That’s what my mother always did. Another memory. Even more of my life was being pieced together by my much-abused brain. I had a vivid memory of St...fan being sick on the landing. Strange memory. Another of all the children in our bed with us on Christmas morning, it brought a tear to my eye. The house was working its magic. I even remembered we got milk from a milkman, and resolved to engage his services, if indeed there still was one. Yes, I belonged in this house, and it belonged to me with. Where were the bubbles? Where was that all- consuming feeling of love and togetherness? It was by far our lousiest fuck, ever. He did not complain, but I knew Jim was disappointed, and I was ashamed and felt, I let him down.I should have liked to get some advice from my mother, but she is not a woman to talk about sex. A couple of colleagues from school visited me to see Ann-Marie, and jokingly I brought up the subject."Yeah, my Stine cut off all my need for sex, too. I think she was more than. More

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