It was the air around her. It felt peppery, electrical, complicit. Chris kept stumbling around this woman as if involved in some ancient pageant or dance. Her own breath mingled; spearmint and now that hinterland of pepper. Oddly she blushed, delighted. Mentally she started to chalk lines out on the floor, swirling around and across and then back and forth. Spiro gyra came to mind. But she silenced the words even before they had taken to that stage at the front of her head where all real life was supposed to take place. Would spiro gyra pass her son’s test? Perhaps this time he wouldn’t guess. He couldn’t know her secret. But today was a day she and her son had agreed again to squash any word that hinted at that time. Chris had promised him she wouldn’t stray. No invitations, no waves, no backward glances. Be present mum he had said. Be present.
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