rewriting of the party thread (rough)
How many other women had John danced with apart from her? To be honest, she'd lost count. By now he seemed to have settled on Cilla Black. And a very jolly time the two of them seemed to be having too. Cynthia hunched still further over the table, her back turned to the dancers so she wouldn't have to watch her husband and the singer.
She could hear the mutters from people she did and didn't know as they passed by her lonely table. She was annoyed at every single one of them. The strangers for their nerve to presume they knew how she thought and her friends for gossiping behind her back and not even checking to see if she was all right. The truth was that she wasn't all right at all. In fact she'd even go so far to say she was desperately unhappy. And not one person had come up to her.
Perhaps if they had, they'd have realised that Cynthia was crying softly as she gazed numbly at the table.
If she really was having a baby and the timing, which she'd tried again and again to find the fault/flaw in, was in fact correct, Cynthia concluded that she was in a lot of trouble.
She couldn't even carry off a one night stand properly. She'd allowed herself to slip up and sleep with another man and now all the signs that told her she might be pregnant pointed towards him being the father.
Would it be better not to be so sure of who this baby's father might be? Could it really be preferable to this certainty? She reasoned that at least that way she could pretend for a while that the baby was definitely her husband's. But instead she had to contend with the awful knot of guilt in her stomach and a part of her mind that was already resigned to the fact that this was the consequence of her actions.
But what exactly could she do about this situation?
She pushed the door to the bedroom open and was met with the sight of two dark figures moving together on the bed. Cyn backed out of the room hastily, both from embarrassment and from fear that she would recognise one of the figures as her husband.
Cynthia found the sofa was now deserted and flopped down on it gratefully. She remained there until someone shook her awake roughly and led her to the taxi waiting outside. She wasn't fully aware that she was on the way home until the car arrived.
Is John already here, she wondered to herself, and, if not, where on earth is he?
She could hear the mutters from people she did and didn't know as they passed by her lonely table. She was annoyed at every single one of them. The strangers for their nerve to presume they knew how she thought and her friends for gossiping behind her back and not even checking to see if she was all right. The truth was that she wasn't all right at all. In fact she'd even go so far to say she was desperately unhappy. And not one person had come up to her.
Perhaps if they had, they'd have realised that Cynthia was crying softly as she gazed numbly at the table.
If she really was having a baby and the timing, which she'd tried again and again to find the fault/flaw in, was in fact correct, Cynthia concluded that she was in a lot of trouble.
She couldn't even carry off a one night stand properly. She'd allowed herself to slip up and sleep with another man and now all the signs that told her she might be pregnant pointed towards him being the father.
Would it be better not to be so sure of who this baby's father might be? Could it really be preferable to this certainty? She reasoned that at least that way she could pretend for a while that the baby was definitely her husband's. But instead she had to contend with the awful knot of guilt in her stomach and a part of her mind that was already resigned to the fact that this was the consequence of her actions.
But what exactly could she do about this situation?
She pushed the door to the bedroom open and was met with the sight of two dark figures moving together on the bed. Cyn backed out of the room hastily, both from embarrassment and from fear that she would recognise one of the figures as her husband.
Cynthia found the sofa was now deserted and flopped down on it gratefully. She remained there until someone shook her awake roughly and led her to the taxi waiting outside. She wasn't fully aware that she was on the way home until the car arrived.
Is John already here, she wondered to herself, and, if not, where on earth is he?