Least Said (62 page)

Eventually,
when
I’d
assembled
my
thoughts
into
some
sort
of
order,
I
realised
I
could
ring
the
school
and
ask
them
to
pass
on
a
message.
Realising
Jon
could
be
back
at
any
moment,
I
was
shaking
with
nerves
before
I’d
even
picked
up
the
receiver
and
misdialled
twice.

‘Come
on,
come
on,’
I
urged
myself,
and
then
I
heard
the
familiar
voice
of
the
receptionist.
I
cut
across
her
spiel,
saying
briefly,
‘Please
can
you
make
sure
a
message
gets
to
Mr
Montgomery
that
Mrs
H
can’t
make
her
ten
o’clock
appointment.
Thank
you
so
much,’
before
I
cut
the
call.

I
dropped
the
receiver
as
if
it
was
red
hot
just
as
Jon’s
key
turned
in
the
lock
and
the
front
door
opened.

We
stood
face
to
face
in
silence,
and
then
I
said,
‘Can
I
get
you
anything?
Tea?
Coffee?’

Jon’s
face
twisted,
‘The
only
thing
I
want
from
you,
Wendy,’
he
said,
‘is
the
truth.’

We
went
into
the
kitchen
–
the
wonderful
kitchen
of
my
dreams
that
had
immediately
become
the
hub
of
a
wonderful
home.
The
kitchen
that
Jon
had
built
especially
for
me
when
we
moved
into
the
house
with
our
brand
new
baby
–
remembering,
I
was
appalled
all
over
again
at
what
I
had
done.

My
hands
trembled
as
I
filled
a
glass
with
water
from
the
tap.
I
wasn’t
much
of
a
drinker,
but
at
that
moment
I
wished
more
than
anything
that
the
glass
was
holding
gin
or
something
of
that
ilk.

I
sat
down
at
the
table
with
the
glass
of
water
in
front
of
me
and
Jon
remained
standing,
leaning
against
the
worktop
with
his
arms
folded
across
his
chest,
his
expression
was
grim.

‘I
don’t
know
where
to
start,’
I
admitted,
and
he
practically
snarled,
‘You
could
try
at
the
beginning.’

‘It
was
when
we
were
having
problems
conceiving,’
I
watched
Jon’s
lip
curl
and
hurried
on
before
he
could
interrupt.
‘We’d
just
been
told
you
had
a
low
sperm
count,
but
you
chose
to
ignore
that
and
to
blame
the
fact
I
wasn’t
getting
pregnant
on
my
weight.’

‘So,
this
is
all
my
fault,
is
it?’

‘Well,
as
I
tried
to
say
at
the
time,
it
wasn’t
anybody’s
fault
.
Some
people
do
have
problems
conceiving.’

‘But
you
found
a
novel
way
of
solving
that
problem,
didn’t
you?
Didn’t you
?’
he
fumed
savagely
when
I
didn’t
immediately
reply.

I
knew
he
was
hurting,
but
I’d
still
had
enough.
‘Shut
up,
Jon,’
I
said
harshly,
standing
up
to
face
him
with
my
hands
flat
on
the
table.
‘Shut
up
and
listen.
You’ve
asked
for
the
truth
and
that’s
what
I’m
giving
you
–
then
you
can
do
what
you
like
with
it.’

Jon
pressed
his
lips
together
in
a
hard,
straight
line.
I
could
see
that
he
was
desperate
to
speak,
but
mercifully
he
remained
silent.

I
sat
down
again.
‘I
knew
you
were
hurting
and
were
probably
embarrassed
by
the
doctor’s
verdict,
and
that
was
why
I
didn’t
argue
with
you.
You
said
I
was
to
blame
for
our
fertility
problems
and
I
let
you
believe
that
I
accepted
that
I
was.
I
didn’t
at
all,
not
really,
and
so
resentment
against
you
was
building
up
over
quite
a
long
period
of
time.’

Jon
looked
uncomfortable
for
a
moment
and
I
knew
I
had
hit
a
nerve,
but
that
he
wasn’t
going
to
give
an
inch
was
proved
as
he
quickly
recovered
and
roared,
‘That
was
no
excuse
–
none
at
all
-
for
you
to
go
running
off
and
finding
someone
else
to
do
the
bloody
deed.’

‘But
that
wasn’t
all
there
was
to
it.’
I
kept
my
own
tone
low,
little
more
than
a
whisper.

Jon
looked
taken
aback,
and
he
stared
at
me,
before
asking
more
quietly,
‘What
do
you
mean?’

‘Do
you
remember
–
at
around
the
same
time
-
when
you
were
going
off
on
that
weekend
work
conference
with
Kerry?’

He
shrugged,
and
answered,
‘Yes,
I
do
vaguely,
but
what
has
that
to
do
with
anything?’