The Other Woman's Shoes by Adele Parks Read Free Book Online Page B

not allowing him so much as a sniff of the grass, along Holland Park Avenue and to her sister’s home.
    Martha opened the door. She had Maisie on one hip and Mathew latched to a leg. She was dressed in smart navy slacks, a white shirt and slip-on suede pumps. Her hair was immaculately styled, as always, and she was wearing lipgloss. Eliza felt distinctly scruffy and underdressed in her tracky bottoms and sweatshirt.
    Her question seemed redundant. ‘Hi Martha, is it too early for a visit?’
    ‘Not at all, the children and I have been up since six.’ Martha beamed, delighted to see Eliza. She didn’t let on that she’d had a punishing start to her morning: Maisie had been grizzly with teething again, and Mathew was agitated by the attention Maisie was getting. Martha was beginning to find it difficult to distinguish between their cries as they meshed into a more or less continuous drone. Eliza’s arrival was a welcome distraction. Martha shuffled out of the way as best she could with Mathew hooked toher leg, and gestured for Eliza to come in. Eliza carefully wiped her shoes but feared that Dog was going to damage irreparably the plush, immaculate cream hall carpet anyway.
    ‘Is it all right if I bring Dog in?’
    ‘Oh yes, yes, fine. Take him through to the garden; Mathew will be thrilled, something for him to tease other than his sister.’ Martha tried not to think about worms and made a mental note to check the garden for dog poop when Eliza left.
    Eliza followed the instructions whilst Martha tried to set both children up with distractions. The kids rejected the clutch of wooden educational toys, as they clearly would prefer to poke and prod Dog. Eliza felt mildly irresponsible leaving Dog to fend for himself but still she chose to go back to the kitchen and join Martha for a cup of coffee.
    ‘Where’s Michael?’ asked Eliza as she jumped on to a stool.
    ‘In bed. He’s had a very busy week.’
    I want a husband who’s in bed because he’s had a very busy week rather than because he’s a lazy bugger, thought Eliza, but she didn’t say as much; instead she asked if she could have some breakfast.
    ‘Haven’t you eaten?’ Eliza could hear from the shock in Martha’s voice that she disapproved of Eliza leaving the house on less than a full stomach. Eliza’s lips tightened, waiting for the reproach.
    Perhaps Martha noticed because she didn’t articulate her reproach; instead she rolled off the bill of fare available. ‘Well, I have some freshly squeezed orange juice, somehome-made Bircher muesli, which is very nice, even if I say so myself. You could have that with organic yogurt or milk. I’ve got skimmed, semi-skimmed or the tasty stuff. I have eggs, which I could poach, boil or scramble. I also have bacon and sausages. And I think there are some pastries.’
    Eliza couldn’t help but compare the feast on offer here to the contents of the fridge and cupboards at Greg’s. If someone dropped in unexpectedly on her for breakfast on a Saturday morning they’d have to make do with Ryvita, Marmite and black coffee. ‘I’ll have muesli, please, and some orange juice.’
    Martha scurried around preparing Eliza’s breakfast; it was the fourth she’d prepared that morning. The children had eaten first, then she’d had time to grab a slice of toast for herself. After Eliza was sorted out, Martha would have to start on Michael’s cooked breakfast – which he liked to have at 11.30. At noon Martha would begin cooking the children’s lunch. Eliza looked out of the window.
    It was a lovely Indian summer morning. Freakily hot, hot enough to believe that it was August. God or Mother Nature or the guys in the white coats who invented aerosol sprays had got it all muddled again. Throughout the summer you were considered at best irresponsible, at worst an insurance risk, if you ventured out of doors without the protection of knee-high wellies and an umbrella. Now, in mid-September, you wouldn’t be thought