Something Only We Know Read Free Page B

his anecdotes? It could be because she’s absorbing your partner’s mind. These mentions don’t even have to be complimentary – they could be neutral or even
hostile. A man sometimes hides his interest underneath a barrage of critical comments, the same way the little boy in the playground will yank the plaits of the girl he secretly fancies.
    Famine : How are things in the bedroom? You could find your sex life’s stalling because his energies are being diverted. Look out for
signs such as his being permanently tired, or achy/sick/stressed. Perhaps he no longer comes to bed at the same time as you to avoid any advances, or won’t undress with you in the room for
fear of revealing love bites or scratches.
    Feast : Alternatively, your man might be keener than ever on sex, either as a result of overstimulation or the need to compensate for his
cheating. Watch out if he suddenly has a variety of new techniques at his disposal – who’s taught him those?
    By the time I’d dealt with the quilters and then signed off the cheating article, it was getting on for half six. Gerry had packed up and gone; Rosa was still in her
office, or at least her fan was whirring. God knows how late she intended staying. I emailed the pieces across to her and picked up my bag.
    I was still fuming, and the content of the article had unsettled me. Gerry laughed at me for it but sometimes I worried about writing copy that could upset people. Who knew what effect my glib,
thrown-together checklist might have on individual readers? Spouses collared and challenged, rightly or wrongly, distress caused whichever way the truth fell. Evenings filled with accusations. And
all in the name of filling column inches.
    Well, thank God I trusted Owen. He wasn’t going to be cheating. He barely had enough attention to cover one girlfriend, let alone a bit on the side.
    I rechecked my watch now, considered my options. Although it wasn’t one of the nights we usually met up, I wondered if he might be free for a quick cuppa and to listen to a moan about
horrible bosses. I could pop down there now. Just say hello. I didn’t fancy going straight home.
    Owen was currently based on the top floor of a tall, thin townhouse overlooking the river. Being an unwaged political activist, he’d never have been able to afford a place like that
himself, but back in the day his dad had married money, divorced, and walked away with a very good settlement. Mr Cooke now owned no fewer than four properties in Chester, and allowed his son to
live in one rent-free. Which made Owen a lucky dog. I’d have given anything to move out of our three-bed semi, with its pokey bathroom and too-thin walls. Mustn’t be ungrateful, though;
my parents were already subbing me through my internship, Dad grafting long hours to keep his haulage firm going, and Mum with her part-time receptionist’s post. And as I was often reminded,
at least I had a roof over my head, not like those poor souls standing outside Thorntons in all weathers flogging
The Big Issue
. In any case, it would have been wrong to envy Owen’s
wealth since he was using his secure financial position to campaign for a fairer society. His flat aside, he really did care nothing for material possessions. If you gave him an expensive gift
he’d most likely pass it on to someone in need (I’d learnt that the hard way). More than once I’d witnessed him stop in the street to remove items of his own clothing – warm
jacket, good trainers – and hand them to a beggar.
    This July evening it was a quiet, pleasant walk down to the Dee. The shoppers had dispersed but it was too early for the drinkers to be out. As I passed the artisan bakery, speckled pigeons
loitered hopefully. The shadows were lengthening, the red sandstone Walls rosy in the sunlight. Bunting fluttered from the tops of the Rows. The atmosphere was festive, English, summertime. How
much did Owen notice of the city, its history and beauty? Or did you