Least Said (51 page)

Jon
let
me
go
and
stood
up.
The
look
on
his
face
alarmed
me.
‘And
you
think
I
don’t,’
he
said.
It
was
a
statement
rather
than
a
question.

I
didn’t
answer
and
that
was
damning
in
itself.

‘Is
that
what
these
last
few
weeks
have
been
about?’
His
tone
was
quiet,
dangerously
so.
‘Has
the
action
in
the
bedroom
only
been
about
you
getting
pregnant
–
not
about
love,
about
sharing,
about
enjoyment,
but
just
about
getting
pregnant
?
It
has
been,
hasn’t
it?
Hasn’t it
?’
his
voice
rose
quite
suddenly
to
a
roar
and
I
jumped.
‘That’s
why
you’ve
suddenly
lost
interest
in
our
sex
life,
isn’t
it,
because
you’ve
given
up?
Oh,
you
thought
I
hadn’t
noticed?
Well,
I
had,
but
I
was
trying
to
make
excuses
for
you,
believing
you
were
just
tired
because
of
your
workload.’

‘Well,
yes,
that
is
part
of
it,’
I
offered,
beginning
to
come
to
my
senses
at
last,
to
accept
that
I
had
gone
too
far.

‘Don’t
lie,’
he
spat,
and
dragging
me
to
my
feet
he
glared
down
at
me.
‘You
already
have
a
wonderful
child,
Wendy,
and
you
have
a
husband
who
loves
you
dearly,
but
what
you
are
saying
–
and
saying
loud
and
clear
–
is
that
we
aren’t
enough
for
you.’

‘I’m
not
-
I’m
not,’
I
insisted.
‘You
are
enough
for
me.’

‘I
don’t
feel
that,’
he
said,
and
the
sadness
in
his
voice
squeezed
my
heart
like
a
vice.
‘I
don’t
feel
that
at
all,
not
when
I
can
sense
the
longing
to
turn
away
from
me
in
bed.
I
don’t
feel
that
when
you
fake
an
orgasm
in
my
arms,
and
can
barely
hide
your
impatience
for
our
lovemaking
to
be
over.’

He
turned
away
and
walked
towards
the
door.
I
knew
I
couldn’t
let
him
leave
like
that,
not
when
this
was
my
fault
–
all
of
it.

I
hurried
after
him,
caught
hold
of
his
arm
and
said
firmly,
‘I
do
want
you,’
I
said,
‘I
do
.
’

He
looked
at
me
with
hurt,
anger
and
disbelieve
in
his
eyes,
and
then
he
shrugged,
‘So
–
show
me.’

He
stood
there
with
his
hands
by
his
side
and
watched
me
struggle
with
buttons
and
reach
for
zips
until
he
could
obviously
stand
it
no
more
–
and
then
he
reached
out
and
rent
my
dress
from
neck
to
hem,
literally
tore
it
from
my
body,
along
with
my
underwear
and
entered
me
without
preamble.

He
was
rough
–
and
Jon
had
never
been
rough
-
he
was
selfish
-
and
he
had
never
been
selfish.
For
the
first
time
in
our
married
life
he
was
taking
his
pleasure
as
if
I
wasn’t
there.

I
raked
my
nails
along
his
back
and,
hissing
at
him
to
look
at
me,
 
I
sank
my
teeth
into
his
shoulder
in
a
grim
effort
to
catch
and
keep
his
attention.
It
became
wild,
almost
vicious
at
times
-
with
biting,
scratching,
and
swearing
–
it
was
everything
that
was
foreign
to
us
and
so
exciting.
The
phone
rang
twice,
the
doorbell
chimed,
but
we
could
stop
for
nothing
and
nobody
in
a
fierce
and
mutual
attempt
to
make
us
the
centre
of
our
world,
as
our
kisses
softened,
and
scratching
became
caressing,
and
there
was
only
tenderness
and
tears
as
we
reached
mutual
satisfaction.

Afterwards
we
showered
together
and
then
walked
hand
in
hand
to
meet
William
from
school
and,
on
the
surface
everything
was
just
as
it
should
be
between
us.
However,
I
could
only
be
aware
how
close
I
had
come
to
destroying
everything
by
not
facing
up
to
a
couple
of
truths
that
I
kept
making
a
frightening
habit
of
over-looking.

I
may
not
get
pregnant
again
but
that
in
itself
didn’t
necessarily
mean
that
Jon
wasn’t
Will’s
biological
father,
just
that
-
like
many
people
-
we
simply
weren’t
intended
to
have
a
second
child.
The
cause
could
be
Jon’s
low
sperm
count
or
even
that
age
was
against
us
both,
but
I
should
learn
to
accept
that
it
was
out
of
our
control
and
move
on.