horse?â he asked.
âThe one with the pink tail. About this big. Sort of squishy.â
âDoesnât ring a bell.â
âNo. Well.â It didnât surprise me. âGod knows what sheâs done with it.â
âItâs probably been given a Mafia burial. Itâs probably part of that cement slab out back.â
âMaybe.â
âOr that dog next door ate it.â Matt groaned again, rolled over, and sat up. He began to take off his shirt.
Staring at his broad, white back, I said, âSo how was lunch?â
âHuh?â
âWith Ray? How was it?â
I could feel the pulse in my throat as I waited for a response. When it finally came, I couldnât believe my ears.
âOkay,â Matt said. âIt was good.â
âSo whatâs the latest?â Iâm amazed that I could even talk coherently. It was as if a heavy stone had landed on my gut. âAny new girlfriends I should know about?â
Normally, Matt canât spend half an hour in Rayâs company without picking up at least two really good stories. When they worked together, he was always coming home with tales about what Ray had said in a planning meeting, or what Ray had done with a âgrab of John Howard actualityâ. (Donât ask me what the lingo meansâIâve never been able to sort it out.) Even after Rayâs move to post-production, his infrequent lunchtime meetings with Matt always resulted in something worth passing on. Especially since Ray was always getting involved with the most monstrous women.
Not this time, however.
âNo new girlfriends,â said Matt.
âNo funny stories?â
âNot really.â His shoes hit the floor. Thud, thud. âHe sent me a funny e-mail though. This afternoon. Iâve got it in my bag. Hang on while I get it, okay? Itâs off the Internet.â
Was he trying to escape? I donât know. I donât know anything. Iâm lying here, and heâs asleep beside me, now, and I donât know what to do. I just donât know what to do.
Maybe Iâll wake up tomorrow morning, and realise that this has all been nothing but a nightmare.
Please God.
CHAPTER TWO
Saturday
You wonât believe this, but I didnât say a word to Matthew about the Girl With Purple Hair today.
Not that I had much of a chance, mind you. He works a full day shift on Saturdaysânine to five, more or lessâ so he was gone pretty early this morning. I was still shuffling around in my most revolting dressing-gown, mashing banana, while he was gathering up his keys and his wallet, smelling of aftershave. Give him his due, though, he did change Jonahâs nappy. And wipe the seat of the highchair. He even examined Emilyâs mozzie bite, with grave attention, before pronouncing it âvery nastyâ though not life-threatening.
âBut itâs itchy!â Emily wailed.
âI know. Poor Em.â
âI wanna bandaid!â
âWhatâs the magic word?â
âPlease!â
âDo you want a Wiggles bandaid or a Winnie-the-Pooh bandaid?â
âUmmm . . .â
âWhat about Winnie the Pooh?â
âNo, Wiggles!â
âThis one?â
âNo, Dorothy!â
âThis one?â
âNo, the other Dorothy!â
âI donât think there is another Dorothy, Em.â
âYouâre thinking about the dinosaur bandaids, sweetie.â
âI wanna dinosaur bandaid!â
Somehow it didnât seem like the right moment to raise the subject of the Girl With Purple Hair.
It wasnât the right moment this evening, either. Oh lordâ why not admit it? Iâm scared. Iâm scared to ask him. Sure, a simple question might have cleared up the whole problem. But what if it hadnât? What if he had said, âYes, Iâve found my soul mate?â What if he had walked out of the house for good , like the husband of a girl I know