You think after 12 years ofmarriage I wouldn't recognize my own husband's voice? It's softer,melodic, but that's the way he greets me every morning: "...ey. G'morning." Who are you?" I demand. "What the hell are you doing in my bed?" Huh?" Where's my husband? Where's Conrad? How the hell did you get into myhouse?"She turns her head so her face -- his soft face -- is full-on to me."Honey, I'm Conrad. I'm just ..." She pats her pregnant belly and winces."Isn't this neat? We're gonna have a baby.". Naked across a footstool, knees drawn up to the edge, flabby white arms supporting her fat upper body which appears more slumped than resting on the blue cushion.Middle-aged. Pale. Overweight. Ugly. Lonely. Depressed.*We'd got chatting in a bar after I'd accidentally trodden on her toe – both drunk but she more drunk than me – and admitted towards the end of the evening she'd had a rough time when she had been younger, hinted at abuse.Damaged and vulnerable, I'd concluded as I'd given her my. More

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