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The Uninvited

The Uninvited

The Uninvited

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over.’I was doing a tricky blintz fold at thetime, on a moth. It demanded all myconcentration.‘What’s over?’But she didn’t reply. When I finishedthe next fold to my satisfaction and lookedup, I saw her staring at me urgently, as ifexpecting a response. As if I weretelepathic: as if I, of all people, shouldhave guessed that she had been leadinganother secret life, in parallel to the onethat was on show. I have no radar for lies.Why would I suspect that her yoga lessonswere not real yoga lessons, or that her‘late conference meetings’ masked anothertype of rendezvous?I said, ‘Whatever it is, you’re going tohave to explain.’

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