The Other Woman's Shoes (43 page)

God, where had that gone? wondered Eliza. Mostly down her throat, a little on her T-shirt, and a bit down Greg’s throat was the answer. She looked at the kids. Mathew was taking an impromptu nap, and Maisie, rather surprisingly, was sitting quietly amusing herself (admittedly, this was by ripping up menus but, hell, she was happy). Eliza agreed to another half bottle. ‘Go on then.’

‘Only if you promise to tell me another date horror story.’

‘Easy, I’ve hundreds of them,’ laughed Eliza. She’d been selective so far. She hadn’t told him about the list of criteria, or the horrible shag. But she did tell him about having tea with Rupert Bear, and about all the men who were in love with Martha. When he laughed at her stories the experiences seemed less horrible. ‘I mean, you have to ask yourself how is it that these men ever get a chance to reproduce. They must have evolved in some way, but who sleeps with these men? And why?’ asked Eliza.

Greg was laughing as though she were the funniest woman on earth. Eliza thought he must be a bit drunk.

He caught the waitress’s eye. Eliza wasn’t thrilled to note that the waitress clearly fancied Greg. Eliza had used to enjoy the fact that other women found her boyfriend attractive. It was less amusing when he was your ex-boyfriend. Greg was flirting shamelessly. The poor flustered girl could hardly concentrate on pouring the wine, and she’d brought sparkling water when they’d asked for still. Eliza let it go, she was having too good a time to fuss about something so small.

They hadn’t talked about their new status quo. They’d never said ‘let’s be friends’ the way some couples did when they ceased to be couples. Greg was just being Greg – fun, easygoing. Eliza didn’t really want to be his friend – ‘just good friends’ was the death knell as far as she was concerned – but better friends than enemies, or nothing at all. So she chattered pleasantly about what she’d been doing with her time. Her successes at work, her failures on dates.

‘You’ve certainly kept yourself busy,’ said Greg as he lit up a cigarette. He immediately stubbed it out again. ‘Sorry, I didn’t think about the children.’

Eliza wanted to kiss him. In truth, she’d wanted to kiss him from the moment that she’d set eyes on him that morning, but she definitely wanted to kiss him now. How considerate. ‘You’re like a different person,’ she said thoughtfully.

‘Good.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well, you didn’t like the old me much, did you?’ said Greg.

Eliza blushed. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

‘Oh, but you did. Repeatedly.’

For the first time that afternoon there was an awkward silence. Eliza knew what she should do. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.

‘Oh, that’s OK. You only broke my heart.’ Greg was grinning with everything on his face except for his eyes. His eyes showed hurt.

‘I
am
sorry,’ said Eliza, more clearly this time. ‘Still, it’s all worked out for the best, hasn’t it?’

‘Right,’ said Greg, nodding. Then he stopped nodding and asked, ‘How exactly?’

Eliza was stumped. ‘Well, you look great, you’re obviously very happy.’

‘Right.’ More nodding. Greg started to play with his cigarette packet; he was clearly desperate for a fag. ‘I feel like shit, actually.’

‘Don’t joke with me. This new girlfriend of yours no doubt makes you very happy, and she’s obviously a great influence. You look fantastic, the flat’s clean, even Dog looks wonderful.’ Eliza hated the bitch with a passion.

‘New girlfriend?’

‘You don’t have to try to protect me. The Bianchis told me. You know how it is with them. Couldn’t keep a secret if their lives depended on it. They said she was lovely.’ Obviously Eliza didn’t want to be nice about this hellcat, this usurping witch, but she had no other option; she didn’t want to alienate Greg.

‘There is no girlfriend; I have no idea what you’re on about,’ said Greg.

‘No girlfriend?’

‘No.’

‘You’re not going out with anyone?’

‘No. Nor have I since we split up.’

‘You haven’t been out with anyone?’ asked Eliza. She was fighting the euphoria that threatened to explode in her head and heart.

‘No, not so much as shared a bag of chips.’

‘But the flat is clean.’

‘You said you didn’t like the mess. I thought about it and decided maybe you had a point about that.’

Eliza basked in the glory of these victories. She felt as though she had just swept the board at the MTV video awards. She was carrying the trophies for all the categories: Hiphop, Pop, Indie, Rock, R&B, Dance, Garage and even Breakbeat. She was a winner! He’d tidied his flat for
her
, and he hadn’t shared chips with anyone since she left. Then she asked, ‘Have you slept with anyone?’

‘Yes, I am flesh and blood.’

They both knew that the question wasn’t a polite enquiry.

‘How many?’

Greg had a choice. He could tell the truth, and risk losing her all over again, because if he’d read this situation clearly, then Eliza was still interested in him – despite everything she’d done to try to prove otherwise. He could tell her that he’d slept with five women, and that none of them had meant anything at all, which was the truth. Or he could find a less offensive (but still realistic) number. Would she believe…? ‘Two, but not at the same time.’

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ she said sarcastically.

Two, two, Eliza fumed. He hasn’t been out with anyone but had scored twice, whilst she’d dated almost constantly and had had only one very run-of-the-mill fumble. There was no justice.

Bastard.

Just two. Two. Greg had groupies. OK, low-key groupies. Not on the Gallagher-brothers scale, but one or two cute-looking chicks who served in the Lamb and Flag where he played were clearly gagging for it. And there was a couple of girlies from North London who followed him
to every gig. Besides, he was lovely. He could have slept with lots more than two.

Sweetstuff.

‘They were both just sex. Ignoble, I know, but I made that clear before anything kicked off. The truth is, Eliza, they were pretty disappointing shags anyway.’

‘Both of them?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re sure?’

Greg paused. He was clearly having to think about it, which made Eliza want to eat her tongue. She swore to herself that she’d never again ask a question unless she already knew the answer.

‘Technically, they were fine.’ This was another lie. Technically, they’d all but one been great, but Greg thought that was more information than Eliza required. ‘But I couldn’t get into it.’

‘Why?’ asked Eliza, and this time she did know the answer – she just wanted to hear it said out loud.

‘Neither girl was you, Liza. There didn’t seem much point in it. Because – erm – at the risk of sounding like a twat, you’re the one for me.’

April

48

Martha and Jack had decided to enjoy their last month together to the full. They agreed to have no whinging, no crying and no tantrums – the same rules that they set out for Mathew. They now realized what the toddler was up against. Jack was given leave from his responsibilities in the London office so that he could put his affairs in order before emigrating. In fact, he spent most of his free time playing with Martha, Mathew and Maisie. He decided he wanted to see all the sights of London before he left. As he’d lived in London all his life he, naturally, had failed to visit the Tower, Madame Tussaud’s, or ride the Eye. So they set about rectifying the situation by dragging the kids around the tourist traps. They ate burgers out of cardboard boxes and bought overpriced, poorly made key rings from souvenirs shops. They got caught in the rain and forgot their umbrellas, they lost their way and patience on the Tube – it was exactly like being a proper family.

They went for a ride on a tourist open-roofed double-decker bus. Martha wanted to stand up, snatch the microphone from the guide and yell out to London about the unfairness of finding Jack at this time in her life. She remembered a time when all she’d wanted was to fit in; ideally, to disappear. Now she wasn’t afraid of standing out. However, she didn’t yell out her grievances to
London; no one would have heard her above the traffic. Instead, she asked Jack how his application for his Green Card was progressing. She tried not to stamp her feet when he said that it had been approved without any hiccups.

Martha took a suitable interest in the quotes Jack got for selling his car, transporting his furniture, and renting out his flat. They packed up his pictures, his computer and his DVDs into boxes to be shipped to his new flat – which they would not be making their home. Martha battled with a terrible sense of déjà vu; she didn’t know where she found the energy to do this all over again. She repeatedly told him that she was OK with the decision for him to leave. She repeatedly listed the reasons why it would be impossible for him to stay.

‘We could see each other at weekends – it’s only a seven-hour flight,’ said Jack hopefully and unrealistically.

‘That costs hundreds. How would we afford to pop backwards and forwards? We’re hardly Madonna and Guy Ritchie. Besides, I only have every other weekend free. How could we sustain any kind of relationship?’

‘People do.’

‘It would be unsettling for the children. I have to concentrate on the kids.’

‘Well, maybe I’ll take the job for a few years and then come back.’

‘Maybe, but I can’t count on it, and I can’t spend the next few years imagining what you’re getting up to and with whom. It wouldn’t work. It was hard enough for a few months. And before you say anything, you would be meeting other people.’ This was a euphemism, but Martha
couldn’t bring herself to say anything more explicit. There would always be the endless trail of possibilities.

‘I could stay. There are other jobs.’

‘You love New York, and it’s a great job. It might be years before you’re offered something as big in the London office. Besides, if you turned it down your firm would think you lacked ambition. They’d sideline you. You can’t cut your career off at such an early stage.’

‘I could – if you asked me to.’

Martha didn’t reply. She couldn’t ask that. She couldn’t control or dictate. That wasn’t love. One day he’d wake up and resent that he was bringing up someone else’s children, that his Saturday nights were ruled by unreliable, hormonal babysitters.

Eliza thought this was Martha’s joker card and that her sister should hike up the emotional pressure. Eliza insisted, ‘I’ve seen him with the kids. He adores them. You could play the “they’ve lost one father already card”.’

‘Very honorable,’ muttered Martha sarcastically. ‘Besides which, they haven’t lost their father; Michael lives only five minutes away.’ Martha was infuriated with her sister, but what angered her most was that she knew Eliza was right. Jack probably could be persuaded to stay. He was a very loving and worthy man. This – combined with his filthiness in the sack – had left her nearly helpless.

If he woke up to find her crying silently into her pillow, she wouldn’t say that it was reality that was letting her down; she’d tell him she’d had a bad dream.

‘Did you, Baby? What about?’

This threw her. She wasn’t counting on that level of interest. ‘Daleks,’ she lied.

Jack kissed her eyelids and held her close until she went back to sleep. His body folded into hers and their sweat sat, muddled, in the crease at the back of her knees. She’d miss his warmth. Martha knew that, besides their mingling sweat, she’d miss many other things about Jack. She’d miss his affection. Jack was always kissing her. He kissed her nose. He kissed her fingertips. He kissed her in the street. He kissed her in shops. He kissed her on the Tube. He kissed her whenever she turned to him and said ‘Kiss me.’ Which was indecently frequently.

He was a beautiful world.

She’d miss his ability to see the best in people and situations. She’d miss his cheerful unflappability. The kids would miss his energy, particularly his ability to carry them endlessly around on his shoulders. She’d miss his eyes that flooded with emotion. She’d miss his cock moving inside her. She’d miss his sense of humour, the way he continually recalled silly facts. She’d even miss his stupid film quotes.

She felt the loss already.

They both talked about keeping in touch. They made elaborate plans about what they’d do when Martha and the children visited. But they both doubted that their plans would ever be more than comforting pipe dreams. How would Martha be able to stand by and watch Jack build a new life entirely separate to hers? More fundamentally, how would either of them be able to build a new life if they stood on each other’s sidelines, haunting each other’s memories? A clean break would be essential.

Martha began to concentrate on how she would fill the void when Jack left. She didn’t want a repeat of the loneliness that she’d felt on Michael’s departure. Coffee
mornings held little allure, but a night out with the girls at the local pizza parlour, enjoying a carafe or two of house white, well, that would be fun. The void would be filled with making her own decisions regarding childcare, buying a new sofa, putting some more shelves up in the children’s rooms, taking the car to be serviced. She planned to read her AA manual before she went to the garage. Whilst she had little hope of completely understanding what the mechanic was saying, she would at least like to give a good enough impression of doing so, in order to avoid being totally ripped off. She applied for a part-time job, as an office administrator, at the local primary school. She was well aware that she wasn’t charging up the corporate ladder with such a position, but the school had a crèche that Mathew and Maisie would be able to attend, she’d have long holidays and she liked the teaching staff.

Eliza moved out of Martha’s home and back in with Greg. This wasn’t a surprise to anyone other than Eliza. Martha knew that she’d miss her sister’s bossy but friendly presence. Living on her own wasn’t going to be easy, but it was time she stood on her own two feet again. In fact, it might be the first time she’d ever stood on her own two feet, but she felt ready. Besides, it was worth it just to see how totally blissed out Eliza and Greg were. Martha was pleased that her Christmas sixpence wish hadn’t been wasted.