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
‘Ignore him,’ I tell Jason. ‘We’re supposed to be enjoying ourselves.’ Hooking an arm through his, I lead him away from the bar. I certainly don’t want to be sitting miserably at the table, watching everyone else having fun, while my mind wanders sadly down memory lane – which it’s bound to, now feelings of my rudely isolated childhood have surfaced.
We reach our table and I plonk my glass down, revving myself up to join the throng on the dance floor. Mum and the girls from the golf club are still ‘getting their groove on’. The band member’s son ought to be a little less keen, I can’t help thinking. Mum might well take up his invitation to ‘Come on Over to My Place’, which is the current song the partygoers are throwing themselves into with gusto. The man has some moves.
‘I think I’ll sit this one out,’ Jason says, with a half-hearted smile.
‘Oh, Jase…’ Disappointed, I sigh as he wearily sits down and parks his coke in front of him. I don’t normally act like a teenager. With two children to look after, as well as working close to full-time, I’m too exhausted to walk up the stairs to bed half the time, but the music is contagious.
‘Maybe later,’ Jason says, reaching to ease the crick in the back of his neck. ‘Sorry, I’m just a bit tired, I guess.’
He’s bound to be. I feel a surge of sympathy. He’d slept badly, which is why he was in a mad rush and more stressed than usual this morning. I’m not surprised, with his business worries and bills we can’t meet piling up. Nor am I surprised he’s not in the mood for partying, but things haven’t exactly been easy lately for either of us. It would do us both good to loosen up. Jason, though, his brow furrowed pensively as he runs a finger around the rim of his glass, doesn’t look as if he’s going to be moved.
‘Right, well, I hope you don’t mind if I do. A girl’s gotta have a little fun, you know.’ Wiggling my hips, which causes him to raise his eyebrows in amusement, I head off to join Mum and her toy boy on the dance floor.
Allowing the music to wash through me, I soon lose myself completely. For a short, blissful time, I am carefree, detached from the me who frets constantly, transported to a place where I don’t have to worry about our financial problems, about my children, my father belittling their father. I concentrate everything on the dance.