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
Arranging his face to appropriately concerned, as of course he would be, Robert pushed the door open and went in. She would be broken-hearted, naturally, but he felt it was his duty as a father to point out that leopards rarely changed their spots.
Nine
KARLA
I can’t believe that my father, the very last person I want to know about this, would walk into the kitchen at the precise second I’m crying my eyes out. Aware that my father hasn’t rated Jason since the day he discovered he’d ‘blighted’ my life, getting me pregnant – which was nothing to do with me, of course – I feel as if I’ve just handed him the dynamite with which to blow our marriage apart. He’s bound to say something to Jason about this, if only to wind him up. God, what have I done?
Mum reaches across the table for my hand as I exhale a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears. ‘His friend sent it to him,’ she reminds me firmly. ‘It’s not like he’s been browsing these sites himself, for goodness’ sake. Don’t go rushing in, accusing him of anything without the facts, Karla. You’ll only end up arguing again.’
‘You’ve been arguing?’ my father asks, arching an eyebrow questioningly as he looks at me, and then down to Jason’s phone on the table, on which is the bloody photograph. I dearly wish I hadn’t said anything to Mum.
‘About my offering to help him out financially, presumably, before his business goes under?’ My father looks back at me, unimpressed.
‘No,’ I lie, in defence of my husband, and then backtrack. ‘Not that, exactly. Jason’s been worrying. Obviously, he has.’ Not least about what you might want in exchange for this financial help, I don’t say. ‘And when we got back from Mum’s birthday party, we found the babysitter had allowed Holly to watch unsuitable stuff on Netflix, and… Oh, I don’t know.’ I sigh, growing agitated and weary with it all – Dad’s tiresome crusade to prove Jason isn’t ‘good enough’ for me; Jason’s flat refusal to accept the help he clearly needs. This. I would never have spoken to Mum if I’d known my father was right outside the door. I shouldn’t have. I should have spoken to Jason first. I should never have gone behind his back and talked to my father about offering him a loan.