Pamela
He was married. She had known that almost from the start.
It was why he was so secretive—because he was terrified of being found out.
Hence the lonely hearts ad. Hence the pseudonym and the codes they used, the way he always insisted they meet in a neutral location so the neighbors didn’t see her at his house, and he wasn’t spotted at hers.
The way they promised to each other that they wouldn’t send letters or cards that might fall into the wrong hands, or the way he always called her from a payphone when he was out and about, never from his home phone.
He’d talked about getting each of them one of those new mobile phones but she didn’t really see the point in those things.
The secrecy made it more exciting at the beginning, like a passionate forbidden love affair in a film or a novel.
And so was he.
It wasn’t surprising: as an Aquarius she was highly compatible with his best Leo traits.
It was truly a match made in the stars and it had been missing from her life for so long that she had almost grown used to its absence, like a missing tooth that you no longer notice.
It was only when he’d shown her what they could have together that she realized what she’d been lacking all these years.
He was young too, could almost have been her son if she’d had any children.
She got the sense that his other half was very controlling, very jealous, that they had married far too young, before either of them really knew what they wanted out of life.
He was looking for more in a relationship, for the maturity and wisdom he couldn’t get from someone his own age.
He didn’t even like to acknowledge his wife’s existence, but at their third rendezvous he’d forgotten to take off his wedding ring and he couldn’t very well deny it then, could he?
They’d been taking things slowly so far, because of his job as well as his wife.
But now he’d shown her he was ready to move to the next stage.
She straightened her best jacket and looked at herself in the mirror one more time, pushed the new tortoiseshell glasses up her nose, and checked her hair was just right.
Excitement bubbled in her stomach, an unfamiliar tingle of nerves and anticipation that made her smile to herself—a little secret smile—every time she thought of him.
She’d even woken up smiling, knowing that today was the day.
Pamela pulled the front door of the small terraced house shut behind her and picked up her small overnight bag. She’d memorized his instructions, just like he’d told her. Not even writing them down, just repeating them over and over in her head until she had them off by heart:
Leave your car at home.
Don’t take a bus or taxi either.
Walk the fifteen minutes down to the lay-by on the other side of the railway bridge.
Be there at 7:25 p.m. exactly, not a minute earlier or later, and he would arrive to pick her up.
Checking her watch one last time, Pamela set off into the gathering dusk.