On the day it all began, a Saturday morning, I called over to see my friend only to be told he was at rugby practice (we went to the same boys' grammar school), and wouldn't be back until lunchtime. Mrs Webster said I could hang about until he came home and that her husband was taking her to do some shopping in town.So there I was in an empty house with nothing to do for a couple of hours but hang about and listen to some CDs. It was then that Mrs Webster's hosiery sprang to mind, and a wicked thought occurred to me. I slipped into the master bedroom and opened her dresser drawers to see what she kept in there. I was delighted to find that she had several girdles and suspender belts and a large collection of expensive lingerie. She also had nylon stockings in several colours. My face flushed with excitement as a further possibility crossed my mind.Trembling with excitement I sat on the Websters' marital bed and eased a pair of sheer tan gloss stockings onto my legs. I then attached. But the drugs soon pulled her into a semi-drunk fog, making sleep the only option. * * * * * The splashes of cold water burst against Ana’s face, clearing away the cobwebs. The splinters of her pre-dawn melancholy had regrouped, soaring up in anger and frustration. No more tears. No. More. Tears. She hadn’t schemed to hurt and deceive anyone. It would’ve been one thing if Sean couldn’t accept the facts. But he hadn’t even given her a chance to explain. He just waved her off like she was some stranger with whom he shared no history, one who hadn’t earned the right to at least be heard. Did Sean think so little of her? She didn’t have the energy today to beseech him to listen or the faith she wouldn’t botch things up if he gave her the chance to explain. It was just as well it be difficult to drive one-handed to his house. She didn’t have it in her to scale the two mountains between them. Ana kept busy, calling her office, making sure the VIP table accommodated the last minute.
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