Other People’s Diaries by Kathy Webb Read Free Book Online Page A

point, what wasn’t, in the fridge, she opened it. Perhaps the tidying fairies had left a slowly stewed casserole instead of making the beds today.
    No … the only thing that vaguely resembled the makings of a meal was a slab of mince which should have been eaten days ago.
    Jeremy’s parents couldn’t come until the following day and so Sam had spent the day with one of Rebecca’s friends. As kind as her friend had been about looking after Sam, Rebecca had felt guilty and had rushed to pick him up soon after five o’clock. Sam hadn’t wanted to come home and had thrown a tantrum when Rebecca tried to strap him into his car seat. Unable to face stopping at the supermarket with a screaming child, Rebecca had driven straight home.
    Rebecca’s hand hovered over the mince for a moment. Who had ever heard of people getting food poisoning from bad mince? Prawns maybe, or chicken. But not good old hormone-crammed mince. It would probably last another month or so without any problems.
    Botulism aside, nothing great was ever created out of mince. Maybe in Delia Smith or Jamie Oliver’s worlds. But in her worldit meant spaghetti bolognese or tacos. Neither of which she had ever particularly liked.
    But tacos would require some kind of salad accompaniment, which ruled that out. Spaghetti it was. Again … And for Bianca, who at sixteen had already been a vegetarian for two years, bolognese sauce without the mince. Wearily Rebecca pulled the necessary cans from the pantry and started dinner.

It’s kind of sad to be writing two entries before I even receive my first email .
    â€˜Too much time on her hands … She needs a job; no children, you know …’
    I actually found myself lying about what I did the other day. Someone asked me how I passed my time. For some bizarre reason I heard myself saying airily that I do charity work. Which is a lie. It sounded good though .
    I didn’t set out to be a cliché. If ten years ago I’d had to describe what I’d be doing now, I would have said I’d be run off my feet with a house full of children. Flipping pikelets for afternoon tea and buying those huge packets of cereal which would take Peter and me a year to eat by ourselves. But here I am, still waiting for that houseful of children …
    I’ve just re-read what I wrote and almost deleted it. But I didn’t. At least everyone else will look incredibly balanced compared to me .
    C laire spread the A3 plans out in front of her. The table, which had come from their last house, was all stainless steel and glass and looked ludicrous against the old hardwood deck. But that was all about to change. The architect’s design was great.The kitchen and the deck would disappear, to be replaced by a glass pavilion which would hover over the backyard.
    The security door gave off a metallic clunk. Claire scraped her chair backwards, taking brief pleasure from not having to worry about damaging the floorboards. ‘Hi,’ she called out.
    Peter walked down the hallway and gave her a half-hearted smile. Reaching the deck, he slumped into a chair beside her. Claire had realised several months ago that Peter no longer kissed her hello or goodbye. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly when he had stopped, but the lack of that perfunctory kiss cut her every morning and every afternoon.
    â€˜Ah, the plans,’ Peter said, looking at the pages on the table.
    â€˜They’re fantastic,’ Claire enthused. She pushed the papers in front of him. ‘Have a look – this area out here will be amazing.’
    Peter glanced at them briefly. ‘Uh huh. And has he given you any ideas on how much it will all cost?’
    â€˜Not really, but I think it might be a bit more than we originally planned.’
    â€˜Jesus, Claire!’ Peter jerked his head to the side, not looking at her.
    After a moment he turned back to her. ‘Money does not grow on trees, you