The Other Woman's Shoes by Adele Parks Page B

called, she rang all the hospitals in the area. At this point, Elizasuggested trying him from a phone whose number he wouldn’t recognize.
    He answered immediately. ‘Michael West here.’
    ‘Eliza Evergreen here. Not dead, then,’ Eliza muttered dryly. She only just resisted adding ‘yet’ as she handed the phone to her sister.
    Eliza listened as Martha pleaded, cajoled, reasoned and implored. It took Martha three quarters of an hour to persuade her husband to meet her, just for a talk.
    ‘It’ll be fun,’ Martha had said, rather unrealistically, ‘like a date.’
    Their first meeting was in some ways like a date. One of Cilla Black’s less successful Blind Dates. Martha had barely waited until they were shown to their table in the restaurant before she blurted out, ‘But what’s making you unhappy?’
    They were at the local Italian, one of Michael’s favourite places to dine. Martha didn’t really like it at all. She thought it was overpriced and, anyway, they’d visited it a lot throughout her pregnancy with Maisie. She always associated the yellow walls with feelings of overwhelming nausea, but she’d made the reservation regardless as she hoped to please Michael. She’d bought a new dress for the occasion and, most unusually, she wore full makeup.
    But her lipstick couldn’t shield her.
    ‘Can’t we just order the food first, before we start the big talk?’ Michael asked with ill-disguised irritation.
    ‘Oh, of course, if you like.’ Martha hated herself for sounding so stupidly servile but then again she was used to following his suggestions. How could he think of food right now? But she realized that she had to be very careful,very careful indeed. Michael had left on Saturday evening; it was now Thursday evening. Five days, nearly an entire week. How had the days slipped by like that? How had the clocks managed to tick? Martha certainly hadn’t. She was immobilized.
    Martha had always believed that two people together were greater than the sum of the parts. That was one of the joys of marriage. It protected you. You were never alone. She and Michael used to say that even when they were apart they were looking out for one another, somehow joined, perhaps by an invisible piece of elastic. If they needed each other, they could call or simply think of the other and their worlds would be better, safer, warmer. They’d said such romantic stuff and Martha, for one, had believed it. With him Martha was enormous, positive, possible. Without him she was microscopic.
    Martha still could not believe that this was happening to her. Michael could not mean that he really wanted to leave. Could he? Why would he want that? It was all a terrible misunderstanding. Until Saturday they’d never gone to sleep on a row before. Yes, they’d had rows, but they always made up afterwards. They’d reaffirmed that they would love each other for ever and then, if there had been time and the children were both asleep, they’d make love just to prove it.
    Even if it wasn’t a Friday.
    Now they’d lived apart for five days and Martha hadn’t got a clue why. She had to get Michael home. She had to be very careful.
    She stared at the menu for an age but she had no idea what was on offer. Michael ordered calves’ liver and searedtuna; as usual, he chose the most expensive things on the menu. As usual, Martha ordered a green salad and pasta, the cheapest things on the menu.
    ‘Mathew drew a picture for you. A farmyard – we went to one on Tuesday.’ Martha scrabbled about in her bag and pulled out the picture. In fact, it had been given to Eliza, but Martha had taken it off the fridge and brought it to the restaurant. She didn’t want Michael to forget he had children. ‘Maisie walked three steps today – holding on to a chair, admittedly,’ she gushed.
    ‘That’s great. Really good. Send them my love. Give them a big kiss from me.’
    Martha’s heart sank, as it was clear that he wasn’t planning on coming