© Orla Grant-Donoghue
The wine at the fundraiser was free that night. Glasses never ran empty. I was two thirds of the way through dessert before I managed to slip away unnoticed. A car parked near mine rocked back and forth with the energetic activities of its inhabitants. From my driver’s seat, I could see he had his jacket on, with his shirt undone. If they had been lying down I wouldn’t have recognised him but there he was, acting like a rodeo rider, his chest puffed out. Always a show-off. I could have pretended I didn’t see them but I knew his wife. I drove away before he saw me.