"Well, that's the way you would see it," he said sneeringly. "I suppose that's the way you want to see it," he said a bit more kindly.

A smiling waiter approached our table with a lively gait. But froze in his tracks and then made a sharp right turn to another table when he noticed the glower that James gave him.

"So you thought you'd help me to grow up. You thought that if you left me that it might shock me into it," I said,

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realization dawning gradually and unevenly. "What a pity you had to use such extreme measures."

"Oh, that wasn't why I left you," he said. "It wasn't done to make you grow up. Frankly, I didn't think that was possible. But I wanted to be with someone who cared about me. Someone who would take care of me. And Denise did."

I swallowed back the hurt.

"I cared for you. I loved you." I had to make him believe me. "You never gave me the chance to help you. You never gave me the opportunity to be strong. I am strong now. I could have taken care of you."

He looked at me. He was wearing his fatherly, indulgent face.

"Maybe you could have," he said, quite kindly. "Maybe you could have."

"And now we'll never know," I thought out loud, my heart almost breaking with a sense of loss, missed opportunities, of being misunderstood.

There was a bit of an odd pause. Then he spoke.

"Um, uh, I suppose not," he said hurriedly.

So now what?

I felt sick, sad, sorry.

Sad for both of us.

Sad for James, who had carried so much worry on his own.

Sad for me for being so misunderstood.

Or was it sad for me for being so misunderstanding?

Sad for Kate, the innocent victim.

"You must have thought I'd go to pieces completely without you," I asked him. I felt hot, angry with shame and mortification.

"Yes, I suppose I did," he admitted. "Well, you can hardly blame me, can you?"

"No," I said, hanging my head.

"But I didn't, did I?" I said. Tears poured down my face. "I coped without you. And I'll manage fine in the future without you."

"I can see that." He nodded and looked with mild amusement at my wet, tear-streaked face. "Oh, you silly thing, come here." He kind of pulled me awkwardly across the table, pushing the flower vase and the salt and pepper shakers aside, and

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patted my head onto his shoulder in a supposedly comforting manner.

I left my head there for a moment. I felt a bit uncomfortable and foolish. I sat up straight again. It would hardly do my cause any good if I continued to behave like a child needing comfort.

But that didn't seem to please him either.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sounding a bit annoyed.

"What do you mean?" I asked, wondering what I'd done now.

"Why are you pulling away from me? I may have left you for another woman, but do I have rabies or what?" He gave a small smirk at his little joke. Which I weakly tried to return.

"Um, no," I said, totally confused. What did he want from me? I couldn't please him whatever way I behaved.

I was exhausted.

Things were much more straightforward when he was a faithless, phil- andering bastard. I knew where I was then. I'd understood that situation. But he must be right. I must have enjoyed being irresponsible. Otherwise why couldn't I accept blame for my part in the marriage breakup?

But it was hard to accept that it was all my fault. He was the one who left me. He was the one who broke my heart.

Nothing that I had expected to happen had happened. I'd thought that he might ask if I would come back to him. Either that or for him to continue behaving like a total bastard. I certainly hadn't expected to end up apolo- gizing for causing this situation all by myself.

Things had been black and white. He had been the darkness and I was the light. He was the wrongdoer and I was the victim.

Now it was all mixed up.

I was the wrongdoer and he was the victim.

It didn't feel right.

That was hard for me, but I was prepared to give it a chance.

"Look, James," I said, swallowing back tears, "this is all a bit of a shock. I need to think about what you've said. I'm going now. I'll talk to you to- morrow."

And with that I hopped up and made for the door, leaving

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James, sitting at the table, mouthing silently like an agitated goldfish.

"Good for you, love," said one of the waiters to me as I swept past. "He's not your type, at all at all."

I drove home at high speed, jumping red lights and risking the life and limb of pedestrians and other motorists alike.

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twenty-nine

I put my key in the door and, with a marvelous display of their psychic abilities, the kitchen door opened and Anna, Helen and Mum rushed out into the hall to greet me. Either that or they heard me parking the car.

"How did you get on?" asked Mum.

Obviously they were all at a very loose end at the moment. My real-life soap opera wouldn't have been afforded so much interest if they'd had anything better to do.

"What happened?" shouted Helen.

"Oh, marvelous news," I yelled tearfully as I started up the stairs to see Kate.

"Oh good." Mum beamed.

"Well, you know the way James left me and went off and lived with someone else and didn't even know Kate's name. Well, it's all okay now. Because it was my fault. I was asking for it. Apparently I was begging for it. Down on my knees begging for it!"

I swung into my room, leaving three astonished faces at the bottom of the stairs, their mouths three ohs of surprise.

Kate started bawling when she saw me. And just for the hell of it, I de- cided to join in. I was not finding this blame-acceptance thing easy, as you may have gathered.

But I took my frustration with the situation out on Helen, Anna and Mum, when I should have voiced it to James. And that wasn't fair to the girls and Mum. A little voice reminded me that I had tried to tell James about it and he'd said it was

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further proof of my childishness. Well, he was probably right. He usually was.

What a pain in the ass, I thought rebelliously.

And now I had to stop being resentful and rebellious. I was no longer a twenty-nine-year-old adolescent. If I was going to be a sensitive, considerate, caring adult then I might as well start now.