The Swimming Lesson – A London Short Story

“I swear if there’s a woman in Bedford, some school tart you used to shag behind the bike sheds, don’t bother to come back. Don’t think I won’t find out either; I can smell them. There won’t be any ‘Donna, give me another chance’ this time.”

She went to the bedroom door and shouted, “Chrissy come up here and say goodbye to your dad.”

Mike Anderson grimaced but said UFABETอันไหนคนสมัครเยอะ

nothing. He continued to pack the overnight bag that lay open on their bed.

She watched him for the slightest clue he was lying. She was reassured when he put pyjamas, dressing gown, and his slippers into the bag. Then she reasoned it could be a scam. He wouldn’t have packed a bottle of Champagne and a box of condoms in front of her.

Donna felt a strange sensation in her chest that she had almost forgotten. Love, she thought. This stupid, stupid man who she loved so much it hurt might be throwing away everything with some shabby one-night fling.

She handed him the T-shirt she’d ironed. The years together and she still got a thrill from the sight of his smooth, sculptured torso. The bulk of his biceps had been a pillow for her head just an hour before.

His daily workout in the gym he’d created in their garage meant if he was not the handsomest man she’d ever known, he was the strongest.

He dropped his mobile phone into his jeans’ pocket. “Look it’ll be on,” he said. “Ring me any time.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

He couldn’t think of a smart reply so instead pulled her towards him by the belt of her housecoat.

She kept her lips closed until she yielded to the pressure of his mouth.

Perhaps he should cancel the trip, he thought. Some Saturday morning nookie – the only time their daughter could be guaranteed fixed to the television – would sooth both their tempers of the last few days.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” she said pulling away.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ll be back before lunch tomorrow. Don, I really am going to meet Adrian, his missus, and their three kids.”

She knew he was telling the truth about the meeting. She’d spied on his e-mails. But he had got up to enough mischief in the afternoons without spending a night away. Who knows what temptation he might find after a few drinks?

“No more tattoos,” she said firmly. The last time he’d strayed – with a Bosnian ballet student he’d rescued from a chip pan fire – he had M and D entwined inside a heart decorate his shoulder. It wasn’t his first tattoo.

He kissed her again and this time she’d didn’t resist.

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