Chapters (60)
- Cover
- Books by Sheryl Browne
- Dedication
- KARLA
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Epilogue
- The Affair
- Hear more from Sheryl
- Books by Sheryl Browne
- A Letter from Sheryl
- The Babysitter
- The Second Wife
- Acknowledgements
The last time I drank this much – in my youth, which now seems like a lifetime ago – it altered my perception of everything around me into something bearable. I felt exhilarated, uplifted and relaxed at the same time. Above all, I felt happy, filled with the overwhelming urge to dance. The lights were brighter, the colours more intense. I was locked into the music, confident on the dance floor. Free of the pain. Every and any sound was danceable to. Leaving the nightclub, I could have danced to the thrum of the rain on the pavement outside, the distant screams of a police siren. Hugged everyone and anyone.
Now, as I sit on the lowered loo seat, waiting for the walls to slow down, I feel nothing but cold and empty. In this club heaving with people, I am suddenly, irrevocably lost. A lonely, abandoned woman sitting on her own in a toilet – no one to reach out to, no one to hold me, no one to hold my hair back as I vomit into the bowl. Jason had done that once, when we were young, when being recklessly stupid was a rite of passage. He’d held me, carried me to bed, undressed me, carefully and respectfully, lain with me.
Stroked my hair softly until I’d fallen asleep.
Wrapping my arms about myself, I quiet a sob and try to still the fresh wave of nausea rising inside me, the acrid grief that grips me and won’t let go. The jealousy. I love him. I miss him. I am mourning him – my husband, my lover, the father of my children. The man I am losing.
I have to go. I have to get out of here. I pull myself to my feet as the black-painted walls of the cubicle close in on me. The wine I drank before I came to the nightclub was a mistake, beyond reckless. I should have made sure to keep myself hydrated. I was dancing non-stop, until the floor shifted off-kilter. What was I thinking?
Holly and Josh are all I can think of, as I come shakily out of the toilets, desperately longing to be where I belong: at home with my babies, with Jason… But my husband doesn’t want me.
My hook-up isn’t too bothered about hanging on to me either, I realise. As I make my way to the exit, I see he’s already hitting on a hot young thing, dressed appropriately for her age. That’s okay. He’s not my type anyway – too tanned, blonde and blue-eyed. Too arrogant. Not Jason.