He wasn’t even good-looking – perversely, the reverse.
The reunion drinks do – tepid white wine and unidentifiable canapés – was his suggestion. The innocent chance encounter, supposedly. And there he was on the other side of the room, entertaining the throng around him.
She’d always been the good girl –conscientious student, loving wife, adoring mother. It was what she’d always wanted. But the only certainty now was that no one must ever know otherwise; she must tell nobody.
As she launched herself across the wide expanse of the hall, she felt more alone than she’d ever felt and strangely more self-consciously present, more exhilarated.
M J Lewis©2016
If I was in romantic, pastoral mood last week, that seems to have passed. I suppose this is love, of sorts, in all its destructive perversity. Have taken to my bed with a stomach complaint, which could account for the dyspeptic nature of this (entirely fictitious) story. But seriously, I do need to stop writing the nice stuff!