Breaking and Entering Read Free

hadn’t ordered flowers. Penny would wake before the shops were open, expect breakfast in bed, with a gift-wrapped package on the tray. He had produced it every year so far, so he could hardly stop at the seventh. Seven was a sacred number, which had always had a marvellous press: seven pillars of wisdom, seven wonders of the world, seven virtues, seventh heaven. On the minus side, however, there were the seven deadly sins. Not to mention the seven-year itch; himself the living proof of it.
    He clenched his fist against the glass, tempted to smash through it, filch a pair of earrings or a bracelet. But then he’d spend the day behind bars. It would be imprisonment in any case. He couldn’t lunch with Juliet on his wedding anniversary. Thank God for his laryngitis, the perfect foolproof excuse. Though how the hell was he going to let her know, or cancel the reservation at La Barca?
    â€˜BUY HER AN ETERNITY RING’, a cardboard placard urged. ‘DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER’, proclaimed another. Important to stress eternity when four in ten marriages broke down, and (according to the statistics) in another twenty years almost every married couple would end up in the divorce courts. Of course, if the jewellers were shrewd businessmen, they could cash in on the trend and design a special range of trinkets for the divorce market – pendants inscribed with slogans such as. ‘It was great while it lasted’, or ‘Thanks for the memory – goodbye’. But the pendants in the window seemed unashamedly old-fashioned. They either bore a simple name – Sharon, Michelle, Mum – or gushed with schmaltzy sentiment. ‘I love you more each day’, a chunky locket confided to him in elaborate Gothic script, and there were several variations on the theme. ‘I’ll never stop loving you’, ‘I’ll love you more tomorrow than today’. That last one sounded strange: ambiguous, to say the least. Did people really wear such things, take them seriously? Perhaps he ought to buy one for himself, string it round his neck to make its magic work.
    He knew which one he’d choose: that eighteen-carat love-heart divided into two; the interlocking edges exactly matching up when you slotted them together. Both halves were engraved: ‘Tony’ on the left, ‘Diana’ on the right, ‘ENGRAVING FREE’ enticed a small card underneath it. Bargains even here. Cut-price love, 10p off fidelity. The only problem was, he needed three halves – Daniel, Penny, Juliet.
    He shrugged and turned away, heading back for home. He doubted any jeweller could divide one heart three ways.

Chapter Two
    â€˜Happy anniversary!’ croaked Daniel. He had regained a shred of voice now, coaxed back by tea and gargling.
    â€˜You’re worse,’ said Penny. ‘Much.’
    â€˜No,’ he struggled. ‘Better.’
    She reached up to take the tray from him, her right breast still floating free. ‘You’re the one who needs breakfast in bed.’
    â€˜I’ve had mine, in the kitchen.’ The wretched voice kept cracking, but at least it was holding out.
    â€˜What did you have?’
    â€˜A quart of tea, with honey, and two fags.’
    â€˜Oh, no! You’ve given up. I mean, you promised, darling, faithfully.’
    He winced to hear that word again. ‘I know.’
    â€˜Oh, Daniel …’
    â€˜Oh, Penn …’
    She patted the space beside her; rumpled floral sheets which needed washing. ‘Well, get in anyway. I don’t fancy breakfast on my own, not on our anniversary. I bought you a new lighter, by the way.’
    â€˜Great.’
    â€˜It’s not great. It’s crazy. I bought it a whole month ago, before your Big Decision.’ She made the phrase half-jokey, half-sarcastic.
    â€˜Well, you can probably take it back, tell the shop you …’
    â€˜Wouldn’t you like to see it