by R J Butler
Lola and I got to the café first and took a seat right at the back. We were so early the fish fingers and chips I’d ordered for Lola had already arrived by the time Dawn appeared. I saw her come in, looking for me. I could sense her fury even from a distance. On seeing me, she came bounding over, taking long strides. This wasn’t looking good.
Oh hello, Lola.
Hello, said Lola, waving a chip.
So, you didn’t text me; had to wait for me to text you first.
Sorry, it was just that –
Save it, Rob. Well, you miss the trip to the chemist. You should have been with me, you bastard. It was so humiliating. He asked all sorts of intimate questions. You should’ve been there to support me. It was horrible. I felt like a slut.
Never have I felt so hated. Oh God, I’m sorry, Dawn.
Daddy, can I have a drink?
Wait a minute, Lola.
Anyway, he gave me this pill. I was going to take it there and then but I thought no, take it in front of Rob. Make him see what I’m having to go through. She took the pill in front of me, wanting me to see her putting it in her mouth and swallowing it. It was 12.30 pm. The packet advised that if taken with 12 hours, it had a 95 per cent chance of working. It was now thirteen hours after the act.
What we are doing is wrong on every level, said Dawn, her face red with anger. It’s wrong on an emotional level, on a physical level, moral, spiritual, whatever. I must’ve been mad. I’ve got a husband who loves me, and he doesn’t deserve this. I don’t deserve this. And you, you weren’t even man enough to face up to your responsibilities last night – or today. Well, I’m telling you now, if this stuff doesn’t work, you won’t be able to run away again.
I should’ve said it then – you kept me there in your embrace, you wouldn’t let me go. But again I didn’t. Given her anger and that we were in a public place I didn’t fancy my chances.
You’re lucky you’ve brought your daughter, she continued, otherwise I would have screamed this place down. I smiled weakly at little Lola as she toyed with a chip dipping in and out of the ketchup.
I’m sorry, Dawn, really I am. I’ll do whatever I can to help you. OK, what I meant here was that I would everything to minimise the effect on my own life and to keep her as far away as possible.
So if I’m pregnant, what exactly will that be? Helping me get an abortion? Becoming a father to my first child? Oh fuck, what have I done? Well, we’ll know Friday.
Friday?
My next period. I’m never late. Never.
Dawn and I parted. I’d never been so pleased to see the back of her. I dropped Lola off at a friend’s house and went home. Emily, to my relief, was having a snooze, still feeling under the weather. I paced outside on the garden patio in the drizzle, smoking, in a daze, trembling, frightened. Our affair was over, after only six weeks. And what a terrible way for it to end.
Later that afternoon, I went to the computer and read up a bit about this morning after pill, and tried to use my new-found knowledge to ease my mind. OK, it’d been 13 hours, not 12, but heck, surely one hour wouldn’t make that much difference? 95 per cent seemed a good success rate. I tried not to think of the one woman in twenty. I still spent the night in dread. Her next period, she’d said, was due Friday. I think I prayed.
Monday, 21st January
What a horrible week. Dawn was working her final week in Ipswich and didn’t contact me. I texted a few times, asking if she was OK, but got no response. It was difficult to concentrate on anything – at home or at work. What if she was pregnant? What the fuck would I do? She was a Catholic. Not a serious one, she once told me. But you don’t have to be to maintain the faith, and I felt when it came to something big like this she would return to it. And I certainly lacked the courage to ask about the ‘a’ word. I didn’t feel as if I could; to condemn an unborn innocent just to save my bacon. If she really turned out to be pregnant and wanted to have an abortion – fine, I wouldn’t stop her and frankly would be relieved but there was no way I could bring up the subject or be seen to condone such a course of action.
So, let’s assume she was pregnant and decided to keep it. While it would ease my conscience on the abortion front it would fuck up everything else in my life. How could I turn to my wife and, even worse, my children, and say I’ve brought you a new member of the family and by the way, let me introduce you to my other woman… I wasn’t emotionally equipped to deal with this; it was too much for my little mind. I just wanted to hug my wife, tell her I loved her and to tell the world to go away. I would learn my lesson from this.
Finally, on Thursday at about five, Dawn texted me from Ipswich: We need to talk. Nervously, to the point of feeling sick, I rang her back from outside work. It’d been a difficult week, she said, but she was OK and experiencing the pains she usually gets a day or so before her period. I almost collapsed to my knees with relief. We talked for an hour and we both felt better for it. It was still lovely to talk to her as of old. I felt perhaps we still had a future. (So much for learning my lesson).
Friday, 25th January
Today was Dawn’s last day in Ipswich – her job there was over. She phoned me and told me to come round after I’d finished work. Has your period come, Dawn?
I can’t say over the phone. Just come round soon as you can; we’ll speak then.
Yes, I thought – that meant yes.
So as soon as I could, I finished what I was doing at work and left a little early. A quick text home told Emily I was going out to the pub with work. Again.
Got to Dawn’s and pressed the intercom. The door buzzed, and I skipped up the two flights of stairs. Perhaps I should have been nervous. But I wasn’t, I knew from her tone earlier on that everything was OK. Dawn opened the door and I could see from her expression that I wasn’t wrong. She looked lovely. Hi. Erm, are you OK?
She led me through to the kitchen. Rob, sit down.
Yes, of course. Yes.
She sat the other side of the kitchen table. You sound nervous.
No. Well, yes, OK I am.
Don’t worry; I’ve got my period.
Oh, that’s good then. Yes, that’s… good. Thank Fuck was what I really wanted to say. We were safe! What a relief.
I was very worried, you know.
Yes, so was I. I went to take her hand but she pulled it away. That’s when I knew there was something else.
Rob, we’ve had a lucky escape and I think we should learn from this.
My thoughts exactly.
Which is why I think you should leave now; go back to your wife and children. Was she crying? I don’t think I could go through that again.
No, but we’d be more careful, we’d –
No, Rob. I want to go back to my husband. Poor Duncan. It’s been great, you and I. I’ll never forget you; not ever, but we must end it here; tonight.
I suppose you’re right, I said with a sigh.
I’m always right; you should know that by now. She giggled, a little laugh amongst the tears. Go, Rob, please, go now.
Will you be OK?
She nodded, unable to speak.
We could watch some TV. That mystic guy’s on again.
Please.
Yes, of course. Yes. I rose to my feet and made for the door. I stopped. On the kitchen windowsill, I noticed my little red rose. Dried out now but still there. I smiled. I leant down and kissed her head. She bit her fist. I closed the flat door gently behind me, descended the two flights of stairs and out.
I got into my car and drove to the end of the drive, indicating left. The road was clear. But before pulling out, I turned round, craning my neck. I saw her at her kitchen window, silhouetted, her hand suspended in mid-air as if waving. Goodbye, my love, I whispered, the tears pricking my eyes. I checked the road again and pulled away.
Fifteen minutes later I was home.
Note from the Author
Thank you for purchasing this novel and taking the time to read it. Putty In Her Hands is the first i
n a planned series of three, Diary of an Affair, featuring the sexual adventures and mishaps of Robin and Dawn.
To be the first to know of future releases, please sign up to my email newsletter. (And don’t worry; I will not share your details with anyone else).
Otherwise, feel free to contact me via email.
With kind regards,
R. J. Butler.
PS Look out for parts two and three; coming soon!