. ...I woke up, my head pounding in pain. My mouth tasted of old tire. I sat up, looking around the room. I was in a cheap motel room. There was a bla...k haired woman sleeping next to me. Alice, I realized. I called her after I fucked that woman. Karmen, I think her name was. After Mark...oh god, he dumped me. Tears threatened to spill out of my eyes. No, keep it together, Mary. He's just reacting to the death of his dad. “I'm sorry, Mary. I just...I just don't find you pretty,” his words echoed. They are not yet ready for him to start moving. The origins of this encounter go back almost eighteen months. We were on holiday in Paris with our son, Peter. It was his last vacation before he departed for Cambridge to read engineering. Paris has been a favourite destination for many years, not least because Catherine likes to fine tune her mastery of the language at regular intervals: she is Head of Modern Languages at the most sought-after school in our home city. In bed one night during. More

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