The Other Woman by Jill McGown Read Free Book Online Page B

I don’t fancy
    driving in this.’
He looked at her curiously. ‘Won’t anyone be missing you?’ he
    asked.
Melissa felt the flush grow deeper. ‘Why the third degree?’ she
    snapped.
He held up his hands. ‘ Sorry.’
‘So – what’s your story? How come you’re here?’
He smiled. ‘I was covering the opening of the leisure centre,’ he
    said. ‘I left early, and got lost. Finally worked out how to get home,
    found myself passing a hostelry and came in.’ He looked at the
    bitter lemon. ‘ I’ve broken most of my bad habits,’ he said. ‘But I
    still can’t pass licensed premises.’
Melissa looked round at the empty tables and chairs, looking
    like a low-budget film set before the actors have arrived. ‘It must be for the company,’ she said, startling herself. It was, in its way, a joke. She wouldn’t have thought that possible.
    He smiled. ‘ The company’s all right from where I’m sitting,’ he said quietly, his eyes looking into hers.
    â€˜And is no one missing you ?’ she asked, her voice as low as his had been.
    He shook his head. ‘No one’s missed me for years,’ he said.
    Melissa sipped her drink. ‘Poor Mac,’ she said.
    He smiled. ‘ They did once,’ he said. ‘I don’t blame them for giving up on me. I had.’
    She glanced at the soft drink, and he nodded. ‘You weren’t a football fan in your teens, then?’ he said.
    She shook her head, smiling a little at last. ‘You’re an ex-footballer?’ she asked.
    â€˜Ex-footballer, ex-husband, ex-alcoholic and ex-convict,’ he said. ‘Or so my ex-wife likes to describe me.’
    â€˜Ex-convict?’
    He smiled. ‘Oh, yes. After spending the best part of ten years in an alcoholic stupor, I finally crashed the car through a shop window. I got six months, and I’m still disqualified from driving.’
    Over the next few drinks, Melissa got a rundown on the rest. He had used his time in prison to resurrect his brain; he had dried out, he had got himself straight. He hadn’t looked at a betting slip or a woman or a glass of anything stronger than fruit juice since the day he’d come to in hospital with a nurse flitting past, two years ago. His wife had left him early in their marriage for an accountant, taking their then three-year-old son with her.
    â€˜Do you see much of your son?’
    She had hit a nerve. They lived in America now, and his son didn’t know who his real father was; Sandra, Mac’s ex-wife, had begged him to stay away. So far, he had. But maybe not for ever, he added. He’d soon be able to afford the fare.
    She looked at him. ‘Do you think you should tell him who you are?’ she asked.
    He shrugged. ‘ I don’t know. Do you think I should?’
    â€˜Me?’ she said, startled. She really didn’t need anyone else’s problems tonight. She had surprised herself by being able to make small talk, even, but she supposed that that was second nature now, after years of doing interviews.
    â€˜I’d like to know.’
    She shook her head. ‘But I’ve got nothing to do with it,’ she protested.
    â€˜But you do all these articles on …’ He shrugged again. ‘I don’t know – moral dilemmas. That’s what this is, isn’t it?’
    Melissa smiled a little sadly. ‘ I’ll say,’ she said. Then she looked at him. ‘You don’t sound much like an ex-footballer,’ she said.
    His still-dark eyebrows rose very slightly. ‘You mean I’m not supposed to know words like ‘‘moral dilemma’’?’
    She blushed, then rallied to her own defence. ‘You pretend not to know them,’ she said. ‘You had to hedge it round with ‘‘I don’t know’’ and ‘‘that’s what this is, isn’t