by Rosie Harris
When he was satiated and rolled off her exhausted she gingerly edged her way off the bed and then, not even stopping to put on her shoes, fled back to her own flat.
She lay on the bed, her face buried in a pillow, sobbing. For several minutes her mind was utterly blank; she was unable to think or reason. Then, very slowly, her sobs subsided and she sat up and dried her eyes and went into the kitchen and poured herself a strong drink.
She was too old to change her ways, she decided. She studied her reflection in her dressing table mirror as she combed her hair and renewed her lipstick. She was beginning to look old; there were wrinkles not simply laughter lines around her eyes and her hair was practically grey all over.
Taking a deep breath, she began to take stock of her life. Her hair might be turning grey and she might have a few wrinkles but she still had good health and plenty of energy, she thought gratefully.
Tom coming into her life had been like a breath of fresh air. She had been grateful when he sprang to her defence over the criticism levelled at Karen when she’d married Lionel Bostock. She not only liked Tom as a friend and companion but in so many ways she had come to depend on him, so would she be happy if that all ended, she asked herself.
She listed the positive attributes in her life. She was financially independent and was competent about making her own decisions. She enjoyed the freedom of living at Merseyside Mansions and being able to come and go as she pleased. She loved her flat and took pleasure from having it furnished the way she wanted it to be. Living on her own she was able to indulge in the sort of meals she enjoyed and eat when it suited her. Living alone meant that she was not regimentally tied to the clock or a strict routine.
She no longer felt responsible for Karen now that she was happily married to Bill and had an adorable baby daughter.
She had been flattered and excited when Tom became interested in her and, in that first phase of happiness, she had overlooked these details. It had been almost like a courtship where at first each person was trying to please the other or else didn’t notice the other person’s faults.
If Tom wanted to be her friend, even to be her lover, she would be happy to concede as long as she remained free and untrammelled and, above all, retain her own flat.
The accident had changed him. She’d had no idea that he could be so bad-tempered and aggressive. He was far too dominant. He expected her to fall in with his wishes whether they suited her or not and that was something she didn’t intend to do.
Now that he was sure of her, or at least thought that he was, his true colours were revealed and she was no longer besotted by him. He had feet of clay after all and he wasn’t a hero on a pedestal as she had seen him in those first hazy months.
He could be charming but he had a temper, he could be extremely grouchy, he wanted his own way in everything from which TV programme they would watch to controlling how they spent their money.
Becoming someone’s wife only to be in thrall to their moods and under their tight financial control was not for her she decided.
She looked round her flat; this was her very own haven; it offered her an escape from the world as well as her freedom and she intended to keep it that way.
Having taken stock of the situation she decided that it was time to move on yet again. Her mind was made up; from now on she was absolutely determined to live the kind of life she wanted and not be beholden to anyone.