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

know. If the renovation costs are higher, we have to push our mortgage out further. You don’t seem to have noticed, but my income is only just covering the mortgage repayments as it is. And if interest rates go up again, we’re going to be in serious trouble – even without a bloody renovation.’
    The words were delivered with a cold, closely reined fury. There was no trace of familiarity on his face and Claire felt the sharp pang of isolation again. She’d been stupid to show Peter the plans now. He was still barely talking to her after last Friday night.
    Claire had been taken aback when Alice had left the bar straight after telling them her idea. But gradually the awkward silence had loosened and conversation had flowed. Claire had quickly felt drunk, the sense of doing something for herself like a double shot of vodka. Rebecca had left early, but Claire had decided to have just half a glass more.
    She remembered quite clearly thinking she really should get going – she couldn’t miss her own dinner party. And then the guy – was it Kerry? – had picked up yet another champagne bottle and silently offered it to her, eyebrows raised in question. She’d hesitated, then nodded.
    After that, she’d pretended not to hear her mobile ringing or see the screen flashing, Home .
    By the time she left the bar, she knew she was in serious trouble. Unable to find a taxi she had driven home to save time.
    The key had refused to fit into the front door and she had been on her third attempt when Peter had wrenched it open.
    â€˜Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.’
    Claire’s first thought had been that he didn’t look worried – just furious. She’d felt like a fifteen year old who’d stayed out past curfew. She had barely managed to suppress a giggle. ‘Um, out.’ Even she could hear the laughter in her voice and she bit the inside of her cheek, feeling even more like a delinquent teenager.
    She’d pushed clumsily past Peter and strode into the entertaining area. ‘Where is everyone?’
    From where she’d stood, she could see that the kitchen was a disaster. Judging by the trail of debris, Peter had attempted to make the risotto and it hadn’t gone well. So not well, in fact, that it seemed he’d decided on a Plan B. Greasy cardboard pizza boxes were strewn all over the suede caramel couches. Any other time Claire would have been horrified, but she had calmly pushed one of the boxes onto the floor and sat down.
    Peter had suddenly looked genuinely concerned. He’d sat down on the opposite sofa. ‘They went home half an hour ago. Are you all right?’
    â€˜I’m great.’
    â€˜Claire, where were you?’
    â€˜I told you. I was having drinks with Alice Day.’
    Peter hadn’t even glanced at his watch. ‘It’s almost ten-thirty. You said you’d be home two hours ago.’
    Guilt had snuck past the alcohol and Claire had started to feel bad. She’d felt the bubble of happiness leaking out of her. ‘ForGod’s sake, Peter. This is not a national disaster. I was having a good time, I got carried away.’
    â€˜Yeah well, while you were getting carried away, I was left looking like an idiot. I had to order pizza.’
    It was pretty obvious she’d done the wrong thing. She’d known she’d feel desperately bad later, but right then she hadn’t.
    â€˜Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll call them all tomorrow and say …’ her imagination had failed her, ‘… something.’
    Peter had sworn under his breath. ‘Right, “something” will really help.’
    â€˜I really am sorry, Peter.’
    â€˜Not as sorry as I am. How much did you spend?’
    â€˜Spend? Nothing. I told you it was free.’
    â€˜With you, nothing is free.’
    And then they’d gone down the same old path.
    Finally Peter had stormed off to sleep