A Wild Affair by Gemma Townley

attractive? I pulled my eyes away.
    “Sounds lovely,” she said. “Thank you.”
    We sat down and I took a deep breath. I felt ridiculous in last night's clothes, last night's makeup. I wanted to be in a suit, anything to make me feel strong. Instead I felt the opposite. I felt small and pathetic and I had no idea what, if anything, I should say.
    “So,” I said eventually.
    “So,” Esther repeated tentatively. She looked around the room nervously. She brought a finger to her mouth, then dropped it again and smiled awkwardly. “Mustn't bite,” she said. “Terrible habit.”
    I looked down at my own chewed nails. “So,” I said again and forced myself to look up, to look at her properly, eye-to-eye. “Are you going to tell me how long this … affair has been going on?”
    “Affair?” She looked at me hesitantly. “Well … um …”
    “It shouldn't be a difficult question,” I said. I realized that solong as I was on the attack, I was fine. It was the pauses I couldn't take, her wide eyes looking at me so worriedly. “How long have you been sleeping with him?”
    She frowned, the lines on her forehead making her suddenly appear much older. “Have been? You mean how long was I sleeping with …” She looked at me in confusion. “I'm sorry, Jess, I don't really understand. What do you want to know exactly?”
    “I want to know,” I said levelly “how long you have been having sex with Max. I want to know how you can sleep at night knowing that you're having an affair with a man who's engaged to me.”
    “Having sex with him?” She stared at me in horror, then she clapped her hand to her mouth and began to tremble. It took me a few seconds to realize that she was actually laughing. The bitch! The total and utter bitch—she thought this was funny? How dare she?
    “Yes,” I said, standing up because my courage was wavering, because I could feel myself on the brink of hurt, angry tears.
    Esther, meanwhile, was shaking her head and trying to wipe the smile off her face, but she was finding it hard. And then she looked at me and her eyes looked a bit moist and her face just kind of crumpled and she stood up, too, and walked toward me. She tried to take my hands but I pulled away.
    “Jess,” she said quietly, “Jess, I'm not having an affair with Max. God, you couldn't be further from the truth.”
    “Then why was he having dinner with you? Why is he giving you money? Why did you call him and sound so shocked when I said I was his fiancée?”
    Her eyes widened. “Oh my. So that's why …” She sighed incredulously. “Oh, I should have known. Oh, I am truly a silly woman. Oh deary deary me.”
    I didn't disagree; I just stared at her, waiting for an answer, waiting for her to explain. And then she reached out again andtouched my face, and this time I didn't move away although I wasn't sure why. It was something in her expression, something in her eyes, the way she was blinking away her tears. And then she looked right at me and I braced myself. I didn't know what she was going to say, but I was still scared because whoever she was, I didn't think it could be good.
    “So who are you then?” I heard myself say, slightly defiantly, my voice catching as I spoke.
    “Jess, I'm your mother.”
    As she spoke, Helen came through the door balancing a tray with tea and biscuits—at Esther's words, she dropped all of it on the floor.
    “You're her … her mother?” she asked incredulously.
    I shook my head. Actually, I was shaking all over. “I don't have a mother,” I said, my voice barely audible. “She died. When I was little. I don't have a mother.”
    “She didn't die,” Esther said, so quietly I could hardly hear her. “I didn't die, Jess. I'm alive. Oh Jess, can you ever forgive me?”
    “No,” I said.
    “No?” Esther looked at me uncertainly. “You can't forgive me?”
    “No.” I shook my head. “No, this isn't happening. No, you aren't my mother. I can't listen to this.”
    I turned