Grated ginger root

Donna swallowed hard, her mouthful of Special K and milk catching in her throat. Her eyes flicked back to the newspaper. Had she read that correctly? Had he really said…?

“Between 1985-1987, I would sleep with about three women a day, every day. I never said no.”

Donna remembered back to what had, only a few minutes earlier, been a fond memory. It was 1986 and the band was in town for their “Money’s Too Tight” world tour. Donna wasn’t even a fan, but a couple of her uni mates were going and dragged her along.

It had been a fun night – the band played their hits – and after the show the girls had staggered off to the Royal Arms for a wine cooler. Donna didn’t even recognise him at first. He was just a pale ginger guy who was asking to buy her a drink. But there was something about him – a strange sort of charisma.

The next morning her flatmates had mercilessly grilled her about her night of passion. “You could sell it the papers,” Nicky shrieked.

And so it had been her little happy memory. On those days when work was busy or Neil was working late or the kids were being demanding, she thought back to that one little moment where she had a night of sexy fun with a famous pop star in his fancy hotel room.

But now…

“I regret the philandering.”

Regret? Donna had never regretted it.

“Can I issue a public apology? I’m truly sorry.”

Sorry? What was there to apologise for? For the first time in 24 years, Donna felt cheap. She swallowed hard again, wiping away a tear.

“Mum, can you give me a ride today? Mum? Oh… are you crying?”

“Oh, just thinking about, um, Grandpa. It’s OK. Yeah, I’ll give you a ride.”

But before Donna left for work that morning, she removed one CD from the car stereo changer, never to play it again.

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