She'll have guessed. The smooth CD will be on before his car door's slammed in the drive. She'll take her time, check herself in the mirror, the new dress - ultra revealing of course - which she'll've bought that afternoon on the strength of his phone call. I'm going to have to end it. My wife has found out. My marriage. And there's the children to think of. He'd not said it, but the little boy's tone of voice had. All the I love you but ritual was there in the tone.
She is forewarned.
Now she's walking slowly towards the front door. She can see him, his profile in the little square of window. My god, he's brought flowers! Flowers! She opens door and wide smile in one combined operation. Little kiss. Now leading the way back to the sitting room. That revealing dress. That tarty walk, making each bum cheek almost knock against now the wall on the left now the wall on the right.
Stop it! Stop it! Myra shouted at the empty room. She went to the window to close the curtain. It had started to rain. The clock bonged eleven. She was standing with her hands still up to the curtain and her eyelashes blinking. Yes. Yes! She turned, walked to the writing desk, and starting pulling out the little square drawers one by one, and emptying them on the table. Bank statements! Bank statements!
It had been a it a symptom of meant-for-each-other closeness how well she did his signature. Often very handy. A symptom of trust.