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My Other Man

I am going away on Sunday for a few days, just me without my husband. Over the last few days the knot of excitement in my stomach has been building and now whenever I think about Sunday I feel small tremors of tingling anticipation through my body. Thinking back to my last trip with him I close my eyes and can remember exactly the solidity of his body in my arms, the softness of his skin. He has deep blue eyes which crinkle with laughter at the silliest of happenings and then darken with rage when life throws an obstacle in his way. My other man is mercurial, his moods pass in moments and his forgiveness is total.

I shall pack a small case tomorrow, choosing my outfits with care, thinking of the activities we shall share, choosing his favourite soft sweater and silky scarf. I have been buying small gifts, just inexpensive things which will make him smile with delight and understand that he is often in my thoughts.

I never expected to find this kind of love in my sixties, to feel that I would move mountains again for another person, that I am beloved in his eyes. On arriving at the train station he will run down the platform and hold me close, curling his hand into mine and giving me a smile of such sweetness that I am lost.

He called yesterday evening and asked again,

“How many more sleeps until you come Granny?

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