Young Wives' Tales Read Free Page A

that I haven’t had sex for over half a decade. This does niggle me from time to time. I comfort myself that there’s no point in lamenting the lack of sex. Even if opportunity knocked, I’m not sure I was ever any good at it and I’m pretty convinced that if I was, I wouldn’t be now. I’ve forgotten what goes where.
    Lauren continues. ‘I was tearing my hair out towards the end of the summer and counting the minutes Mark was at the office. The moment he walked through the door I’d yell at him, “Your turn, I’ve had them all day.”’Lauren says this without any intention to be rude or malicious. She’s simply stating what every happily married mother thinks. ‘I can’t wait until Chrissie starts nursery school next year. Last one off my hands. The new nirvana is an empty house.’
    ‘You shouldn’t wish it away,’I tell her, sourly.
    She looks mildly chastised and I’m pathetic enough to feel chuffed by this; it evens the score after her comment about the certainty of my being lonely. I know motherhood shouldn’t be a competition but it often feels as though it is. I do like Lauren a lot, however, so I resist adding that
my
best days are the ones when the boys are around me; days when they are drowning me in their noise and mess, because I know she’ll be floored with guilt.
    I feel down as I suddenly realize that today has been the strain, not the holidays.
    ‘Maybe you could come over for Sunday lunch one weekend. It’s no fun having a Sunday alone,’offers Lauren. And maybe I would have accepted except that she adds, ‘Not this Sunday though, we have Phil and Gail Carpenter and their kids coming over. They have a girl in year one and the boy is in year four. Do you know them? Anyway it might be better if you come one weekend when it’s not all couples. I think you’ll be more comfortable. Maybe when my Mark is working away? What do you think?’
    I think I want to punch her but I smile and lie, ‘I’m sorry Lauren. I’m booked up every weekend from now till Christmas.’
    Luckily, at that moment I catch sight of the boys snaking their way out of the classroom and across the playground, so I make my excuses and move forward to collect them.
    The boys are mortified that I’ve picked them up and point out that they can walk home in minutes and I canpractically see them from my bedroom window if I choose. I incense them further because I waste (their words) precious minutes that could have been spent watching TV (not if I get my way) by chatting to Mr Walker, the head. He’s always visible at dropping-off and picking-up times so that the parents can grab him for a moment’s gripe or grovelling. He also asks about our holiday but without the pity Lauren interjected into the conversation. The boys kick the pavement throughout the brief interlude and I whisper threats about confiscating favourite toys unless they are civil. When we do walk home they insist I trail behind them, keeping a distance of at least ten paces so their friends don’t think they are babies. But they
are
my babies.
    As I mosey behind them I consider my lie to Lauren. I know it was motivated by pique. My one bugbear about being single is that married couples never invite you anywhere. They don’t want to draw attention to the fact that you are a spare part, not because it embarrasses the single person but because it embarrasses the cosy couples, who on the whole don’t know what to do with unwanted wives. Where, oh where to put them?
    Still, I know Lauren well enough to trust that she wasn’t trying to be offensive in any way, she’s just tactless. I sometimes think I live with shackles of tactlessness. Great iron chains that I lug around with me. These chains grow more hefty, awkward and burdensome as friends, relatives and strangers make unintentionally offensive comments and then I have to live with the emotional weight of their remarks.
    But then again maybe I’m just touchy. Maybe I should ring Lauren and tell her