"I'm not accountable to you", I say and Raphael snorts.

"No you're not. But answer me one question. Did you sleep with him?"

"In Vegas."

"That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the last few days. Did you have sex?" A glance at the driver shows me that he's stubbornly looking ahead, paying attention to the traffic. But that's deceptive. His ears are pricked and eager to take in every detail. A hellish thought spreads through my mind and I lick my lips. Raphael will know anyway. At some point I would have talked about it.

"If by sex you mean my husband grabbing me and pressing my back against my big desk and his naked bulging cock rubbing against mine, yes, we had sex. Or him spoiling me with his tongue after a relaxing back massage?" Never before have I seen someone's head turn red so quickly. The driver is visibly uncomfortable.

"You what?", shouts Raphael into the phone and I hear Andrew swearing loudly in the background.

"Magnus... Serious. You can't be... over... over." Grinning, I shake my head. I knew Andrew was listening in. Raphael would never have such a conversation alone. Rustling can be heard and muffled voices.

"Hi Mags. You can't keep your hands off each other can you? Like a real newlywed couple." Someday, one day, I'll pay them back. But they do have a point. Except it's not a basis for a healthy relationship. Alec and I don't have a relationship and it's going to stay that way.

"I have to wrap up now, we're almost at our destination. And I want to spare the taxi driver any more details", I say, smiling slightly. The driver looks at me over the rear view mirror and smiles gratefully. Only now do I notice that he is a middle-aged gentleman. His black hair is already turning grey at the sides and even though I am sure he has experienced quite different things in his taxi, performing gay sex does not necessarily belong on the list of possible topics of conversation. Such things should rather remain in private. Suddenly I feel sorry for my behaviour and end the conversation. We agree to go to Hunters Moon tomorrow evening. It's a more appropriate setting for such a conversation. With vodka and friends who listen to you and don't judge you when they know all the details.

"Please accept my apologies for witnessing this conversation." I don't expect an answer and am therefore all the more surprised when the man's deep voice rings out.

"What do you think I have already experienced here? I could write a whole book about that", he replies with a laugh and I join in.

"I can well imagine that. Have you ever thought about doing it?"

"What, writing a book? No. I have no talent for that. I've been driving a taxi for twenty-five years. I write down the best experiences. Always without names in case I hear any. It doesn't happen that often, though."

I spend the rest of the journey chatting with Sam, the nice taxi driver. He tells me a few anecdotes from his everyday life and I laugh out loud because Sam is really good at telling stories. Before I get out, I hand him a piece of paper with my name and phone number on it.

"If you decide you want to write a book, give me a call. I am a journalist. It would be my pleasure to support you in this project." Completely overwhelmed, he looks from the note to me and back again. He nods and only says a quiet 'thank you'. Suddenly he is quite speechless.

The Wayland family home is on the outskirts of town and is a typical suburban home. Covered porch, brightly painted wood panelling, transom windows. A symmetrical dream with dormers and gables, small-format shingles in boring uniform grey and white, narrow horizontally aligned boards on the exterior. This house is the cliché of every suburban family. On the porch is an old rocking chair and a small bench. Mrs Wayland is particularly proud of her garden. And every year I am impressed by her attention to detail. The lawn is a lush green and has been mown short. The rose bushes are her pride and joy and the lovely scent welcomes me as soon as I enter the garden. The smell of roasting steak mingles with the smell of the fragrant beauties of her garden. The pavilion next to a spacious herb garden is one of my favourite spots. It smells of thyme and rosemary, sage and woodruff. The smell of lemon balm settles on my senses and makes my body tingle. Lemon is something I have recently come to associate with Alec.

"Magnus. How nice to see you." Mrs Wayland greets me happily and comes towards me with a poison-green cocktail in her hand. She nimbly grabs a glass of an even starker colour from the bar that she sets up especially for this day every year. And before I can realise what's happening, I catch sight of the bartender and want to sink into the next hole in the ground. Shit, I had totally forgotten about that.

"Oh, you're coming alone?", she falters in her euphoria, and with the presence of mind I rake myself in and quickly drag her to one of the bar tables. Far enough away from the bar.

"Yes, but Alec has promised to join us. They've fixed everything up nicely again. But what happened to the pergola?", I ask with interest. Not only to avoid talking about my husband. Also because at the Christmas party Mrs Wayland told me with pride and eagerness that she wanted to plant a new variety of roses by the pergola. And now there is neither a pergola nor a rose arch.

"The wood was rotten. Michael doesn't have much of a talent for that kind of work", she whispers to me conspiratorially.

"I won't tell anyone", I say with a wink and Mrs Wayland begins to tell me. About the pergola and the roses, her grandchildren and the holiday in Tuscany. Immediately the smell of lemons is back and I imagine I smell Alec's after shave.

"Hello Magnus. Sorry I'm late", Alec murmurs in my ear. His warm breath tickles the shell of my ear and his strong hands rest gently on my hips. I cringe and am very glad to have already emptied my drink. I would like to avoid another accident of this kind. Not here. Not in front of my boss's wife. Alec breathes a kiss on my cheek, very lightly his lips graze my skin and a tingling warm shiver runs down my spine. I am completely frozen, the shock is stuck in my limbs.