That Part Was True by Deborah Mckinlay Page A

and my family. I hope that Izzy will now become part of that family, and for that to happen successfully, I think you and I would need to establish at least a civil relationship and preferably an amicable one. I hope you can find it in your heart to consider this.
    Kindest regards,
    Simon
    Mummy,
    Here are the proofs for the invites. I think they look very smart. Would you like to stay at the hotel on the night? Ollie and I thought we might. Let me know and I’ll book your room when I book ours.
    Izzy
    Dear Eve,
    Do women like to be cooked for? I have always suspected that they really prefer to dress up and eat fancy in public. You seem to be one of the more intelligent examples of the breed and I thought you might give me the skinny.
    Jack
    Dear Marnie,
    I am writing this because talking was never our strong suit. I am not sure now what was, but whatever it was, it’s lost. I have found during our brief separation that I am both less happy and more forward-looking than I thought I was. Or, at least, I am more aware of both of these states than I ever was during our marriage. Living with you was an in-the-moment experience and I think that is the sort of experience that suits you, Marnie, and maybe for a while it was a good thing for me, but that while is over. I feel calmer about this than I thought I would, if also regretful and apologetic. I imagine that from your point of view, living with me was often intolerable. I am difficult to the point of impossible at times, and of the things I might change about myself, I daresay that is not one. On this basis I suggest we make our split permanent. I am loath to involve lawyers, but if we must, we must.
    Yours, with heart,
    Jack
    Beautiful Blonde Woman,
    Come out Saturday. I’ll cook.
    The Man with the Hat

Chapter Six
    Simon Petworth signed his note to Laura with his initials and a roughly drawn heart, the way he always did. Then he lay a soft, cable-knit blanket over her and propped the note where she’d see it when she woke. With a finger to his lips, he shushed his sons. They were eight and ten and would not have been so easy to shush, except that their mother’s illness had become a heavy presence in the house. A presence they were acutely aware of. They were easily convinced to leave the room where she was dozing now on a Chesterfield sofa.
    Ed, the older, quieter, more sensitive of the two, looked at his father. “Is she all right?” he said.
    â€œShe’s fine, a bit tired, that’s all.”
    Simon laid his hand on the back of the boy’s warm, slender neck and looked at his sleeping wife, and he was filled with love. And momentarily, with fear of what they all might have lost. She had survived. The operation had gone extremely well and the doctors had assured him there was good reason to be hopeful. Laura herself was. But for him, Simon, the warning still rang. He would not take his family for granted ever again.
    Â Â 
    â€œAre you paying attention to any of this, Mummy?”
    â€œOf course I am,” Eve said, aware of the lie. These calls from Izzy were constant now—always about the wedding. Always at a level of detail for which Eve could not quite develop the required, buzzing enthusiasm.
    â€œYou just seem so vague,” Izzy’s voice said.
    Eve stirred. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be. I was just…Does Ollie cook?”
    â€œOllie? You’ve got to be kidding. No. He can make spag bol. It tastes all right, but I’ve banned him from making it now, because when he does, the kitchen looks like the scene of a massacre. He cooks like a man. You know, ketchup everywhere, uses every saucepan in the place.”
    Eve did not think there were very many saucepans in Izzy’s flat, and anyway she was struck suddenly with how little she knew of the way men cooked. So many things that she thought of as “manly” were simply gleaned from novels or television or films. She remembered