The Other Woman's Shoes Read Free Page A

more or less daily basis Martha was in the habit of ‘counting her blessings’. It was a hangover from her lower-middle-class upbringing. As a child she’d been grateful that she wasn’t an African (no food), a dog (no souls), a geriatric (no bladder control) or one of the Johnsons from down the street (no Raleigh bikes). Nowadays Martha tried to dwell on what she did have (a lot) rather than what she lacked (nothing worth mentioning).
    Today, for example, had been a lovely day. It had been very kind of her mother to look after the children. Martha tried not to think of the sweet wrappers she had seen in the bin; instead she concentrated on the fact that her hair was trimmed evenly. And whilst it was irritating that the garage had called to say that the service of the Range Rover had taken longer than they expected and therefore the car wouldn’t be ready until after the weekend, she felt very lucky that they had a Range Rover. A very expensive vehicle that, Martha couldn’t help thinking, ought more properly to belong to someone else. Martha was alwaysconscious that she’d ended up far richer, aged thirty-two, than her parents had been when they retired. She tried very hard to be grateful for her prosperity, although in truth she found it mildly embarrassing; it was just something else to feel guilty about.
    Other blessings? Mathew’s face when Martha returned home from the hairdresser’s. Martha had been delighted when he’d rushed into the hall and flung his little body at her legs. He’d clung on to her skirt and kissed the nylon of her tights; his urgent, inexpert kisses had touched her heart. And it was even a good thing that he’d shouted, ‘Yuk, Mummy, your legs are tickerly’, reminding her that she needed a leg wax. She must make an appointment, it wasn’t like her to let herself go.
    ‘Mathew doesn’t normally greet me with such enthusiasm,’ Martha had commented to her mother. She hoped it didn’t sound as though she were accusing her mother of treating Mathew badly – that certainly wasn’t what she intended.
    ‘Darling, he doesn’t normally have the opportunity to miss you, you never leave him for long enough,’ Mrs Evergreen had replied matter-of-factly.
    Martha didn’t understand how it could be the case but she’d felt mildly chastised. Surely her mother appreciated Martha’s devotion to her children and surely she was proud of it. After all, it was exactly as Mrs Evergreen had acted with Martha and Eliza.
    Why was it that all her blessings seemed to be tinged with… oh, nagging feelings of… Martha left the thought unformed in her mind. She stood up and poured herself half a glass more of white wine. Martha didn’t drink much.She never touched spirits (too potent) or red wine (stained her teeth). One and a half glasses of white wine, every third day, was usually Martha’s limit; anything more would be totally irresponsible with children in the house. Today she was allowing herself an extra half glass. It was Friday, after all.
    Another blessing, both children were in bed and asleep. Generally speaking – and this was yet another blessing – the children were becoming easier day by day. Today had been nothing more than a small aberration, she was sure of it. Martha was prepared to admit after her glass and a half of Chardonnay (to herself, and if they’d been there, to her mother and to a couple of her NCT friends) that the theory of having children close together, so as to get the nappy bit over with all at once, was in practice harder than she’d anticipated. Still, Maisie’s colic had finally cleared up and she had slept through from 8 p.m. until 6 a.m. four nights in a row; after ten months of waking every three hours this was undoubtedly a godsend.
    Sometimes Martha’s head, neck, back, eyeballs and even teeth ached with exhaustion. Yet it wasn’t so much the lack of sleep that Martha found hard to take – after all, that was a given if you had a baby – it was the