had been vetoed in the home as it made hunting head lice too onerous a task. Marianne had always hated the short, boyish cut. She had never bothered that much with make-up and still didn’t. In her skinny jeans and simple T-shirts she looked more like one of Kate’s friends than her mother. Jo always felt big and clumsy next to her. She didn’t even own a pair of jeans, preferring the comfort and simplicity of tracksuits or leggings; they hid a multitude of sins.
Jo studied her reflection more critically. She really would have to do something with her hair for the party. The last short hairstyle that the girl in the salon had talked her into had looked okay but Jo hadn’t been able to recreate ‘the look’ since. She was basically a mess. Was it any wonder that Greg had seemed to lose interest in her?
She had never really enjoyed sex in the way that other women seemed to but the fact that her husband wanted her had always made her feel good. And he had wanted her all the time in the early days. Di’s arrival and those first difficult months had put paid to the honeymoon period but then sex had resumed once things had settled down and it had been much the same with Rachel. But in the last couple of years Greg seemed to have lost interest and only ever got frisky after a couple of drinks.
She turned away from the mirror and went into the kitchen to start on the laundry, her thoughts returning to Helen’s anniversary and what would be a suitable present. Buying something for the couple who literally had everything was, frankly, impossible and usually expensive. She would have to squirrel away some of the housekeeping and keep her eye out for a bargain. She sorted out the dirty washing, put on the first load and then went to make a coffee. The jar of chocolate cookies that Di adored stared down at her from the shelf and her mouth watered. One wouldn’t hurt; then she’d walk to the shops rather than drive to compensate for the indulgence. Feeling better, she settled down with a creamy cup of cappuccino, two cookies – well, she was going to work them off – and a magazine. She was halfway through an article about a soap star in meltdown when the washing machine buzzer went. Startled, she realized that over an hour had passed and she’d now had two coffees and five – or was it six? – cookies. It was too late to walk to the shop now or she’d be late picking up Rachel; she’d screwed up again. Full of self-disgust, she dragged herself slowly up to the bathroom and got rid of the food in the easiest possible way. There was an initial feeling of elation when she flushed the toilet but it was quickly replaced by a sense of shame.
She would get into a proper exercise regime, she promised herself. She knew that making herself vomit was bad for her health and she felt disgusted with herself for doing it; she had to stop. She would check the noticeboard in the supermarket and see if there was a local exercise class she could join. With a little self-control and hard work she would be a few pounds lighter before Helen’s party. Feeling pleased with her newly formed plan, Jo ran downstairs, fetched her shopping list and handbag, and grabbed her car keys.
When she got to the supermarket, the car park was packed; was all of Dublin doing their shopping here just to annoy her? She drove around several times before she found a spot. When she went inside it was to discover there were no trolleys and she had to go back out to the car park in search of one. It had started to drizzle and immediately her hair began to frizz. By the time she reached the checkout she was irritable, tired and running late. She only remembered her plan to check the noticeboard when she was loading up the car and the rain was pelting down; there was no way she was going back now. She would ask Di to go online and check slimming classes later. Some of her good humour recovered, Jo drove to the school, but by the time she arrived, the normally
Jo studied her reflection more critically. She really would have to do something with her hair for the party. The last short hairstyle that the girl in the salon had talked her into had looked okay but Jo hadn’t been able to recreate ‘the look’ since. She was basically a mess. Was it any wonder that Greg had seemed to lose interest in her?
She had never really enjoyed sex in the way that other women seemed to but the fact that her husband wanted her had always made her feel good. And he had wanted her all the time in the early days. Di’s arrival and those first difficult months had put paid to the honeymoon period but then sex had resumed once things had settled down and it had been much the same with Rachel. But in the last couple of years Greg seemed to have lost interest and only ever got frisky after a couple of drinks.
She turned away from the mirror and went into the kitchen to start on the laundry, her thoughts returning to Helen’s anniversary and what would be a suitable present. Buying something for the couple who literally had everything was, frankly, impossible and usually expensive. She would have to squirrel away some of the housekeeping and keep her eye out for a bargain. She sorted out the dirty washing, put on the first load and then went to make a coffee. The jar of chocolate cookies that Di adored stared down at her from the shelf and her mouth watered. One wouldn’t hurt; then she’d walk to the shops rather than drive to compensate for the indulgence. Feeling better, she settled down with a creamy cup of cappuccino, two cookies – well, she was going to work them off – and a magazine. She was halfway through an article about a soap star in meltdown when the washing machine buzzer went. Startled, she realized that over an hour had passed and she’d now had two coffees and five – or was it six? – cookies. It was too late to walk to the shop now or she’d be late picking up Rachel; she’d screwed up again. Full of self-disgust, she dragged herself slowly up to the bathroom and got rid of the food in the easiest possible way. There was an initial feeling of elation when she flushed the toilet but it was quickly replaced by a sense of shame.
She would get into a proper exercise regime, she promised herself. She knew that making herself vomit was bad for her health and she felt disgusted with herself for doing it; she had to stop. She would check the noticeboard in the supermarket and see if there was a local exercise class she could join. With a little self-control and hard work she would be a few pounds lighter before Helen’s party. Feeling pleased with her newly formed plan, Jo ran downstairs, fetched her shopping list and handbag, and grabbed her car keys.
When she got to the supermarket, the car park was packed; was all of Dublin doing their shopping here just to annoy her? She drove around several times before she found a spot. When she went inside it was to discover there were no trolleys and she had to go back out to the car park in search of one. It had started to drizzle and immediately her hair began to frizz. By the time she reached the checkout she was irritable, tired and running late. She only remembered her plan to check the noticeboard when she was loading up the car and the rain was pelting down; there was no way she was going back now. She would ask Di to go online and check slimming classes later. Some of her good humour recovered, Jo drove to the school, but by the time she arrived, the normally
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