Their clothes, the fabric of their shirts rubbing on the walls as they edged closer, their pants legs rubbing together as they walked, their shoes on ...he carpet and occasionally hitting the skirting board along the hallway. They were all coming into the bedroom. I sat there, back against the bed head, white doona cover over my breasts, hands wrapped tightly around the doona with what I can only assume was a look of pure shock on my face. I waited.Two tall figures appeared at the end of hallway,. .. the mother of the very interested children at the table. “You got yourself into this. I can’t wait to see how you try to get out.”She wasn’t exactly on the Santa bandwagon, and hadn’t been for years. She was much too pragmatic.I looked at my children. Brad, at seventeen, probably had more experience than I wanted to think about. Fran was irrevocably branded into my brain as an innocent virgin ... and always would be, though those perky breasts she had exposed that morning were like. More

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