The Other Woman's Shoes (45 page)

‘I didn’t realize there was still an “
us
”,’ she said. Her voice treacherously cracked in the middle of her sentence.

‘Martha, there’s always been an “us”,’ implored Michael. ‘You, me, Mathew and Maisie.’

Martha’s head was spinning. She blinked ferociously in an effort to keep those bloody tears at bay (what were they about?) and to try and remain focused. ‘But what about Eleanor?’ asked Martha. ‘Are you still seeing her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was it an affair?’

‘Stop asking me that, Martha. Look, we’ve both made some awful mistakes in the last six months.’

Had she?

‘We’ve both said a lot of terrible things.’

That was true.

‘But it’s clear that we
are
supposed to be together, that we
are
happier together.’

Was it? Martha didn’t know. Martha had waited for this declaration for so long. She’d waited from the moment that Michael closed the door behind him way back in
September. Why had he chosen now? Was he being sentimental, or maybe had he and Eleanor had a row? After waiting for so long, why was it that Martha didn’t want to hear this? She’d thought Michael had looked happier since he’d left her, and that made a sort of sense. She didn’t want to hear that all this pain had been for nothing.

‘I thought that you didn’t want me, but when I heard that you’d turned Jack down, I realized that I still had a chance.’

Martha stared at Michael, uncomprehending. It was impossible for her to follow his logic. What did he mean, she didn’t want him? Of course she’d wanted him. She’d begged him, literally prostrated herself, asking him to love her, not to leave her and her children. It was he who hadn’t wanted her. He hadn’t wanted her as she was: the housewife whose greatest ambition was having a lovely family and home, whose greatest concern was Michael and his happiness. She’d felt safe with Michael. And soon safety slipped into dependency, and then nose-dived into over-dependency. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when her personality had merged with his, had been dominated and then eradicated. She’d bored him, and now she could admit that she’d been quite bored with herself, too. Now she didn’t want to be that boring person, but still she thought he was ungrateful. When he’d left she’d been faced with a huge void. She’d felt nothing. She’d had nothing. She’d been nothing.

But now she was something again.

She’d rediscovered herself. It hadn’t been easy. In fact it had been bloody. Jack had helped her find herself
and she was grateful. She was just Martha. Not Martha, Michael’s wife; not Martha, Mathew and Maisie’s mother. Not even Martha, Jack’s girlfriend.

It would have been nice if Michael had wanted to help Martha rediscover the more funky, hopeful girl that he’d fallen in love with, but he hadn’t.

‘Jack can’t know that when you get sunburnt, through flagrant abuse of the suncream manufacturer’s advice, you incorrectly insist that your red-hot limbs will certainly be “brown in the morning”,’ began Michael. Martha smiled. It was true that every summer she burnt herself, and her stubborn defence always was: ‘It’ll be brown in the morning.’ Michael had always nodded at this statement, indulging her, pretending to be convinced.

Jack did know.

‘He doesn’t know that it’s funny that you always drop the soap in the shower,’ continued Michael. He was referring to the fact that Martha had tiny hands, and every single time she took a shower she would drop the slippery soap. Michael used to think her little doll-like hands were attractive and her dropping the soap made him smile. ‘Only the two of us know the mess in our home is made by Little Goblin,’ said Michael enthusiastically. Martha nodded and didn’t bother correcting him. Before the children were born, Michael and Martha had had an imaginary character that reportedly lived in the shoe cupboard: the Little Goblin. He was blamed for all mess, breakages and loss of keys. The truth was, nowadays the mess, breakages and loss of keys were likely to have been created by much more human ‘Little Goblins’; Michael didn’t know this.

It was nice to share the old jokes. Over the last few months they’d been so angry with one another and themselves, humiliated by their failure, disillusioned and disappointed, that it had been impossible to spend any time together relaxing like this. Michael sat facing her, smiling gently, as was his way. He had been such a gentle man when she’d first met him.

His smile acted like a key, turning slowly in a lock and allowing a door to be prised open. Suddenly, Martha was submerged in memories that she thought she’d buried. Their first holiday together: a terrible, cheap package holiday, because in those days they both earned peanuts. They’d walked miles each day to find a quiet beach and to avoid the lager-lout, tabloid-reading tourists. Martha’s new sandals rubbed, causing blisters, and walking hurt, but she didn’t tell him – she’d wanted to appear fitter, braver, and more adept than she was. They’d eaten in a
tapas
bar – the same one every night, because the entire island was overrun with appalling anglicized restaurants offering ‘genuine English breakfast with white-sliced, and fish and chips’. They’d avoided the purple liqueurs as well, and noisy, packed clubs; they’d just wanted to be alone. They’d gone back to the hotel early and made love. They’d been to a water theme park and taken photos of each other bombing down slides, photos Martha had ripped up last autumn, though the images were still with her.

They had loved each other. Very much. He proposed on a beach in the Bahamas; he’d worked out where they’d watch the sunset from. They’d once looked at stars through a telescope together. He’d held her hair and hand when she had food poisoning. They’d painted the
children’s nursery. They’d danced. They’d watched the fireworks welcome in the new millennium from London Bridge, and then they’d walked home. It had taken them until four in the morning. There were so many memories. Ten years.

Michael must have been thinking along the same lines because he interrupted her thoughts. ‘Do you really want to start all over again on memories?’

Martha didn’t say ‘We’ve already started.’ Nor did she say ‘But we can never catch up.’ These were the two thoughts that surged into her head almost simultaneously. Then again, Martha firmly believed in quality, not quantity.

Michael and Martha had walked down the aisle together. That would always be important, vital. They had loved each other. Martha wanted to remember these things. She still loved him.

In a way.

But was it enough?

One day she’d tell Maisie and Mathew. She’d say ‘We did love each other.’

Jack didn’t know about Little Goblin, but he had already learnt that Martha was never simply hungry – she was always starving – never cold – but always freezing – never warm – but boiling. Her dash from one extreme to another made him laugh. Better yet, they’d found their own space. Their own sayings. One time, Martha had wanted to emphatically tell Jack that he was ‘so not just a pretty face’, but she’d muddled her words and instead she’d said ‘you are just so not a pretty face’. It had become a catch phrase between them, and always induced a disproportionate amount of laughter. He knew what her favourite book
was. He brought her a glass of water to bed every night as she had a slight allergy to her pillows and always woke up coughing. It didn’t matter if she woke him because they would reassure each other that ‘it was not the cough that carried her off but the coffin they carried her off in’. It didn’t sound like much, but it was
their
familiarity. When she made love with Jack, she not only tasted his cock but his thoughts too. He kissed her eyelids and could see her clearly, all of her. He moved her ground, gave her especially good thoughts and memories. He was quickly becoming her universe. He’d even cut back on his mildly annoying habit of constantly quoting from films that she’d never heard of.

But Jack was leaving.

And she’d be alone again.

She thought all this as she drank her glass of wine and Michael waited. They were drinking out of wineglasses that Martha had bought to replace the ones he’d taken, but earlier on they’d been drinking out of coffee mugs that they’d bought together. It was all so confusing. Much messier than she’d ever wanted her life to be.

‘I miss the kids, Martha.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ nodded Martha sadly, and the surprise was that she didn’t have to fight the urge to yell ‘
Well, whose bloody fault is that?
’ She just felt sorry for Michael. ‘What happened, Michael? Why did you leave?’

Michael looked pained. It was clear she was putting him on the spot, but she had to understand. It had been months now and she still didn’t get it. She was probably being dense. It was probably simple to him. The way in mathematics some people think that quadratic equations
are pure and beautiful, while others are blinded by them and shake and cry at the very thought. To move on it was necessary for her to totally understand when they’d taken the wrong road.

‘You know how we used to comment on couples in restaurants who ate together but didn’t say a word to one another throughout the whole meal?’ Michael started.

‘Yes.’

‘I was scared we were becoming like them.’

Martha nodded. It was true. Her life had been like the children’s goldfish (unimaginatively called Goldie – although, more amusingly, Jack called it Horn). It, too, simply spent its days, pointlessly circling around and around, forgetting that it had just visited the same place only seconds before. It gawked at life, other people’s lives, but didn’t comment, let alone participate. Martha had felt like that goldfish. ‘You could have said. We could have fixed it.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Certainly,’ said Martha confidently. ‘Sometimes I’m rummaging through a drawer and I come across something that you bought me, earrings or a scarf, thoughtful gifts that remind me that you loved me.’

‘I did, Martha. I do.’

‘And I want to scream that things have changed so much. What we had was bona fide.’

Michael no longer recognized his wife’s language, but he did recognize her mind. She was saying it was too late. She was sorry, but he’d left it too late.

Martha wished it wasn’t. She wished that this hadn’t happened, and that she and Michael could have been in
love for ever. She wished it so much she wanted to curl up in a ball and never have to stand up again.

‘It doesn’t have to be too late,’ said Michael.

Martha started to cry. She was surprised that there were any tears left in her. Where did they come from? Martha had spent years and years believing that everything Michael said was gospel. She’d thought he was right about where they should live, what she should wear, even what wines she should drink, so she thought it was the ultimate irony that she couldn’t believe him now. However much she wanted to.

‘You broke my heart, Michael. Accept some responsibility.’

50

‘And you’re happy with that decision, are you?’ demanded Eliza.

Martha moved the phone away from her ear and glared at it indignantly, sticking her tongue out, which was very immature, but made her feel a lot better. ‘Are you saying you think I made the wrong decision?’

‘No.’

‘Good.’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘Not necessarily? Since when have you been a big fan of Michael’s?’

‘I’m not, necessarily. It’s just–’

‘What?’

‘Well, you’ve managed to give two men the big heave-ho in almost as many weeks. D’you think that’s a considered decision?’

‘What century are you living in, Eliza?’

‘I’m not saying women can’t manage without men–’

‘Good.’ God, was there anything more annoying than a newly engaged woman? Eliza believed that the answer to everybody’s problems was finding the love of your life. She was evangelical.

The worst of it was, Martha agreed with her.

Providing of course that he didn’t bugger off to the
other side of the globe, which actually hurt a lot and caused problems rather than solved them.

‘Look, Mar, I’m just saying that… oh, I don’t know. I’m just saying I’m sorry that it’s all so complicated.’

‘Yeah, I am too.’

‘It’s not going to be an easy day for you today, is it?’

‘No, not really.’

Jack was catching the 19.50 flight to New York. Martha had decided that she wasn’t going to go to the airport with him. Her mum and dad and Eliza and Greg and even Michael had all offered to look after the children so that she could go and wave him off, but she’d declined. Martha hated goodbyes and however much she practised, she could never think fondly of them. Goodbyes were cruel. They were sad. She didn’t want to stand in the terminal and cry.

What was there left to say?

Over the last few weeks Jack had said some of the sweetest things to Martha, he’d given her plenty of pure and strong memories to look back on. Enough, but not too many. She was not going to live a life of regret and recollection. She was going to live a full life. Jack had never judged or categorized Martha. He hadn’t looked at her and thought ‘failed marriage’ or ‘single mum’ or ‘bored housewife’. He only saw Little Miss E., sexy, feisty, funny Little Miss E. who should be in clubs and bars and flagship fashion stores just as often as she should be at the local park or sitting through an NCT meeting. Jack had made her feel beautiful and strong and important, and the best thing was that she didn’t think she needed him to keep up the belief. She could do it on her own.

She had to.

‘Mum and Dad mentioned they might pop over to yours today,’ said Eliza.

‘Did they now?’ Their intentions were transparent. Martha felt mildly guilty that she was such a worry to them but, mostly, she was just happy that they would be popping by. She wanted to be consumed by their unconditional love. She thought it would be more bearable watching the clock nudge around to ten to eight if her parents were with her and she had to pretend that she wasn’t watching the clock.

‘Greg and I aren’t up to much, either. There’s not a lot to do on a Friday night, is there?’ said Eliza. ‘So we thought we’d swing by, too. Maybe bring a takeaway over for everyone.’