Exposure

By Avril Osborne

In the imperfect world of real personalities, is there as much dishonesty and distrust as there is loyalty? Negative exposure by the Press can change lives. How it does so is as much about the inner strength of the personalities involved as it is about external forces.

When two women friends live through the exposure of their private lives, they face censure and threat to their relationships and their careers.

A high flying journalist, Susan is apparently a principled person, but it soon becomes clear that all is not as outward appearances suggest.

And her friend, Linda is a well regarded professor, married and with children. But her settled existence is about to shift on its axis when a young American woman joins the academic staff group.

Adverse publicity will hit them. How will each woman deal with it and how will it affect their lives?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Avril Osborne
• Release date: Jul 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465960382

Avril Osborne

I started writing when I left a thirty year career in social work. A long held ambition, my interest lies in portraying women’s issues in modern day society, in particular issues of sexual orientation, adjustment and the perceptions of others. I was born and raised in Scotland and read languages at St Andrews University, before going on to train and practice social work in both England and Scotland. My interest in writing was long standing and for several years, Orkney was the beautiful location where I was lucky enough to live and focus on my ambition. I now live in a lovely and tranquil village in central Scotland. I hope you will enjoy my novels and if you would like to contact me to comment on them, please feel free to do so.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Susan is not used to being kept waiting. Outside, the rain of early spring is falling like stair rods - vertical and piercing. It is the kind of rain that soaks in seconds. Impatient, she eyes the door, watching for Linda. She always enjoys these meetings, even if they are only occasional now. They are the social get-togethers of two women who do not question why they consider themselves best friends. Time pressures mean only infrequent suppers together, but still, each of them has had support and an unquestioning, listening ear for nearly fifteen years.

Because they meet so seldom, it is all the more unusual for Linda to be late.

And she says our time together is precious, Susan mutters to herself. Sometimes, she wonders why she bothers. Life is busy, after all.

At least the warm atmosphere of the bistro helps to dry her hair and jacket. If there is one thing that she hates it is being less than immaculate and tidily groomed. She is sufficient of a personality to be recognised, and the public, she finds, somehow expect her to have the same sartorial elegance when they see her out and about in the city, as when she is on television. It is as well that she has only a limited capacity for alcohol. It controls her intake and bleary eyes just will not do when she appears on screen tomorrow.

A young man seems to recognize her and hovers before intruding. Pardon him for asking, but is she Susan Blakely? Ah. Well, could he possibly have Miss Blakely’s autograph, just to prove to his wife that he has seen the celebrity? Susan is glad at this moment that her cheek-length blonde hair is in place now, its shape accentuating her high cheekbones as it frames her face. And her clothes are stylish and expensive enough to ensure that ordinary city rain will not spoil them or fail to show her tall, slim shape to its full advantage. With her legs crossed and her skirt slightly open at the slit, her presence stands out amongst even this sophisticated, power-dressing assembly of early evening diners.

The autograph seeker heads on his way after a few minutes of polite admiration for Susan. He wanted to know just a little bit about Susan’s career, but she was not about to get into deep conversation. Still, it is gratifying when people are interested.

Linda finally appears in the restaurant doorway, shaking her brolly and scanning the tables. Susan catches her eye and waves. Tall, dark and slim, but still more heavily built than Susan, she is a good-looking woman. Her dress, though, is just that little bit out of date by comparison with Susan’s attire, but together, they make a striking pair of friends to any onlookers.

Sorry I’m late, Linda apologises now, obviously genuinely regretting that Susan must have been sitting here for over thirty minutes whilst she wrapped up her day at the University.

Susan listens as Linda describes a late evening meeting about finances, which was convened in something of a hurry by Linda’s boss. It was a heated debate, apparently – one of those meetings where personality issues get in the way. Linda had no choice but to sit the meeting out, not even able to reach Susan by her mobile phone. Susan’s unnoticed exasperation takes its time to dissolve as Linda settles now at the table, the account of work tapering off as she too sheds the stress of the day. Linda’s genuine frustration and apology make it easy for her to forgive the wait. Susan decides to pitch right in to what is on her mind.

She has Linda’s attention right away.

Tell me, Linda, illness or madness? Love is one or the other. I’m never sure which.

Probably both, Linda laughs, after a second’s thought. But would you be without it? I take it this is about Bill? As she asks this, she gives her friend a quizzical look and rallies to the question, clearly putting all thought of University to the back of her mind. She sips a first taste of the white wine that sits ready for her on the table, visibly relaxing as she does so.

Susan looks into her wine glass, holds it up towards her friend in greeting and takes a sip before replying.

No, I suppose not – I wouldn’t be without it, I mean. But it consumes so much of your energy. And there’s barely time to lead the rest of your life.

Come on, Susan, Linda protests with a wry smile. You’ve been with Bill for over a year and look what you have done in the same time. Career, holidays, a life style to envy. And you have time to meet me – even if only occasionally.

She gives Susan a slightly chastising grin as she says the last words.

Is that the mildest of jibes? queries Susan, pulling a face in acknowledgement. Anyway, she continues, I suppose I deserved that. Come on - let’s get some food. It’s my treat by way of recompense for your kindness in putting up with me. We can talk as we eat.

And, Susan reflects, as she and Linda queue at the vegetarian counter, selecting an aubergine casserole and various salads, wine and cheese, Linda has indeed been patient, not badgering her to keep up the weekly suppers that shaped their time together till Bill arrived on the scene. Instead, Linda has been cheerfully available on the occasions when Susan has managed to ring. She guesses that Linda knows that these are the evenings when Bill is out of town or at meetings and that she is being fitted in. Linda never alludes to this and certainly never complains. Linda, Susan admits, is always very forbearing.

As they return to the pine table and put plates, wine carafe and cutlery in front of them, Susan picks up the theme of her friend’s loyalty.

You have been very patient, you know, and I do appreciate it. If this is the only time I can make for being with my best friend, heaven knows what my shrinking social circle will be like, the next time I have time to look.

Well, friends who are worth having will still be around when you come out of your ‘madness and illness’ phase, as you call it. We all know what it is like to be in love, even if it’s a long time ago for the likes of me. Linda laughs at herself with evident ease. Others will only have existed as friends of the moment and the moment will have passed.

She pauses before continuing.

You know, she muses, They say that it’s not love that’s the divisible commodity; it’s only time. There is always enough love to go round. There’s just not enough time.

Susan says nothing; just thinks about some of the times in her life when she could have been more generous of spirit and less jealous. As if sensing Susan’s discomfort, Linda veers the conversation to lighter areas.

Anyway, how is Bill? Let’s get back to that. Dare I ask – how’s it all going between you?

Susan holds Linda’s gaze for a moment, measuring how to respond. She knows that Linda is asking a searching question in the lightest way, so giving her the choice between a truthful and a more superficial response. Susan decides on saying it how it is.

He’s a nice man, Linda, and we are still wrapped up in each other most of the time. He is kind and attentive and thoughtful. Susan finds these descriptions slowly, as if trying them on for the first time to see whether they really fit. And, I have to say, the sex is good. she adds, with a quick glance and grin at her friend.

Linda says nothing except but? and smiles with an enquiring look, waiting for Susan to continue.

He wants us to move in together.

Ah. And is that not what you want?

Well, I’m not sure that it is. I should be thinking yes! but – well, I’m really doubtful. I suppose, if I’m honest, it’s partly Bill and partly me. I just don’t feel ready for the all-consuming attention he pours on me. I also don’t feel I’m ready to give that sort of commitment myself.

Well, that’s pretty clear, Linda says, wryly. It sounds to me as if you are coming out of the madness and illness phase and beginning to look around you again.

I suppose so, muses Susan, reluctantly. But if that’s so, I have to say that I’m sorry too. At the beginning, you know, I thought ‘this is it’. Now I’m thinking there must be something wrong with me.

Nonsense, Linda retorts abruptly. "You are only thirty-five, for God’s sake. You have the life of a careerist and you are a city girl – the modern woman in just about every respect. You of all people should know that there’s more to life than the perfect love." She labours the last three words.

Susan is silent, reflecting on what Linda has just said. And she realizes that she has been too silent for too long, thinking about being a careerist, as Linda has just described her. Is it always career or relationships, like two dichotomous options?

Are you disappointed about your feelings for Bill? Linda probes.

No, not at all, Susan protests and doubts her certainty as soon as she speaks. You can’t feel for someone what you don’t feel for them, she sighs. I suppose, if I’m honest, I am more disappointed that I have never experienced that thing you refer to as the perfect love. No, I was thinking about how I came to be in the city. It’s been five years now, all with the T.V. Company. You would think I could have made a better job of my personal life. It seems so out of step with my professional persona. God, if the great public only knew.

Linda hesitates for a moment before replying, and keeps her eyes on her plate as she does so.

Susan, there really is no problem with your personal life. I envy you the spontaneity you can bring to a relationship. Don’t undermine the person you present as being on TV. It’s all you, you know.

Susan just laughs and lets Linda continue.

Anyway, three relationships in fifteen years is hardly a big deal. They were nice blokes, maybe with the exception of that Dave Ramsey - I never could fathom him out. Mind you, I only met him once or twice. And the way he’s been behaving since you and Bill got together, phoning you, driving round past the house - it’s very odd.

I don’t know now what I was doing, seeing that appalling man, Susan says with real contempt in her voice. But it’s more than that, she goes on, returning to the subject of Bill. It would be good to be settled – I can’t think of anyone kinder than Bill. Any advice, Linda? She laughs as she asks this, but Linda can see that she really wants to know what Linda thinks.

The old adages are the best. If in doubt, don’t. But then, you know what they say about advice.

Susan laughs and shrugs to change the subject.

Bring me up to date on what has been happening with you.

She braces herself for concentration. Linda is a professor of archaeology. Her preoccupations at the moment centre on a text that she is producing on the significance of recent archaeological excavations of an Iron Age village on an outer Hebridean island. Susan does her best to ask intelligent questions on a subject that they both know holds little interest for her.

Later, over coffee, she enquires about Linda’s husband, Ken, and their children, but when she does so she realizes that Linda’s attention returns quickly to a planned excursion by the University Department to the excavation site in the summer recess.

Half an hour later, when Susan feels that neither of them is going to take the conversation to any deeper or more interesting areas, she glances at her watch and begins to bring the evening to an end.

It is dry enough outside now for them to agree to walk to the taxi rank. As they stroll, Linda slips an arm through Susan’s and reflects on the evening.

You know, it has been so good to spend time with you. Even when I’ve had a lousy day at work, it’s still important to me to have you to myself from time to time. But you and Bill should come over really soon and spend the day with the children and us. Why not make it one Sunday when you aren’t working?

Agreed, Susan smiles and gives her the usual woman-to-woman hug which was so well accepted in their social circles. As if as an afterthought, she ventures, And, you know, Linda, when I do need to talk, it’s you I turn to.

She is the first to pull away from the taxi rank and she turns to wave, but her friend is occupied in giving directions to the driver who will take her in the opposite direction. For a split second, she thinks she recognises the outline of the man who emerges from the shadows of a shop doorway. But she dismisses the thought. It must be a trick of the mind. They have just mentioned Dave Ramsey and she is imagining things; that is all. Nevertheless, she feels herself shiver with a mix of distaste and fear.

CHAPTER 2

As she puts the frisson to the back of her mind and settles in the taxi, Susan thinks how true it is that she talks mainly to Linda. In a way, she talks with Bill about her relationship with him and the things that they share. But they now skirt around the questions of the future and whether it could become something more permanent. She recognizes that she has gone beyond the ‘here and now’ stage of being in love but that, almost inevitably, Bill will soon ask her to make a definite decision about moving in together. This keeps her avoiding topics that could lead them into this subject. With Linda, however, she has talked over the years about her relationships as she chooses, evaluating them, celebrating them and laughing at herself in them.

She has, after all, known Linda since their London days. They were good pals then, their friendship growing and deepening when they met up again after Susan moved to the city. They bumped into each other again at a University function to which Susan was invited. Linda was recently appointed to the Archaeology Department. After that, it suited them both to coffee or supper together in the city, on their own, and away from Linda’s family commitments. Susan is not terribly interested in the domestic side to her friend’s life, other for observing the courtesies.

Despite their closeness, she never divulges too much about the intimate and sexual aspects of her relationships to Linda. Then again, this is a boundary that most women friends respect – at least while the relationship with the particular man lasts. Tonight, she did not want to delve too deeply into her feelings, sensing that she needed to protect herself from her own question – whether there is something wrong in not having made a fully committed relationship by this stage in her life. She comforts herself that, as Linda says, many women of her age are single and career-minded, and have changed men from time to time. The average age for marrying is, after all, increasing all the time.

Susan’s taxi driver is the silent type, and she enjoys the few minutes for reflection. She always finds that an evening with Linda has this effect on her. At thirty-five, Susan has had a full and eventful life since leaving university. She was fired, at that time, by socialist and feminist ideals. Since then, her career has given her personal and professional freedoms shared by not many women of her generation. Well-educated and untrammelled by any strong religious conviction, she considers herself to have a basic set of values of good and bad, right and wrong which were inculcated by an agnostic, middle of the road professional family. After graduation, several of her friends were heading for teaching or professional secretarial courses. Her own instinct was that, ultimately, both of these routes would be dull, male dominated fields, and so, not for her. By marching on her intellect, she reasoned, she would compete on an equal basis in an unequal world.

A career in television, she decided, was to be her route to this freedom of opportunity. Inspired by the notion of speaking for truth and for justice – or so she told the selection panel at interview – she was accepted for a post-graduate diploma course at a London School of Journalism.

The taxi driver has to prompt her back from her thoughts. He has stopped, parallel to cars parked by the kerb and is aware from looking at her in his mirror that she is lost in her own thoughts. Vaguely embarrassed, she tips him well and alights. This is one area of the city where she feels reasonably safe at night. She lives in the western and smart neighbourhood only a mile or so from the centre, but already leafy and with enormous houses from a different era. Architect designed properties have in-filled many of the grounds of these impressive houses but the area still manages to retain its expensive look.

Susan enters her first floor flat just before eleven. Hers is Victorian, one of two flats converted from the original house. It cost her more than she could afford at the time when she bought it but, on the other hand, it has increased in value by almost eighty percent over the few years she has lived here. And she likes the luxury of the combed ceilings, the four elegant rooms and the en-suite bathroom to her own bedroom. The last word in kitchen fittings gives the flat a feel of being a new home within an old frame and, although she is not in the slightest domestically inclined, she enjoys entertaining in the atmosphere of intimate sophistication that her home conveys.

She has to feel for the light switch to illuminate her entry. The flat is warm and, as she goes down the hall, the wall clock strikes the hour. In the kitchen, she opens the fridge to pour herself a glass of mineral water. The downstairs neighbour has been in and laid her mail on the kitchen work surface.

Absent-mindedly, she only scans the envelopes, knowing that anything of interest will be on her laptop in e-mail form. There are two bills and some circulars. Her next automatic steps are to turn up the volume on the answer phone, press the playback switch and head for the bedroom. She undresses as she listens. The first two messages are work related – one to arrange a meeting with Jonathon Whitney, her boss, the second an administrative assistant asking her to contact the office about travel arrangements for a forthcoming programme. She moves into the bathroom and starts to remove eye makeup with a cotton wool pad. The taped message that follows stops her at once.

It’s me. It’s over, Susan. I’m ending it. And it’s your fault.

That was Dave Ramsey. She recognizes the voice straight away, first with a groan, then with cold alarm. There are no more messages. She moves to the phone, picks up the receiver and dials the recall number.

You were called today at 22.44, intones the electronic voice. The caller withheld their number.

She plays the message again, suddenly and irrationally uncomfortable in her bra and pants. She has heard accurately. She struggles to get her thoughts together. Is it a suicide threat? Is it a real suicide call? It could be either. Could it be something else? Reluctantly, she dismisses the idea. The ‘it’ in the message that is over is her relationship with Ramsey. It must be what he is referring to – even if she finished that over two years ago. It has to be a suicide call - of some sort.

Susan’s thoughts jumble. She is concerned for herself – not for Dave Ramsey. He has been nothing but a dependant wimp at the time and a bloody nuisance since.

What should she do? Nothing? It is an attractive proposition to do nothing. After all, this is probably no more than Ramsey ‘upping the anti’ in his usual post-rejection behaviour. He has made numerous phone calls over the many months, after all. He has followed her and he has sent plenty of pleading letters – all of which she has ignored. Can she afford to ignore this one? No, not if the threat is for real. Not that she worries, she realizes, about Dave Ramsey taking his life. More fool him, she mutters aloud to no one. She sees the advantage in Dave Ramsey being dead and out of her hair for good.

But reason and sense kick in. She knows that she cannot ignore this because she cannot afford questions in the public domain. The public domain is her world and if, later, it comes out that she had such a message and did nothing, it would not look good. That would not suit her responsible image of social commentator.

‘Mind you,’ she calculates, ‘I need not necessarily have listened to the answer phone. I came home late and went straight to bed. Who would be any the wiser?’

Then it dawns on her with an expletive. Damn. I rang number recall. That will be traceable. Quite who would trace this, she is not clear. But she well knows the power of the media when it comes to investigative journalism.

So here she is, with someone probably threatening suicide and blaming her. If she takes the risk and ignores the call – and nothing happens – her professional reputation will be unaffected. But if she takes any action at all she could expose herself to questions – questions that she would rather not answer.

The last thing she wants is any prying interest into why Dave Ramsey, a rather down at heal and bespectacled postgraduate student of theology with a dull secretary for a wife, should be linked to Susan Blakely, presenter of ‘Tonight Live’ on Regional T.V. If she does nothing and the idiot kills himself, leaving a trail back to her, she will be doubly exposed. Once would be by her connection to him, once by doing nothing in response to the phone message. Then again, if Ramsey does not go through with his threat, she might needlessly make the relationship public herself.

It takes her a few minutes as she finishes undressing and cleaning off her make-up to gather her thoughts and to come to a decision. She decides to play the situation as a concerned acquaintance, on the assumption that Ramsey really does have suicide in mind. But now what should she do? She can hardly ring the mousy wife, Brenda. That could reveal too much to Dave’s sad little spouse. She barely knows the woman, but from what little she has seen of her, she would hardly be of much help in a crisis. Who can she ring? The GP would be best but Susan has no idea who Ramsey’s doctor is.

Oh God, she groans out loud. I suppose there’s no alternative.

She lifts the phone directory, looks up the local police station in the suburbs where she knows Dave Ramsey lives and dials the number.

Good evening. Could I speak to the officer on the duty desk? Fine. My name is Blakely. I don’t know whether this is an emergency or not but I came in a few moments ago to find a message on my answer machine from someone I know slightly. It could be a suicide threat. I was not sure whether to ring you or not.

She listens to the voice on the other end of the phone and repeats the message on the machine, verbatim, for the policeman’s benefit.

Dave…. Ramsey, I think his name is. I am pretty sure it is his voice. He’s something to do with theology at the University. He lives at nine, Tiverton Drive. I looked it up in the directory before I rang.

Well, no, I didn’t ring his house. To be honest I hardly know him. And I only know his wife slightly. I think that she is a bit nervy and I didn’t want to alarm her. I thought you would have more experience of this sort of thing.

My name? Yes - it’s Susan Blakely. She gives her address and phone number. If they know who she is, they do not comment.

I have no idea, she responds to a question as to why the phone call might have come to her. Well, to be honest, I have had a bit of trouble with him – nothing serious. Just a couple of phone calls. And I do see him about.

Well yes, I will be here. I was just going to bed.

Of course, She replies. She hangs up and removes the cassette from the answer phone in response to the request to do so which she has just received from the police. She notes that the quarter hour sounds on the hall clock. She feels both relieved and anxious at once at the line she has just taken.

She is wakened at 12.40 to the sound of the doorbell rang. She must have crashed into sleep and it takes her a second to work out that the bell is the door and not the screeching train of her dream. She struggles to the door in a daze and pushes the intercom button.

Miss Blakely. Can we come in? It’s the police, says a woman’s voice. A second or two later, Susan sees the woman’s uniform through the spy hole of her front door. A police sergeant is with her.

Are you alone? the sergeant asks solicitously as she walks to the lounge ahead of the officers.

Yes, but that’s O.K. I take it this is about Dave Ramsey? What happened? Can you say?

Yes, I’m afraid so. He was admitted to the city hospital. He took an overdose. We found him in his car inside the University campus a short while ago.

CHAPTER 3

The Pilar family was still up when Linda walked through the front door and into the large square entrance hall. Theirs is a mid-wars, two storied house, built with no expense spared when they renovated it and brought it up to modern day standards. It has a graceful, square appearance that Linda appreciates every time she comes home to its central hallway that is itself the size of a room. She listened to the sound of the family. Their nanny was already upstairs, light classical music emanating from her room off the square landing.

Ken was in the downstairs study working on an interactive medical programme on the computer. Over six feet tall and well built, his round, even-tempered face gave up its concentration to greet his wife. He could never be called handsome but he is an imposing presence that seems to make him attractive to many women admirers. It is a standing joke at the surgery that it is a good thing that he is the faithful type. She smiled and waved in through the door at her husband.

The children, Angela and Kenny, were already in night attire, still managing to look child-like as they lay on parallel sofas in the lounge, absorbed in some high action film. She kissed both youngsters on the forehead, and got an answering smile and a hug from Angela and a manly nod from the two years older Kenny. At twelve, Angela still has a favourite teddy who watches TV with her.

Have you two had a good day? she asked and got only nods in return.

She conceded victory to the television and, with an exaggerated sigh, half threatened, half promised to return later. With a tired sigh, she eased into the safety of the study she and Ken share and abstractedly accepted his great bear hug and kiss.

So, how was Susan? Ken enquired.

Fine. I’ve invited her and Bill to Sunday lunch as soon as she can make it. I’m not sure that the relationship is going to hold, though, from what little she said.

Mm. Shame. Bill’s a solid sort of guy. And that would be good for her. Mind you – maybe that’s precisely why it won’t work. It always strikes me that Susan is the equivalent of the lad who is sewing his wild oats – not ready to settle down, in case her freedom is restricted. But there is something else – I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe she is still becoming the person she is going to be.

Linda did not reply. She knows of old Ken’s ability to touch on the essence of a person. Then again, he is a doctor and has done a fair amount of training in psychology – a particular interest of his. Sometimes, though, he is judgemental and the last thing she needed was an opinion on this friend of hers who prefers her company to the company of her and Ken together.

Instead, they talked about the day’s work. Ken was hard pressed at the medical centre where he shares a practice with five other general practitioners and two dozen or so ancillary staff. He also lectured to the post-graduate school at the University, albeit only for an hour. His evening was less pressured; one of family time. And his family is everything to him. Tonight, he willingly concerned himself with being home by seven to let the nanny away to a concert, to cook pasta and meat sauce for the kids and to listen to accounts of their days.

Linda listened in turn to Ken’s description of the children’s days. Angela had a pretty ordinary day. She is still adjusting to being in secondary education with all the pressures of the new academic curriculum and new friends in the making. She is the socialite of the two children. If her first attempts at science subjects are anything to go by, she will not be following her father into the medical profession. Still, she is obviously bright and her aptitude for languages is beginning to emerge. Kenny’s day was dominated by his rugby session after school where he earned the title ‘man of the match’ for a particularly good tackle. He also acquired a large bruise over one eye to which Ken gave a few moments professional attention, to reassure himself more than the youngster. Young Kenny was barely unperturbed – there was no serious damage. Kenny was too high with his rugby success to discuss the lessons of the day.

Much as he prefers Linda to be home in the evenings, Ken also secretly loves these times of parenting, and always has. Linda, both professionally and socially, has always had a busy life outside the home. This was her lifestyle before they married and she was not about to give it up in marrying Ken. Notions of ‘quality time’ were prevalent as she was rearing the children as infants and the debate was ongoing then, as always, about the role of women as mothers in the working world. Should they work or not, socialise or not, have equal career opportunities or not? Their particular way as a couple was smoothly paved, as two professional salaries came together at more than twice their separate value.

Children in bed, the couple continued their conversation, mainly on practical arrangements for the next day, as they undressed. Linda told Ken about the gross behaviour of her male colleagues at the meeting on budget cuts as she removed make-up. Absent-mindedly, she acknowledged an appreciative glance from Ken as he caught her eye in the mirror. She is best described as a handsome woman. At five foot eight inches, she is tall until, that is, she stands by Ken. She has short dark hair and what she knows to be piercing brown eyes, softened by the laughter lines of early middle age. And she means to keep her good looks. As a young woman, she played hockey, squash and netball and was recognized as an able sportswoman at both school and university. These days, she limits herself to sailing, walking and running, and to the occasional skiing trip. But her physical fitness matters to her and when time permits she uses her lunch breaks to work out in the gym. She is not going to let her well-built physique go to fat.

The comfort of their marriage is as evident in the bedroom as in the rest of their day-to-day lives. Tonight, as most nights, they embrace as they finish their conversation, turn out the light and settle to sleep. As most nights, Ken’s arm is round her waist, a hand holding her left breast.

Linda lies in the dark, drifting quietly now with some time to herself and with her own thoughts. Five years older than she is, Ken is a warm and safe place to be in every sense and, thankfully, he does not press his sexual attention on her too often.