by Adele Parks
‘Little Miss E., you know all the reasons we couldn’t work?’
‘Yes, I do.’ Her head was weary with turning them around, wishing them away, then admitting they were there to stay.
‘Can you think of one reason that it might work? Just one?’
Their conversation was interrupted by an announcement from the tannoy: ‘This is the last call for British Airways flight BA0179 to New York.’
Martha heard the announcement, so he certainly must have. He ignored it. If he wasn’t careful he was going to delay the plane. She fought and fought to hold back her sobs but images swooshed into her head, damaging her resolve. She saw them dancing in the kitchen, pretending to be Adam Ant, and dancing in Fabric, pretending to be cool. She remembered the chocolate heart and the anagrams of ‘something meaningful’. She thought about Jack making paper airplanes, bathing the kids, changing the water filter, ice-skating. The idea of letting these memories go was causing a pain so intense that her body felt it was being mangled, she thought she might scream. ‘Just one,’ she sobbed.
‘What is it, Babe? What’s the reason?’ He sounded frantic.
‘This is a call for all remaining passengers travelling on the 19.50 British Airways flight to New York, please make your way to the departure gate immediately.’
Just piss off, thought Martha. She meant the tannoy announcement, rather than the love of her life.
‘Baby, listen, recently you’ve given me lots of reasons why we won’t work. Can you give me one that we will? Just one.’
‘I love you, Jack, I love you, and without Hope my heart will break.’ She was sobbing harder. God, she was such a girl. Sometimes it seemed she hadn’t learnt anything in all these months.
‘And I love you, Little Miss E. And your messy kids and messy life. I love them,’ said Jack.
Martha could tell that he was tearful too. ‘Do you?’
‘You know I do.’
This is a call for passenger Mr Jack Hope, travelling on the 19.50 BA0179 flight to New York. Please make your way to the departure gate immediately.’
‘They’re calling for me.’
‘I know.’
‘I gotta go.’
‘I know.’
‘But, Martha…’
‘What?’
‘I’ll be back.’
‘Is that a line from a damn film?’
‘No – well, yes, it’s Arnie, but it’s me, too, Babe.’
Martha walked back into the sitting room. A barrage of confused questions heralded her arrival. It was clear they’d known who was on the phone, and they’d been trying, and failing, not to eavesdrop.
‘What did he say?’ asked Mrs Evergreen.
‘Everything all right?’ Mr Evergreen.
‘Well?’ asked Eliza and Greg.
‘Was it Jack?’ asked Mathew.
‘He said he’d be back,’ smiled Martha.
‘Hurrah!’ Mrs Evergreen jumped up and down on the spot, Mathew started to cheer and Maisie, who probably had little understanding of the situation but was caught up in the excitement of the moment, started to giggle and throw her head back, gurgling in a way that always made Martha want to laugh too. Martha didn’t know what to do. She was laughing and crying at the same time. Even Mr Evergreen looked relieved.
Luckily, Eliza had a grip on reality. ‘When? When will he be back?’ she demanded.
‘Leave it, Liza,’ said Greg gently. He reached out to put his hand on Eliza’s arm as though his physical restraint could stop her tongue. But his caution came too late; her words were out and the damage was done. The mood was broken.
‘He didn’t say,’ admitted Martha.
‘Surprise, sur-bloody-prise.’
‘But I believe him.’
‘Will you stop with this trusting thing! Yeah, he may come back when Mathew is graduating, or Maisie needs someone to walk her down the aisle. Or he may come back sooner than that. He may come back after he’s shagged a few more women in New York, or then again, he might not, because he might meet one that he really likes and decide to stay.’
‘He wouldn’t do that.’
‘Why wouldn’t he? It’s not good enough saying that he’ll come back at some point. You need him now. You need him to help with the kids, to do that throwing-them-in-the-air thing that makes them squeal with delight. You need him to carry heavy shopping bags. You need him to give you a good servicing – you’re in your thirties, that’s your sexual prime. Sorry, Dad.’ Eliza realized that her father was probably hoping that the ground would open and swallow him up. He hadn’t heard his daughters discussing sex since their guinea pigs had had babies – Eliza had been eight at the time and fascinated. ‘You need him to sort out the tax on your car.’
‘I can do all those things. Well, except for the servicing,’ admitted Martha. ‘Sorry, Dad.’
‘I know you can, Martha, but I don’t want you to have to do them alone.’ Eliza had been standing in the doorway from the kitchen to the sitting room. She now collapsed into a chair and said, ‘If he loves you he should be here by your side.’ Eliza was shaking. She was quivering with anger and indignation. She wanted more for her sister. Her sister deserved more.
‘I can’t make him, Eliza. I can’t force him. I don’t even want to. That’s not love.’
‘But what are you going to do?’ Eliza wished that there was a solution.
Martha thought there might be many. ‘I’m going to be OK. I have no idea how things are going to turn out, but I think I’m going to be OK.’
51
The party lost some of its edge after Eliza’s outburst. They ate the takeaway but the jollity was forced, and Mrs Evergreen couldn’t persuade anyone to eat up the last fishcake, even though the mango sauce was delicious. She turned her attention to tidying the kitchen. Mr Evergreen shuffled off to the garage to buy some chocolate bars in the hope of restoring good humour. Eliza tried to make amends by reading a story to the children and putting them to bed. Which just left Greg and Martha. They watched a repeat episode of One Foot in the Grave in silence, until Martha could stand the silence no longer and demanded, ‘Do you think she’s right?’
‘Oh, always, about everything,’ joked Greg. ‘At least in public. Which bit do you mean in particular?’
‘About him shagging other women? About the fact that he’d be by my side now if he really loved me.’
Greg shrugged. He was distinctly uncomfortable. He might be engaged now. He might have managed to spit out a fairly decent proposal to Eliza, but that didn’t mean he was capable of talking about love and stuff to other women. He liked Jack. He’d seemed like a laugh. And Greg liked Martha, she had a good heart; he liked her especially since her groovy clothes now matched her groovy personality. But he didn’t really want to get embroiled in a ‘do you think he loves me?’ conversation. In his experience this type of conversation was rarely satisfactory.
He was grateful to be saved by the bell. Mr Evergreen had probably forgotten the keys. Martha let Greg answer the door. Well, he’d seemed keen to do so; he’d leapt up out of the settee. She hadn’t seen him move so quickly since Brazil scored that second goal in the World Cup semi-finals – then he’d jumped up and down for ages, fired with fury and disappointment.
‘D’you know what, Martha?’ yelled Greg as he opened the door. ‘I think Eliza was right.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yeah, girl, if he really loved you he would want to be by your side now.’
‘Right,’ mumbled Martha, and she sank deeper into a depression that wasn’t just induced by Victor Meldrew’s miserable tones.
‘Hey, Babe, budge over, I don’t think I’ve seen this one.’
And it was Jack.
Jack sat down next to her on her settee. Martha gawped, unable to say anything.
Greg was clearly much more in charge of his faculties. He acted like the perfect host and passed Jack a can of Carling. Immediately, he took it away. ‘Oh, right, yours is an orange juice, isn’t it? I�
�ll go and get one from the kitchen.’
Martha still found it impossible to speak. Bloody hell, who’d turned her tap on? Once again she was crying. Would she ever stop?
‘Hey, Babe, what’s up?’ said Jack. He tenderly leant in and kissed away the tears that were streaming down her face. ‘Didn’t I tell you I’d be back?’ His eyes were an exotic and erotic mix of passion and love. Deep, deep love. She believed in it. She was wise and foolish enough to believe in it. She was brave enough to say it. Optimistic enough to hope for it. In love enough to know it.
He loved her.
Acknowledgements
I wrote The Other Woman’s Shoes in the early months of 2002, which already seems an age ago. Indeed, a lot of water has passed under the bridge since then. Those months were extraordinary ones for me. I would not have got through them, let alone had the strength to write a novel, without the love, laughter and support of some very wonderful people.
Please stand up and take a bow: my son, mum, dad and sister; Louise Buckley, Nicola Williams, Sandie King, Catriona Butler, Emma and Lorcan Woods, Claire Percy-Robb, Louise Moore, Jonny Geller, Deborah Schneider, Carol Jackson, Norma Howard, Lottie Harwood-Mathews, Helen McDermott, Nikki Sung, Amy Apcar, Rene Van Eyssen, Stephen Glendinning and Rashid Akhtar.
I would not have got through a single day without Jim Pride. You amaze me.
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright Page
The Other Woman’s Shoes
September
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
October
14
15
16
17
18
November
19
20
21
22
23
December
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
January
31
32
February
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
March
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
April
48
49
50
51
Acknowledgement
