He wore suit trousers, straight from work, creased from a day of sitting down and his nervous habit of pulling at the cloth whenever he stood up. He also wore stubble sprinkled liberally across skin displaying the first signs of slackening and a painful smile that failed to reach tired eyes. She wore jeans, the same as yesterday and the day before and all the days that he could remember before that, topped with a white t-shirt that had seen better days. There were holes in the knees of her jeans and in her socks for that matter and the sole of her left trainer had peeled back to shed glue on the carpet. Black fingerprints adorned her t-shirt where she had put the paper down to stand accusingly in the doorway and ask,

'Are you having an affair? Or shall I?'

The question hung in the air between them still, creasing worry lines onto her face as well as his. She was still beautiful. So he did not answer the question but took her by the hand, dragged her to the car, trainers in hand, and drove to the most expensive restaurant he could find that waslikely to have a free table on a Saturday night, phoning for a babysitter to pick Johnnie up from his mother's on the way. It was a very expensive restaurant. They waived the no trainers rule when she threatened to take them off in the lobby and go in barefoot, his credit card helped to soothe their pain. He ordered for them both, not looking at the descriptions, just the prices. So they had lobster.

He sat and stared at her, marvelling that she had ever chosen him, hoping that he hadn't ruined everything.

'I'm not having an affair you know?'

'I'm sorry, I'm going to be sick.'

She ran, knocking the chair off balance as she went, leaving a hurricane of bread, lobster, napkin and wood in her wake. He stared after her thoughtfully, not understanding. He sat and waited. Ten minutes later she returned, whiter than her t-shirt, sat downamidst the detritus wondering whether to chew on her fingernails or a bread stick. He was still watching her,

'I'm really not having an affair.'

'I know. Neither am I.'

'Well that's a relief.'

'Yes. I've been ill a lot recently.'

'You have, haven't you? You should go and see a doctor.'

'I have.'

'Oh. What did he say? Is there something wrong?'

'Well, maybe. He thinks I'm pregnant.'

Dumbfounded. He sits for a moment, digesting the news, running through surprise, disbelief, anger, fear and finally joy. He jumps up, ripping the seam of his trousers in his haste, grabs her waist and swings her around. The chair hits the floor again, the waiters freeze, aghast but he doesn't care, sets her gently down on her feet, kisses the back of the hand that bears his ring, whispers,

'I love you.'

'I love you too but...I thought you didn't want another baby. I thought I didn't. I thought we...'

'I didn't.'

It's true, he didn't want another child. If she had asked he would have come up with reasons, pragmatic considerations, would have ground her down with relentless logic. She didn't ask, guessing perhaps what the answer would be, content with the child they had. Secretly she still dreamt of 2.4 children and a house with a big enough garden for atree house but told herself that it was only a dream and that, inconvenient as reality could be, it was at least real. They had taken precautions and left the subject untouched, a tacit concession that it was still open for debate.

She had sat in the doctor's consulting room for some time in stunned silence, had not even considered the possibility of pregnancy despite her secret hopes. She had found herself unable to move, unable to do anything apart from sit and stare and think of consequences. She had thought he might assume she had tricked him, trapped him, intended this all along. With this in mind she sat on her secret and let guilt grow from nothing until its stranglehold consumed her. She slept less, ate little took out the tension on him until she convinced herself that she had driven him away.

In turn he wondered at her silence and her anger, wondered about the cause of her guilt and dared not ask either question. The revelation, when it came, brought relief mingled with the joy, that she had not found another or come to despise him. Practical considerations soon weighed in, alongside a fear that they had left it too late but did not diminish the anticipation.

---

They are strangers to me, that man and woman, separated from us by little more than a decade but also by so much more than time.  Their choices have been shaded by the consequences that we live with and I cannot separate the two, cannot remember what it felt like to be her. I don't dwell in that place. I choose not to.

Back in my present the boys are halfway up the hill, have almost reached the gates to their grandparents' bungalow and I am lagging behind.