each flavour), good prospects, lovely home, plenty of money, fantastic holidays, great family and friends. Did this mean everybody was entitled to be unhappy?
Everybody was doomed to be unhappy?
No. She didn’t like the direction her mind was drifting in. She couldn’t face that possibility. What a ridiculous thought. You have to look on the bright side. No point getting depressed.
But how? How had Michael fallen out of love with Martha? Martha was gorgeous, and kind, and generous, and trusting. It wasn’t just that Eliza was biased, everyonethought the same. Martha seemed to have forgotten, but when Martha and Michael got together it was generally conceded that Martha was the real catch and Michael had ‘done well’. Martha was funny, and although it was difficult to believe at the moment, she had a mischievous side to her that made her the life and soul of the party. Or used to. She hadn’t been much of a life-and-soul of late. Life-and-souls rarely fretted about orange-juice spillage.
Martha was so in love with Michael that she had automatically and honestly sung his praises to anyone who would listen. She was his very own portable PR machine. He obviously believed her hype. Had Martha forgotten herself in her enthusiasm to promote her love? Admittedly, in the last year or so, Martha had become a bit obsessive about the kids’ safety, and about cleanliness, and about what the neighbours thought. Which was quite irritating – but, generally, Martha was lovely. Martha was… well, Martha. The woman Michael had married. The woman he’d promised to love for ever; in sickness and in health; for richer, for poorer; for better, for worse.
Bastard.
The phone rang once and then stopped. Eliza knew that Martha had snatched it up, hoping against hope that it was Michael. The phone had rung four times that day and every time Martha had run, at breakneck speed, to answer it. ‘Yes,’ she’d answered breathlessly, expectantly. Each time she was crushed, it was never Michael.
‘It’s for you.’ Martha tapped at Eliza’s door. Her voice was thick and heavy with disappointment. ‘It’s Greg.’
Shit.
Greg.
In all of this chaos Eliza hadn’t given a thought to her own domestic crisis.
She jumped out of bed and ran to pick up the phone in the hall downstairs. This was not a conversation she wanted to have in front of Martha.
‘It’ssss me.’
‘You’re drunk,’ she said, grumpily.
‘Of course I am. I have feelings, you know.’
Eliza smiled. He had a point. She’d been trying to force alcohol on Martha all evening. ‘What do you want?’
‘What do I want?’ He was astounded at her stupidity. ‘I want you to come home and tell me what this is all about.’
‘I have told you,’ said Eliza. She sounded more impatient than she was, because she felt the sting of guilt. She hadn’t really explained anything to Greg. How could she try to get him to understand that his biggest fault was his lack of a pension policy? ‘Look, this isn’t about you , it’s about me ,’ she added.
Greg let out a laugh that was at once amused and insulted. He could only be amused because he was an extremely easygoing bloke.
‘Sorry,’ said Eliza, kicking herself for resorting to a cliché. ‘What I mean is you haven’t changed or done anything wrong.’ True, he was the same irresponsible, fun-loving, free spirit that she’d fallen in love with four years ago. ‘I’ve changed.’ She didn’t add that the characteristics that had once attracted her now repelled her. ‘Go to bed, Greg. Sleep off the whisky.’ Eliza hung up. Her feet were icy. She ran upstairs and threw herself back into bed.She snuggled under the duvet and tried to will away that nagging thought that a pension policy hadn’t protected Martha anyway.
October
14
As Eliza put the key in the lock she could hear the now all too familiar sound of Martha’s howling. She quickly pushed the door open, not pausing to take off her coat or drop her
Everybody was doomed to be unhappy?
No. She didn’t like the direction her mind was drifting in. She couldn’t face that possibility. What a ridiculous thought. You have to look on the bright side. No point getting depressed.
But how? How had Michael fallen out of love with Martha? Martha was gorgeous, and kind, and generous, and trusting. It wasn’t just that Eliza was biased, everyonethought the same. Martha seemed to have forgotten, but when Martha and Michael got together it was generally conceded that Martha was the real catch and Michael had ‘done well’. Martha was funny, and although it was difficult to believe at the moment, she had a mischievous side to her that made her the life and soul of the party. Or used to. She hadn’t been much of a life-and-soul of late. Life-and-souls rarely fretted about orange-juice spillage.
Martha was so in love with Michael that she had automatically and honestly sung his praises to anyone who would listen. She was his very own portable PR machine. He obviously believed her hype. Had Martha forgotten herself in her enthusiasm to promote her love? Admittedly, in the last year or so, Martha had become a bit obsessive about the kids’ safety, and about cleanliness, and about what the neighbours thought. Which was quite irritating – but, generally, Martha was lovely. Martha was… well, Martha. The woman Michael had married. The woman he’d promised to love for ever; in sickness and in health; for richer, for poorer; for better, for worse.
Bastard.
The phone rang once and then stopped. Eliza knew that Martha had snatched it up, hoping against hope that it was Michael. The phone had rung four times that day and every time Martha had run, at breakneck speed, to answer it. ‘Yes,’ she’d answered breathlessly, expectantly. Each time she was crushed, it was never Michael.
‘It’s for you.’ Martha tapped at Eliza’s door. Her voice was thick and heavy with disappointment. ‘It’s Greg.’
Shit.
Greg.
In all of this chaos Eliza hadn’t given a thought to her own domestic crisis.
She jumped out of bed and ran to pick up the phone in the hall downstairs. This was not a conversation she wanted to have in front of Martha.
‘It’ssss me.’
‘You’re drunk,’ she said, grumpily.
‘Of course I am. I have feelings, you know.’
Eliza smiled. He had a point. She’d been trying to force alcohol on Martha all evening. ‘What do you want?’
‘What do I want?’ He was astounded at her stupidity. ‘I want you to come home and tell me what this is all about.’
‘I have told you,’ said Eliza. She sounded more impatient than she was, because she felt the sting of guilt. She hadn’t really explained anything to Greg. How could she try to get him to understand that his biggest fault was his lack of a pension policy? ‘Look, this isn’t about you , it’s about me ,’ she added.
Greg let out a laugh that was at once amused and insulted. He could only be amused because he was an extremely easygoing bloke.
‘Sorry,’ said Eliza, kicking herself for resorting to a cliché. ‘What I mean is you haven’t changed or done anything wrong.’ True, he was the same irresponsible, fun-loving, free spirit that she’d fallen in love with four years ago. ‘I’ve changed.’ She didn’t add that the characteristics that had once attracted her now repelled her. ‘Go to bed, Greg. Sleep off the whisky.’ Eliza hung up. Her feet were icy. She ran upstairs and threw herself back into bed.She snuggled under the duvet and tried to will away that nagging thought that a pension policy hadn’t protected Martha anyway.
October
14
As Eliza put the key in the lock she could hear the now all too familiar sound of Martha’s howling. She quickly pushed the door open, not pausing to take off her coat or drop her
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