Now.”“Gladly. I’ve been expecting you.”“Don’t play games with me. Let …”The electronic buzz of the gate cut short her demand. Gritting...her teeth she pushed it open, marching through and trying to ignore the sculpted front garden of the luxury apartment block. Entitled bastard. Who the hell does he think he is?Her fury at him sustained her through the two-storey climb to his apartment. She battered on the door till her knuckles bruised. In her other hand, she brandished the mobile phone on which. I said I was okay to drive home and I walked back towards my car. I had to pass the glass-fronted restaurants, of course and, as I passed one eating house, I had to retrace my steps to check what I had seen. I must be wrong. But I wasn’t. My husband, fucking bastard, was with some girl. He was supposed to be at work but he was lightly patting his hands on hers which lay flat on the table. He was oblivious to his surroundings and clearly had not noticed me standing there, staring at him through. More

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