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before going home.
    He ordered bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee, and sat back to scan the papers. His eye was immediately caught by a half-page picture on the front page of the
Daily Mirror.
It was captioned MORE NEAR-RIOTS IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE , and the picture was of an angry mob of people surrounding two policemen who were in the process of carrying a woman away from the road. The woman’s skirt was high above her knees, so high that you could glimpse her panties. Her hair was flopping over her face, and one shoe was about to fall from her struggling foot. It was an effective picture.
    The waitress arrived with his breakfast order. She was plump and cockney. She peered over his shoulder at the paper. ‘’Ere, what does she think she looks like?’ she muttered. ‘About time all this rubbish was stopped. A load of showoffs, that’s what they are. They should lock the lot of ’em up!’ She wandered away, cluck-clucking about nothing in particular. David stared at the photo, horrified. The woman was unmistakably Linda. His Linda! He shook his head in disbelief. What was she doing? What was she thinking of?
    He gulped his coffee, scalded his tongue, swore, found himself unable to eat anything, and called for the check.
    The waitress padded slowly back. ‘What’s the matter, dear? Everything all right?’
    He thrust money at her. ‘Everything’s fine,’ he said and stormed out.
    A parking warden was in attendance beside his car. David brushed impatiently past him.
    ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wait while I finish writing out this ticket, sir,’ said the warden. ‘I suppose you are aware that this is a restricted zone for parking?’
    ‘Just give me the ticket and get on with it,’ said David brusquely.
    The warden glared at him and then proceeded to take his time.
    David drove away, his face grim. He envisaged what he would say to Linda. The whole thing was so utterly ridiculous. His wife at a protest meeting! It was ludicrous. She didn’t know anything about politics or bombs. The kitchen, the children, and social activities such as tea with the girls and dinner out twice a week were her province. Ban the Bomb indeed! Who did she think she was?
    Claudia was forgotten. He put his foot hard down on the accelerator and raced home.
    Ana let him in. ‘Mrs. Cooper, she sleep late,’ she announced. ‘You like tea?’
    ‘No,’ he grunted, already halfway up the stairs to the bedroom.
    Linda was asleep, curled up and buried beneath the covers. He drew the curtains, throwing glaring daylight into the room. She didn’t stir. He paced the floor, coughed loudly, and when she still didn’t appear to show any signs of waking, he went over and shook her roughly, thrusting a copy of the
Daily Mirror
in front of her face as she sleepily opened her eyes.
    ‘What’s all this about?’ he demanded angrily.
    Oh, God, he had found out about her and Paul! How? So soon. She sat up quickly.
    David stood there glowering at her as he continued talking. ‘What is this? Some secret ambition to make yourself look a complete fool?’ He brandished the paper at her again, and she took it from him.
    A feeling of relief swept over her when she realized that this was what he was so furious about. ‘What an awful photo!’ she exclaimed. ‘I didn’t know they were taking pictures.’
    ‘Is that all you have to say?’ He mimicked her. ‘I didn’t know they were taking pictures!’ He snatched the paper away and in a loud and angry voice said, ‘What were you doing there anyway? What were you thinking of?’
    ‘I had nothing else to do. I just found myself there. I’m sorry that you’re so angry about it.’
    ‘I’m not angry,’ he screamed. ‘I like to see photos of my wife smeared all over the papers, with her skirt around her waist, accompanied by a load of layabouts.’
    She got out of bed. ‘I’m not going to sit here while you yell at me. Perhaps if you spent a weekend at home for a change this might not have