Samantha Memi is a housewife who cleans, dusts and cooks. Her windows are sparkling bright. There are no cobwebs lurking in corners, and her bathroom is germ free. Her basement is a bit smelly but, as the only person who goes down there is her husband, she doesn't mind.

Things To Do On The Way To The Dentist (April 20, 2011. Issue 27.)

I was hanging from a strap in a carriage on the tube hoping I'd remembered to squirt deodorant on my armpits, and looking at the other passengers hanging onto straps and, just as I was thinking: Is this any way to treat human beings? the man behind pushed against me and I felt his baby maker appendage stiffen against my ass. I tried to move forward but the woman standing in front gave me a look which said: Don't be so impatient. And I realised I was stuck till we reached the next station and people got off. I squeezed round gradually to see who was poking me. My God, he was gorgeous. I looked into his eyes and my baby maker orifice warmed to the possibilities. He looked embarrassed and turned away. Did he know what I was thinking. He was now prodding me in the hip. If I scratched the top of my leg I could touch him. Would that be rude? Just as I moved my hand to my hip the train stopped. People got off and there was more space. He moved away and I missed the warmth of his body against mine. He glanced at me, caught my gaze and looked away. This is crazy I thought. Here I am standing in a metal box looking at the man I want inside me and he looks at me like he wants to rip off my clothes and ravish me in a sleazy hotel room, and neither of us do anything. I fell forward and I bumped into him. "Sorry," I said and in the same instant I thought, What the hell am I doing, I'm a married woman, I've got an eight-year-old daughter, I can't have sleazy, Let's get together yeah yeah yeah, with some stranger I met on a train. "Crowded isn't it," he replied, and I was hooked. All he needed to do was offer me a stick of gum and say, Come back to my place, and I was his for the next couple of hours. Bugger the dentist.

"Where're you going?" he asked.

"Hammersmith. And you?"

"Heathrow. I'm going back today."

"Where's that?"

"Chicago."

"Oh."

I could go to Heathrow. We could have a time-out in the gents. I'd never done it in a public toilet, so that would be new. And then I could go home and… oh God I'd meet my husband and I'd feel so guilty I'd go red as beetroot and fumble my words and he would guess what happened and be unhappy, and I'd hate to make him unhappy. Would he do the same to me? of course he would, but that didn't make it any easier for me. It wasn't my morals stopping me, but I was not a good liar. The train slowed to a halt. My baby maker was throbbing like ET's magic finger.

"My stop," I flustered.

The doors opened. My heart closed, opened, closed.

I said, "Bye," and got off the train. I glanced back and caught him looking at me.

Could anyone be as stupid as me. Why hadn't I said Heathrow. I funnelled along with all the other zombies to the exit, but I couldn't leave. I had to see him again. I turned back, then stopped: what was I doing? I caught the next train to Heathrow. I hated the tube. All these people just sitting there like Mexican beans being bounced around. What the hell would I do when I got to Heathrow. There were four terminals. Which one was for Chicago. I didn't know what time his flight was. I looked around the carriage for a map or plan. Just the stations, not where the flights went. I couldn't stay for long. I had to take Daisy to dance class. I didn't really have to take her, but it was nice for her. All the other mums took their budding Pavlovas, so I shouldn't expect mine to go on her own. I'd missed a couple of times and she'd said it didn't matter but I could tell from her eyes that she'd been disappointed.

This train was going to terminals 1, 2 and 3. Wouldn't it be just my luck if Chicago was terminal 4. What if all the terminals had flights to Chicago? I didn't even know if he was flying direct. Maybe he'd go to New York first. I thought about getting off the train, and going back. I arrived at Heathrow, looked at departures, everywhere – except Chicago.

I went to a desk.

"Excuse me can you tell me which flight goes to Chicago?"

"Depends on the carrier."

I knew it.

"I think it's the next flight out. I'm meeting someone to say goodbye."

"American Airlines, 14.45, terminal three."

I went to terminal three and looked along the queue waiting for American Airlines flight something or other: no gorgeous man with a stiffy. Although I doubted that he'd still have a stiffy after 40 minutes. I hoped he wouldn't – for his sake.

I wandered around feeling stupid. What would I say to him if I met him: Oh, hello, fancy meeting you here. Are you catching a plane?

No no, I'm meeting someone.

I went back to Hammersmith. When I got to Daisy's school she'd already left. I rushed to her dance class. It had started. I waited. At least I could take her home. I stood in the corridor looking at the notice board, and I could feel him pushing against my ass. It made me feel warm and stupid.