The twenty-third of April to the eleventh of July.
And in all of that time I did not say one word to that man about it.
And he rang about twice a week. And I talked to him about the girls and about the health visitor and about his mother’s knee.
And in the June he sent a photograph of himself on a deck somewhere and I sent one back of the twins on the mat.
Eleven weeks of being perfectly normal with a man on a ship.
Why I waited.
Because I could have done it in April, on the telephone, in four minutes, and he would have been eleven hundred miles away and nothing would have happened.
He would have said what he said in that terminal, more or less, into a phone, and then he would have come home in July and it would have been a thing between the two of us in a kitchen.
