I'm working. We'll talk later, ok?

Is it cannabis? Tell me!

I won't tell you anything if you don't calm down!

Just tell me!

It'd been a while since she'd needed anything from me. But since my trip to the kitchen had successfully drained us of eroticism, all I had was an angry woman in my room. It seemed every word I spoke was igniting more indignation so better to shut-up and, instead, stare her into silence. Karen had always been self conscious about her hair. It just didn't have enough panache. I looked beyond her, to her fringe, narrowing my eyes to suggest she'd done something new and possibly inappropriate with it. After all, we can't all have big crazy hair. Some of us just have mousy hair, hair that hangs there, a bit lifeless. But you get over it, you get on with things. But..mmm.

If you don't tell me what's going on I won't let you see him!

I don't see him anyway.

She touched her hair, briefly, and blinked. For a moment, she was so distracted I could've changed the subject and she wouldn't have noticed, or not straight away. But it had been a long time since I'd seen Karen so, instead, I watched until she regained herself. Had it been that long since I saw her? Only a few weeks ago, bikram yoga. And the other night she was caught in my headlights, jogging along the seafront. And so it was, possibly due to the yoga, the camel, or (who knows) her deep and loving relationship with Serena, she soon regained possession of herself and, casting a contemptuous look up and down my bookshelves ( looking in the wrong place, she landed on a shelf of  Victorian phrenology ), she tried to make a final, definitive statement against me.

And why are you not speaking to him? What happened at Christmas?

Hands in pockets, I looked down and breathed deeply, as if this was, indeed, the real issue. I was glad to get away from the subject of cannabis because, of course, Karen was right. I should have told her, as any reasonable parent, or person, would have done. It's very easy to hide important things in apparently deeper issues. In fact, my livelihood depends on it. So, I was off the hook. Still, it took me a few seconds to respond.

I assumed he'd told you.

Of course he didn't, that's why I'm asking.

Ten minutes later we were in Diana's. Four pounds twenty for a tuna sandwich and a cup of coffee. I may have paid for lunch, but Karen showed us the better table, the one by the window. Likewise, the working men around us may have seemed oblivious to Karen, but I grew up around these bastards, and know their subtlety. The window was the better choice. Karen was calmer, watchful, and although we were here to talk about our son, other subjects could arise. And as I began to speak about Thom and the incident at Christmas, I wondered if the very faint erotic charge that seemed to return wasn't, in fact, the feeling of simply being at ease.