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Being Had

A pick-up on a day trip to London: that was one in the eye for someone! Probably not the oculist, whom my sister had gone by train to see. Chris, fancying a sailor, being free for an hour or so, had gone back to his room. His idle fantasy or hers? If he was free to do it, said my sister, why not she?

Mother was pleased and appalled. She’d told her to confide in Mum, but now Chris had she didn’t know what. It couldn’t be bad to be free, still she wanted to scold her.

It haunted her. I think now that she knew that someone had been had, but who?

© 2003-2020 Stephen Taylor
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