Free His Other Lover by Lucy Dawson

look. “But there’ll be no need to worry about that now. He’ll be long gone. I think he was an opportunist, madam. He didn’t take anything other than the two items of jewelry?”
    I curled my fingers tightly around the brooches in my pocket. “That’s right,” I said a little jerkily. “Two brooches that were my grandmother’s.”
    “You see, if he’d have really known what he was doing, he’d have taken a lot more than that. I know it feels horrible to think of a stranger going through your things, but I really think this was a one-off, probably a kid.” The policeman smiled at me kindly but obviously wanted to finish things up so he could go and have some lunch. “We’ll do all the paperwork and here’s your crime reference number, but other than that…” He tailed off.
    “Thank you for your help,” Pete held open our front door, “and we’ll certainly look into getting that alarm fitted.”
    I watched the policemen walk down the drive and get into their car, my hands still in my pockets—jewelry in one, the ripped-up pieces of her card to Pete in the other. I’d have to remember to get rid of those.
    Pete closed the door as they drove off, turned to me and said, “Come here, you!” as he pulled me to him. He said lovely things like, “You poor baby, you must have been so scared” and, “Thank God you’d taken Gloria out for a walk. You’re so brave finding that on your own, and being ill as well…”
     
    I stand up and move quietly to the window, picking up the edge of the curtain and looking out on to the quiet street and the same drive that the policemen sauntered down yesterday lunchtime. It is starting to get light. I don’t have much longer to wait. Pete will be getting up soon. I let the curtain drop and move back to the sofa, being careful not to kick over the full, now cold, mug of milk that is still sitting on the floor at my feet. Even if I had drunk it, I’m sure it wouldn’t have helped me sleep. I pick it up and inspect it. There is a disgusting skin over the surface that bulges slightly as I tip the contents gently to one side, not quite enough to let the milk underneath burst through.
    I think about my saying to Pete yesterday in a strangulated voice, “I was scared Pete, I was more scared than I’ve ever been in my life,” and I set the cup down unsteadily. Thankfully it doesn’t fall over.
    Pete had had to hold me tightly for at least a full five minutes after the police left, soothing me worriedly. He started by whispering things like, “It’s okay, sweetheart, I’m here, I’m here—I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” but that made me cry harder,and I sobbed into the lapel of his jacket with his arms round me as if my heart would break.
    Eventually he pulled away and led me into the sitting room. Shoving a pile of crap off the sofa, he gently sat me down and bustled off into the kitchen to make me a hot, sweet tea.
    It was an overwhelming relief to have him next to me, gently rubbing my back as I sipped the tea in silence. I didn’t want to say anything in case I gave myself away, so it was left to him to suppose out loud that we ought to start clearing everything up.
    He stood up, took off his jacket, pulled his tie loose and hung them both over the banisters. Looking around him he whistled and shrugged rather helplessly. “God, I don’t know where to start!”
    How about with where you met her? Or what she’s got that I haven’t? How long has it been going on? Do you love her? Has she been here, in our house?
    “We could use some help really, couldn’t we? I’d ring Mum and Dad but they’ll be in Africa by now.” He glanced at his watch, as if that was going to tell him exactly what time Shirley had touched down on another continent. “What about your mum, shall I call her?”
    I shook my head dumbly. “She’s in Miami, isn’t she?”
    “Shit! I’d forgotten about that. What stunning timing on both their parts.”
    “Just one of