The Secrets of Married Women
“I am sitting in a beaten-up white VW Golf outside a block of flats. Mortified. Terrified. Electrified.
He drove with one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding mine. I sense he’s treading carefully. We are sitting here as the engine turns, his foot doing a discreet rapid tapping. I’m sure he knows that one clumsy move will scare me off. His gentlemanly consideration for me helps.
In a moment of bravery I hear myself say, ‘Let’s go inside then.’ A part of me is saying, you are disgrace...ful. Another part is saying it’s just a fling. People have them all the time. Leigh’s having one. For a lot less reason than I’m doing this.
My heart hammers up three flights of stairs, leaving me rattling like a windy radiator, which he jokes about. I notice how he keeps behind me; I feel his eyes on my legs and bottom. It does terrible things with my nerves. We reach the top floor and walk the threadbare carpet of a dim corridor that smells of stale cigarette smoke. The crackled reception of a radio filters under somebody’s door: Oasis; that song: something about Sally waiting.MoreLess
He drove with one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding mine. I sense he’s treading carefully. We are sitting here as the engine turns, his foot doing a discreet rapid tapping. I’m sure he knows that one clumsy move will scare me off. His gentlemanly consideration for me helps.
In a moment of bravery I hear myself say, ‘Let’s go inside then.’ A part of me is saying, you are disgrace...ful. Another part is saying it’s just a fling. People have them all the time. Leigh’s having one. For a lot less reason than I’m doing this.
My heart hammers up three flights of stairs, leaving me rattling like a windy radiator, which he jokes about. I notice how he keeps behind me; I feel his eyes on my legs and bottom. It does terrible things with my nerves. We reach the top floor and walk the threadbare carpet of a dim corridor that smells of stale cigarette smoke. The crackled reception of a radio filters under somebody’s door: Oasis; that song: something about Sally waiting.MoreLess
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