I sent him more in those eleven weeks than in the eleven before it. Photographs of the girls most days. A video of Goldie doing something with her hands on the ninth of May.
And on the second of June I sent him a long one, at night, about how hard it had been and how much I was looking forward to him being home.
And every word of that was true, which is the part I cannot get round.
I was not performing. I did want him home. I was twenty-nine with two babies and I was on my knees.
And I was also, at the same time, keeping a man warm so that he would not have any reason to say anything to me before the eleventh of July.
Both of those, in the same messages, for eleven weeks.
What I did on the twenty-fourth of June.
I rang her.
