Free Falling in Love Again by Sophie King

his father first before her? She grabbed his jacket sleeve, fear seeping through her. ‘Is he all right?’
    Ross bit his lip. ‘Look, Mum. I don’t know how to tell you this so I’m going to come straight out with it. Dad’s left his job. Handed in his resignation and walked. At least that’s what Brian told me.’
    Brian was the other Senior Partner. They’d been at law school together; gone to each other’s weddings; met regularly for dinner. ‘Left? But he can’t. He’d have to give in his notice.’
    Ross took her hands in his. They felt cool. Not reassuring. ‘That’s the thing, Mum. Brian said he’d done that. Six months ago. There’d been quite a fuss about it; it’s not easy winding up a partnership.’
    He’d been planning this for six months? Impossible!
    ‘But where’s he gone?’
    ‘We’re not sure. Brian said he was talking about travelling; he’d thought you were going too because . . .’ His voice faltered. ‘Because Dad had asked him not to tell you. Said it was a surprise trip.’
    David had lied? But he never did that. You could, she’d always thought, line every man up in the world for a truth test and David would be the last one to fail.
    ‘There’s something else, Mum.’ Ross was making her sit down on a chair. David’s chair. The one he always sank into after supper to watch the 10 o’clock news before going to bed. ‘There was a woman . . . from another legal firm who was working there on some shared project.’
    Primrose! She’d met her at the last company dinner. A skinny, earnest, youngish woman who’d talked to her about those beggars in shop doorways and whether you should give them money or a coffee or just walk by. They had both favoured the coffee approach.
    ‘She left her firm at the same time apparently and Brian says . . . Brian says that people are beginning to talk.’ Ross raised his face and she could see tears stinging his eyes. ‘I’m sorry Mum. I didn’t want to tell you. But I think we’ve got to face facts. Don’t you?’

 
     
     
    8
     
    KAREN
     
    ‘Box of condoms (used). Needs to be collected.’
    Karen stared at the shorthand note she’d just made on the pad in front (the computer system had just crashed again!). When you’d been in this job as long as she had, she warned the new ones, you sometimes took down ads without thinking and it could be easy to make mistakes, especially if your shorthand outline was a bit unclear. ‘Sorry, sir. Would you mind repeating that again?’
    The squeaky voice at the other end of the phone sounded irritated. ‘I said box of condoms. Needs to be collected.’
    She turned to wink at Sandra, sitting next to her. ‘I see, sir. Can you spell ‘condoms’ please?’
    It’s what you always did when you suspected a wind-up. Her old boss had taught her that in the early days. Ask them to spell it out. If they could. Normally, it made the prankster burst into giggles.
    ‘I see. K-o-n-d-o-m. Don’t they teach you to spell at school any more, dear? And what colour are they?’
    There was a peal of adolescent laughter at the other end as the culprit put the phone down.
    ‘Why do I always get them?’ Karen asked Sandra.
    ‘You do seem to have a knack! Maybe it’s your ‘aura’ that attracts them.’
    ‘OK, OK.’
    There were times when Karen wished she hadn’t told Sandra about that over a coffee break. ‘It’s the sort of thing you should keep to yourself, Mum,’ Adam was always saying.
    But it was a gift! A gift which had started after she had left Paul. After she’d got the stone. Somehow, she began to see soft, coloured clouds hovering over people’s heads; sometimes blue; sometimes purple; sometimes pink. And when she began to research it in the library – her favourite place to go to on Saturday mornings – she began to read up about auras.
    Often it made a lot of sense. Sandra’s was yellow right now which meant she was in a good mood.
    The funny thing was that she hadn’t seen