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He always drank far too much, far too early, he insisted on dancing with every woman there, whether they wanted to dance or not and he always felt tha... he had to grope them, you know a hand on their ass or a quick feel of a breast, in short he was a fucking pain.I mean for God's sake he was married to the best looking woman by far, my mother was only thirty three and every one always said how lucky he was to have her.They'd gotten together at a party when mum was just fourteen and he'd stupidly. I opened my eyes and there she was at the end of my bed."Carry on," she whispered.I couldn't stop if I wanted to. She turned her back to me and faced the mirror she was pretending to clean the mirror but I could see her watching me in it.She leaned over the stool in front of the mirror and stretched to reach the top of the mirror hitching her skirt up as she did so. She had no underwear on and her perfect bum was exposed to me. I gasped out loud and she smiled. She turned round to face me, sat. "No," she agreed."Why not?" Because you didn't ask me." How is your husband taking this turn of events?" He's not happy." Not happy enough to try to hurt you?" John? He's a complete wimp," she said."You said he tried to make you have sex with him, right after you got out of the hospital," he reminded her."He was drunk. I only kicked him because it was instinct. And when I did, he went out like a light and stayed that way until he woke up sober. I told him never to touch me again and he hasn't. I sipped on the glass of sweet, rich red wine you poured into a glass for me. You sipped yours. We let only the soft sounds of the wind blowing through the trees and the clinking of our dishes be the only sounds around us. We didn’t speak at all. As we finished the last of our meal, you cleared all of it off of the blanket, and put it into the basket beside us. Leaves drifted from the trees above and landed on the blanket. We laid back on our elbows and looked up at the fall trees. I remember.
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