Free Falling Off Air by Catherine Sampson

reawakening me to the
     joys of sexual attraction? I was in a state of temporary insanity. I despaired.
    I didn't just want to walk. I needed to walk. I needed to walk on my own. I walked as though my life depended on it, arms
     swinging at my side. With every step I felt calmer.
    I was scarcely aware of where I was walking, but I know the Common like the back of my hand. I know the large open lawn where
     mothers push strollers and where for much of the year the wind howls across the flat expanse; I know the run-down playground,
     where the slide is forever surrounded by metal barricades that entice the children in. I know the duck pond, the graffiti-covered
     snack bar, the toilets with no paper and no running water, the sheltered wooded area where men cruise for sex of one kind
     or another and prostitutes loiter just in view of the passing motorists.
    I sat down on a bench and gazed at the spot where, in the summer, I had lain asleep on the ground and Paula Carmichael had
     watched me. Had she sat down on this seat, I wondered, or hurried on by, briefcase under her arm, just as I had seen her that
     day under the bridge. The grass where we had lain was now a muddy patch. Despite the sun, no one was lazing on the ground
     today; it was still too damp from the storm. I sat there in solitude, but it was as though Paula sat with me, beside me on
     the bench, silently challenging me to work out our connection. How did Paula know me? How did she know my children, my circumstances,
     even my loneliness? Certainly she had lived as good as opposite me, but that in itself was not a sufficient explanation. None
     of my neighbors could have put my name to my face let alone named my children.
    “She doesn't know me from Adam,” I whispered to myself. It's a hazard of living alone.
    Then the words I had said started to fade and reform in my head, and synapses sparked. What had Jane said? That Adam had worked
     together with Paula Carmichael on a documentary. Of course that didn't mean they were so much as friends. It was probably
     nothing. As far as I knew, Adam had remained pretty secretive about what had happened between us. Leaving children fatherless
     was hardly something you boasted about at the dinner table. So the leap from knowing Paula to sharing his secrets with her,
     to her living opposite me was all too much. I was clutching at straws, but there was only this one straw to clutch.

    I was back at home with the children when Terry phoned. I was trying to get us all a late lunch. We were suffering from low
     blood sugar and I was just managing to hold it down until the food was ready, but Hannah and William were falling apart. The
     last thing I wanted was a work call.
    “Terry, how are you doing?” Terry, my favorite manager. No doubt Maeve had told him to ring.
    “Good, and you? Getting any sleep?”
    “Here and there,” I said lightly. I felt about a hundred and three.
    “Still, worth it all in the end.”
    “Absolutely,” I said, thinking: Speed it up here, Terry.
    “Well, I was just ringing to touch base,” he said, “and find out whether you've given Maeve's offer any thought.”
    “Um, I need more time,” I said. I still intended to turn the job down, but I was afraid if I said that right now Terry was
     programmed to try to persuade me and I'd be there all day. I just wanted him off the line.
    “Well, you've got a day or two to play with,” he said, “but after that Maeve says she's going to have to open it up.”
    “Okay. I'll let you know before then.” Couldn't he hear the impatience in my voice? He could certainly hear the children fussing.
    “Meanwhile, do you fancy a night out?” His voice became playful, a fairy godfather offering Cinderella a trip to the ball.
     “I've been left with an extra ticket to the awards ceremony at the Grosvenor House Hotel on Saturday, and everyone will be
     there. It would get you back in the swing of things, remind people who you are. What do you