V. Richard didn’t enjoy T.V. so was never in on our telly nights. Usually Melanie and I would sit on “our” settee”, or couch as the Americans ...all it, whilst Ann would sit in her favourite chair. There was something about the way Melanie asked if I would stop over that at first I didn’t pick up on, (unusually slow ), that was until one of her girlfriends, on the previous Wednesday night in the pub said something to me with a wicked smile on her face, I didn’t quite catch what she said. Everything was in contrast to his own life where he had stuttered along with no real purpose, his small rented flat in downtown, his messy crash pad whilst flipping from one job to another, enough to make a living to get by. And then there was the trophy wife who even in casual clothes looked as gorgeous as he had remembered, her auburn hair set against her soft creamy skin. He had always felt a tinge of jealously that Eric had punched above his weight when she agreed to be his wife, struggling. More

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