Free My Husband's Wife by Jane Corry

sound.
    â€˜You’re jealous of her.’
    At least he’s speaking to me now.
    â€˜No. No, I’m not.’
    â€˜Yes, you are.’ There’s a click as Ed opens our door.
    â€˜All right. I am.’
    I can’t stop myself. ‘You followed her around like a puppy from the minute we went into that smart flat of hers. You couldn’t take your eyes off her. And then you disappeared for ages …’
    â€˜TO GET SOME BLOODY AIR!’
    I stand back, shocked. Despite his ups and downs, Ed has never shouted at me before.
    â€˜You heard her.’ He’s speaking more quietly now, but the anger is still there. ‘She’s got a boyfriend. And we’re married. Isn’t that good enough for you?’
    â€˜But is it good enough for
you
?’ I whisper back.
    There’s a tight pause between us. Neither of us dares to speak.
    I finally allow myself to think of our honeymoon and what happened. Or rather what didn’t happen. My mind goes back further to the night after Ed’s unexpected proposal on that second date in a little restaurant in Soho. To the fumbling afterwards on the bed in my tiny shared flat. To my mumbled request that, if he didn’t mind, I’d rather ‘wait’ until we got married.
    His eyes had widened in disbelief. ‘You haven’t done this before?’
    I’d expected him to declare that this was ridiculous. That hardly anyone was still a virgin at twenty-five. I prepared myself to return his ring, admit it had all been a dream.
    But instead, he had held me to him, stroking my hair. ‘I think that’s rather sweet,’ he’d murmured. ‘Just think what an amazing honeymoon we’ll have.’
    Amazing? More like a complete disaster.
    Just as I’d feared, my body refused.
    â€˜What’s wrong?’ he asked. But I couldn’t – wouldn’t – tell him. Even though I knew he thought it was his fault.
    No wonder he turned his back to me.
    The atmosphere became so bad between us that I made myself go through with it on the final night.
    â€˜It will get easier,’ he said quietly afterwards.
    This is the time to tell him, I think now. I don’t want to lose this man. Ironically, I love it when he cuddles me. I like talking to him too. Being with him. But I know that can’t be enough for him, not for much longer. No wonder Ed is tempted by Davina. I have only myself to blame.
    â€˜Ed, there’s something that I must …’
    I stop at a strange scratching noise. A note is being pushed under the door. Ed bends down and hands it to me silently.
This is Francesca from number 7. I have to work on Sunday. I am sorry to request. Please could you look after my little one. She will be no trouble.
    Ed shrugs. ‘Up to you. After all. I’ll be painting.’ He turns to go to the bathroom, then stops. ‘Sorry, what were you about to say just now?’
    â€˜Nothing.’
    I’m filled with relief. Thanks to the timely distraction, the moment has passed. I’m glad. If I’d made my confession, I’d have lost Ed for ever.
    And that can’t happen.

8
Carla
    Mamma was happy, observed Carla, with a lightness in her own heart. They sang together all the way to the bus stop. Last night Mamma and the man with the shiny car had danced so hard that the floor had shaken. But Carla had been a good girl and did not get out of bed to ask them to stop, even though it had been difficult to sleep. She’d cuddled up to Charlie the caterpillar instead.
    Right now, she was jumping. It was essential, Carla told herself, to take even more care than usual to leap over the unlucky cracks in the pavement. She had to make sure that nothing bad happened after all the new good stuff.
    â€˜We’re sorry that you have been bullied,’ one of the teachers had said – the only nice one – when all the others had gone out to play. ‘The boy who hit you has