Sex with the Ex by Tyne O’Connell Page A

middle of a perfect union with his wife, when she stalked in as if she owned the place. Inevitably he gave the wretch a key to pick her stuff up while he was at work, not while he was in the middle of making love to his wife!”
    â€œEx-wife!” Elizabeth corrected as I went over Kitty’s theory with the girls at Nobu on the Sunday night.
    â€œShe sort of has a point, though,” I told Elizabeth.
    â€œSorry, I must have missed that under all the madness,” Elizabeth added.
    Even Clemmie shrunk at her anger. “I just wish I hadn’t deleted his messages now,” I sighed, ignoring their opinions.
    Elizabeth put her hand on mine. “Darling, not to dredge up the past, but repeat what it was Richard actually said to Sally when he dived off you to pursue her. You were making love, she interrupted, yet he dived off you like you were a hot stove.”
    â€œHe left you for Sally,” Clemmie added unnecessarily.
    â€œWell, yes, but probably to take her to task,” I suggested, repeating what I had begun to believe was Kitty’s perfectly plausible explanation.
    â€œAnd what words did he use to take her to task?” Elizabeth asked, her coal-black eyes glinting. I find it really hard lying to Elizabeth.
    â€œErm…I can’t quite remember now. It all happened so fast and then he took her up to the bedroom to sort of have a talk.”
    â€œI bet he said, ‘I can explain!’” Clemmie suggested mixing her wasabi with her soy sauce. “Men always say that when they haven’t got an explanation. They think it will give them time to think up an excuse.”
    Of course, I remembered the words, but I wasn’t going to admit to what he’d said; the memory still hurt and I knew how the girls would react to “Sally baby, please.”
    â€œOr, ‘It’s not what it looks like’?” Elizabeth giggled, spitting her green tea back into the cup with the hilarity of it all.
    â€œThe point is,” I said stiffly, “he left all those messages and I deleted them and now I don’t know what he said.”
    Elizabeth said something that I missed as I took a mouthful of my tuna sashimi with way too much wasabi and had to gulp down water to curb the explosion in my nose.
    Everyone stopped laughing at whatever it was that Elizabeth had said to comfort me. But I didn’t want their comfort for a bit of errant wasabi. I wanted them to comfort and reassure me about Richard. After all, even Kitty had been able to do that.
    When I got back home to Jean, I cradled her in my arms. Oh Jean, what do I do? She squirmed as I kissed her nose, so I popped her on the ground with some carrot, which she nibbled while watching the news. What would Clemmie and Elizabeth know anyway? Elizabeth just hated Richard for no real reason other than historic evidence. She claimed to care for me, but if that were true, you’d think she’d want me to be happy.
    So, in the hopes of nailing the facts down once and for all, I phoned Richard. Jean sat supportively on my lap for the call. I had what I was going to say all mapped out in my brain, but then his phone went to answer, which was surprising because it was already two in the morning, tomorrow was a workday and the phone was by his bed.
    I hoped he was okay. Oh no, I thought as I envisaged him wandering the streets morosely, perhaps even tearfully. He probably thought I hated him after refusing to take his calls and then not responding to his messages. Jean blinked up at me and twitched her little nose. “Good idea, Jean, I’ll try his mobile.”
    And then something awful happened. He rejected my call.
    I tried again, telling myself not to be paranoid, but then I was rejected again. Buggar. The walls of the flat began to come in on me as reality struck. I did what I always do in times of crisis and started compulsively organizing. I threw a load of washing into the machine, changed Jean’s