asleep at this time of day. She’d never have a lunchtime nap now, and if she didn’t have a lunchtime nap she’d be grouchy by the end of the day, and she’d need to go to bed early, which would mean she’d wake up early tomorrow, which would irritate Michael.
Oh dear.
Still, Maisie was asleep now and there was nothing Martha could do about that. Martha decided to try toenjoy the rare luxury of peace and quiet. She would take the opportunity to browse around the bookshop.
Martha rummaged in her bag and pulled out a list of titles from her organizer, then proceeded to locate three of the books. Two were on the Booker prize shortlist that had just been announced, one was a Pulitzer winner. All should prove to be improving and educational. The writing styles would undoubtedly be graceful, confident and intelligent, as described by critics and advertised by the publishers.
Although they might be a little bit gloomy.
Martha shook her head as she thought that she’d got through just five books in nine months. She could remember the time when she’d read five books in a single month. Realistically, it would be unlikely that she would manage to plough though the three she’d just bought by Christmas.
Martha tried to remember what it was like to read a book entirely for pleasure, purely for entertainment. She looked at the huge stacks of books that screeched, ‘Have a laugh, read me.’ These were the ones with pink, turquoise or yellow covers, with little cartoon pictures of spangly handbags or overflowing champagne glasses. She allowed her finger to trace the embossed name of the author of one of them, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to pick it up. When would she have time to read something so entirely self-indulgent? She knew that the novels she had selected would at least be useful – they would no doubt be discussed at the dinner parties she attended.
Martha moved to the card rack. She fished in her handbag and produced another list. She needed a card forEd and Bel’s wedding anniversary, a ‘Welcome to your new home’ card for Michael’s aunt, a birthday card for Michael’s father. All tasteful. No bottoms, no breasts, no gags about wind. Her final purchase was a book for a little friend of Mathew’s. Mathew was going to a birthday party and would need to take a gift. Martha chose The Hungry Caterpillar , creatively stimulating and educational. Ideal. Martha always bought children books as presents.
Martha left the bookshop undisputedly on a high. She’d stopped fretting about Maisie sleeping at the wrong time of day and she knew that she was in plenty of time to pick up Mathew from playschool. She could go to the supermarket this afternoon. She’d managed to push the thought of Eliza’s imminent split from Greg out of her mind. She was very good at ignoring bad news. Retail therapy invariably helped and she was very pleased with today’s purchases, all of which were eminently considered. So sensible.
7
Eliza was woken up by something licking her face. If it was Greg he really had to see a hygienist. It wasn’t Greg, it was Dog. Dog was Greg’s spaniel, rescued from a dogs’ home two years ago. Dog’s life with Greg was anything but a dog’s life. Dog was spoilt rotten by both Greg and Eliza. Eliza worried that Dog was her child substitute, and she had no idea where Greg’s depth of feelings for Dog came from.
Dog was called Dog because they couldn’t agree on a name. Eliza had sighed and thought it was lucky they were never going to have a baby together, as it would probably end up being called Child, or Boy, or Girl.
‘OK, OK.’ Eliza gave in to Dog’s affectionate persistence. She swung her long legs out of bed and stretched her arms above her head.
‘Morning, Babe,’ mumbled Greg. He half opened one eye. ‘God, you look good, come back to bed.’
‘Someone has to feed Dog and take him for a walk,’ huffed Eliza. She wasn’t sure what she was most irritated about: