and
wished
I
could
say
out
loud
that
if
he
was
seeking
my
forgiveness
then
I
might
have
to
ask
him
to
forgive
me
–
and
then
I
would
feel
obliged
to
tell
him
that
what
I
had
done
that
was
far,
far
worse
than
uttering
selfish
words.
‘I...,’
I
began,
wondering
where
this
was
going
to
lead
and,
even
worse
as
far
as
I
was
concerned,
where
it
was
going
to
end,
and
then
the
back
door
flew
open
and
the
moment
was
gone.
‘You
aren’t
kissing
,
are
you?’
William
asked,
with
typical
six
year
old
revulsion
in
his
tone.
We
both
burst
out
laughing,
at
his
words
and
because
he
was
absolutely
filthy.
‘How
on
earth
did
you
get
that
dirty
just
riding
your
bicycle
around
the
back
garden?’
I
demanded,
shaking
my
head.
‘And,
look,
you’ve
even
torn
a
hole
in
your
jeans.’
‘Well,’
he
turned
his
grubby
face
to
me
and
beamed,
‘I’ve
had
a
lovely
time.
I
built
some
little
jumps
out
of
those
bricks
left
over
from
the
new
front
wall,
and
rode
over
them
on
my
bike.
I
might
have
fallen
off
a
few
times.
I
didn’t
hurt
myself,
though.’
‘
Jumps
?’
Jon
looked
mystified,
as
well
he
might.
‘Yes,’
Will
looked
at
us
from
one
to
the
other
and
beaming
all
the
while,
‘like
that
evil
man.’
‘What
evil
man?’
we
said
in
unison.
‘The
one
on
the
TV,’
he
said,
frowning
at
us
as
if
we
were
stupid.
‘You
know,
the
one
on
the
motorbike.’
‘Evel
Knievel,’
Jon
said,
obviously
finally
understanding, which
was
more
than
I
did.
‘Who?’
‘The
guy
who
made
a
living
jumping
over
double-decker
buses
on
his
motor
bike.
Remember?
We
watched
the
documentary
about
him
the
other
night,’
Jon
explained
patiently.
‘Mummy
hid
her
eyes,
and
then
she
said
she’d
be
better
‘ployed
making
a
cake.
It
was
a
chocolate
one,’
Will
added
as
an
afterthought.
I
gave
Jon
a
‘now
see
what
you’ve
done’
look.
It
was
obvious
to
me
–
as
it
must
be
to
him
-
that
his
taste
in
TV
viewing
was
having
far
too
much
influence
on
an
impressionable
little
boy.
‘What?’
he
asked
innocently.
‘How
was
I
to
know
our
son
would
try
to
break
his
neck
in
an
attempt
to
copy
him?
He’s
just
being
a
normal
adventurous
little
boy
and
will
be
off
trying
something
else
next
week.’
Thinking
about
the
sudden
interest
in
rugby,
I
had
a
feeling
Jon
had
hit
the
nail
on
the
head.
Relief
that
it
could
be
so
made
me
go
easy
on
William,
and
I
laughed
as
I
gathered
him
up
in
my
arms,
dirt
and
all.
‘You’re
right,’
I
said.
‘Boys
will
be
boys,
and
this
one
is
in
dire
need
of
a
bath,
right
at
this
minute,
before
we
can
eat.
It’s
just
steak
and
jacket
potatoes,
and
the
veg
is
all
prepared
for
steaming,
do
you
think
you
can
handle
that,
Daddy,
while
I
get
this
young
man
cleaned
up?’