He’d been an accountant when they met, a little on the boring side. But she’d always had half an eye on settling down and Darryn offered stability.

When Ellie was born he’d been there the whole way, helping out with late night feeds and changes. They bought the house in Carlington Place, at the top of the hill. Everything seemed perfect.

It would have stayed that way if the firm hadn’t got into sports management. It connected Darryn to a different crowd.

At first it was just a few late nights. His bonus that year made up for the inconvenience.

As the league expanded there were more and more trips away. Darryn bought sharp suits and stopped wearing a tie. He wasn’t around so much after Holly was born. In a world of young men, cashed up and unconcerned, and even younger women who’d do anything to hook up with them he had become one of the hangers on, feeding from the crumbs.

One morning Gemma opened the paper to a grainy photo of her husband in boxer shorts. Player Agent in Football Groupie Sting. Her head swam. She needed air. She stuffed Holly in her pram and headed outside. A phalanx of slouching photographers straightened and began clicking as she walked between them.

 

2011—Richard Holt / small stories about love (smallstoriesaboutlove.wordpress.com)

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