the last to put his hand in his pocket. She was sure that Helen noticed; nothing got past her sharp eyes. It made Jo cringe and she found herself looking for excuses to refuse invitations. But this was Helen and Johnny’s twentieth wedding anniversary and short of being at death’s door, there was no excuse that would get her off the hook.
At least Dominic wouldn’t be there. Jo felt guilty for thinking ill of a dead man but he’d made Marianne so miserable. He had been fun in the past, although Greg never really liked him but hid his feelings because Dominic had contacts. He got on better with Johnny but once he had a few drinks inside him, the snide comments would start to slip into the conversation; when had he developed this nasty, sneering streak? Was it marriage to her that had changed him? Perhaps she had turned out to be a disappointment; that wouldn’t surprise her. She’d never been sure what he’d seen in her.
She had been an average student growing up. At sixteen the nuns told her she was best suited to factory work or stacking shelves. When she moved to the boarding house the manager, a kindly, maternal soul, set Jo up with a job in a small supermarket owned by her cousin. It wasn’t the most exciting job in the world but Jo was quite content. Her happiness was complete when she met Greg there. The shop was only around the corner from his flat in Ranelagh and he was a regular customer. She had noticed him a few times and, since she wasn’t yet trained to work the till, she hadn’t spoken to him but she liked his serious face and shy smile.
Then, one day, she’d knocked over a tower of tinned beans. The manager had yelled at her and she was tearfully trying to rebuild it when Greg came to her rescue.
There had been several short, awkward exchanges over the following weeks before he finally worked up the courage to invite her out and they had been together ever since. Jo was so happy and even happier when they married and moved into their tiny home. She’d enjoyed being a housewife and although she wasn’t a natural homemaker – her mother hadn’t exactly set an example – she’d loved taking care of Greg. When she found out she was pregnant, she was over the moon. The prospect of having her own precious baby to mind and cherish was thrilling.
But it all went downhill from there. She’d piled on the weight, suffered terrible back problems and couldn’t sleep. Greg grew less and less sympathetic as the ironing piled up in a corner and dinner was often out of a tin or a carton. It didn’t help that Helen had an immaculate house, was an excellent cook and proved quite capable of managing a lively toddler while helping Johnny start up his business. Jo felt completely useless and things didn’t improve when Di was born; the responsibility overwhelming her. Sometimes she would catch Greg looking at her, disappointment in his eyes, and she could just imagine the poison his mother poured into his ear.
That sour old woman had been the bane of her life, always criticizing her and looking around in disgust whenever she visited, which was far too often for Jo’s liking. Once she’d caught the old battleaxe running her finger along the kitchen shelf, checking for dust, which, of course, she’d found. There was dust on the mantelpiece, Jo noticed now, as she replaced the invitation; her housekeeping skills had not improved with time.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror above it. Her hair was a disgrace and she looked old and drab though she was only thirty-seven. Helen had just turned forty but looked years younger. Then again, she went for facials and manicures and had her hair done at an expensive salon in town every six weeks; it was easier to look good when you put that much time and money into it.
Marianne was different. She was a natural beauty who had changed little over the years. Her hair hung halfway down her back; she’d worn it that way since she’d left St Anne’s. Long hair
At least Dominic wouldn’t be there. Jo felt guilty for thinking ill of a dead man but he’d made Marianne so miserable. He had been fun in the past, although Greg never really liked him but hid his feelings because Dominic had contacts. He got on better with Johnny but once he had a few drinks inside him, the snide comments would start to slip into the conversation; when had he developed this nasty, sneering streak? Was it marriage to her that had changed him? Perhaps she had turned out to be a disappointment; that wouldn’t surprise her. She’d never been sure what he’d seen in her.
She had been an average student growing up. At sixteen the nuns told her she was best suited to factory work or stacking shelves. When she moved to the boarding house the manager, a kindly, maternal soul, set Jo up with a job in a small supermarket owned by her cousin. It wasn’t the most exciting job in the world but Jo was quite content. Her happiness was complete when she met Greg there. The shop was only around the corner from his flat in Ranelagh and he was a regular customer. She had noticed him a few times and, since she wasn’t yet trained to work the till, she hadn’t spoken to him but she liked his serious face and shy smile.
Then, one day, she’d knocked over a tower of tinned beans. The manager had yelled at her and she was tearfully trying to rebuild it when Greg came to her rescue.
There had been several short, awkward exchanges over the following weeks before he finally worked up the courage to invite her out and they had been together ever since. Jo was so happy and even happier when they married and moved into their tiny home. She’d enjoyed being a housewife and although she wasn’t a natural homemaker – her mother hadn’t exactly set an example – she’d loved taking care of Greg. When she found out she was pregnant, she was over the moon. The prospect of having her own precious baby to mind and cherish was thrilling.
But it all went downhill from there. She’d piled on the weight, suffered terrible back problems and couldn’t sleep. Greg grew less and less sympathetic as the ironing piled up in a corner and dinner was often out of a tin or a carton. It didn’t help that Helen had an immaculate house, was an excellent cook and proved quite capable of managing a lively toddler while helping Johnny start up his business. Jo felt completely useless and things didn’t improve when Di was born; the responsibility overwhelming her. Sometimes she would catch Greg looking at her, disappointment in his eyes, and she could just imagine the poison his mother poured into his ear.
That sour old woman had been the bane of her life, always criticizing her and looking around in disgust whenever she visited, which was far too often for Jo’s liking. Once she’d caught the old battleaxe running her finger along the kitchen shelf, checking for dust, which, of course, she’d found. There was dust on the mantelpiece, Jo noticed now, as she replaced the invitation; her housekeeping skills had not improved with time.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror above it. Her hair was a disgrace and she looked old and drab though she was only thirty-seven. Helen had just turned forty but looked years younger. Then again, she went for facials and manicures and had her hair done at an expensive salon in town every six weeks; it was easier to look good when you put that much time and money into it.
Marianne was different. She was a natural beauty who had changed little over the years. Her hair hung halfway down her back; she’d worn it that way since she’d left St Anne’s. Long hair
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