the gutters to pick up a book. Mind you, she thinks tidily, at least they get it over with quite quickly nowadays.
She removes the anxiety from her own little shoulders and places it firmly upon Derek's. Which feels much better. It is his fault. She then turns her attention to the magazine menus. Steak au poivre and pavlova, fish kebabs and mango ice-cream. Too exotic to contemplate. She closes the magazine, remembering that she is defrosting the cod steaks, and wonders if there is any cheese left to make a sauce. Derek won't mind. He's not fussy about his food. The man in the magazine photograph above the recipe is looking up with a loving smile of appreciation at the woman who is lighting the candles. She wonders if they have a smoke alarm. In their house Derek has fitted two. He points them out to people. It is proof that he cares.
She sighs and closes the magazine. Now the house is finished, they can start entertaining properly. At least, they thought it was finished, but this morning, looking around the bathroom while he was scrubbing those prominent teeth of his (she made sure that he gave them a thorough going-over, morning and night, so that at least when they came popping through his damp lips they were shiny bright), she had to admit to herself that the lilac walls had been a bit of a mistake. Perhaps a fresh coat of paint would be sensible. But nothing more than that. She is getting to the end of her tether with all their improvements. So noisy, so messy -she is forever wiping down the surfaces.
She decides to keep the recipe page for the time when the house is completely ready for entertaining (how she looks forward to showing it off when it is all absolutely perfect) and to read the article on orgasms quietly at home before Derek arrives. Maybe it will solve the problem, once and for all, of whether she has had one or not. She knows she ought to have had one because she is young, pretty and married . . . Correct in every detail . . . Very probably she has.
The Boss Masculine calls her in for dictation. She shuts the magazine away in her drawer and goes in, wondering as she seats herself opposite him why on earth his wife doesn't buy him Head & Shoulders like she buys Derek. She cannot, really, feel entirely sympathetic for his wife. The Little Blonde Secretary Bird feels that, in some way, the hysterectomy must be her fault. If a woman cannot look after her husband's dandruff, then she probably cannot look after her womb properly, either. She could just about tolerate the warts, but the dandruff.. .
Derek is on the telephone ordering a new bathroom suite. He will surprise his wife of six months by redoing the entire thing single-handed. It will keep him occupied and save them hundreds of pounds. He will put the money towards a loft extension too. There is mounting excitement as he states the catalogue numbers to the plumbers' merchants. The taps will be the crowning achievement. Won't she love those? French with ceramic handles.
Really nice. She likes nice things. He puts down the phone and rubs his hands. He just can't wait to get started.
*
Square Jaw is only marginally recovered from the repugnant sight of a staring fat woman untidily eating a ham sandwich on the tube. He was already feeling grim and angry, having yet again left his girlfriend in tears, propped up in bed and snuffling into the duvet cover. 'Sorry, sorry, sorry,' he said without actually meaning it. 'For Chrissake,' he had wanted to shout (but didn't), 'what's a bunch of flowers, anyway?' They'd been more or less living together for two years. Surely there came a time when such trifles were unimportant? And there she sat, making him feel guilty again with her indisputable argument, primly delivered as usual, about it being important to her and therefore important in its own right. Well, what about all the things he did do? ('Like what?' she said, the bitch, and he couldn't think of one at that moment.) Did she want him to be like
She removes the anxiety from her own little shoulders and places it firmly upon Derek's. Which feels much better. It is his fault. She then turns her attention to the magazine menus. Steak au poivre and pavlova, fish kebabs and mango ice-cream. Too exotic to contemplate. She closes the magazine, remembering that she is defrosting the cod steaks, and wonders if there is any cheese left to make a sauce. Derek won't mind. He's not fussy about his food. The man in the magazine photograph above the recipe is looking up with a loving smile of appreciation at the woman who is lighting the candles. She wonders if they have a smoke alarm. In their house Derek has fitted two. He points them out to people. It is proof that he cares.
She sighs and closes the magazine. Now the house is finished, they can start entertaining properly. At least, they thought it was finished, but this morning, looking around the bathroom while he was scrubbing those prominent teeth of his (she made sure that he gave them a thorough going-over, morning and night, so that at least when they came popping through his damp lips they were shiny bright), she had to admit to herself that the lilac walls had been a bit of a mistake. Perhaps a fresh coat of paint would be sensible. But nothing more than that. She is getting to the end of her tether with all their improvements. So noisy, so messy -she is forever wiping down the surfaces.
She decides to keep the recipe page for the time when the house is completely ready for entertaining (how she looks forward to showing it off when it is all absolutely perfect) and to read the article on orgasms quietly at home before Derek arrives. Maybe it will solve the problem, once and for all, of whether she has had one or not. She knows she ought to have had one because she is young, pretty and married . . . Correct in every detail . . . Very probably she has.
The Boss Masculine calls her in for dictation. She shuts the magazine away in her drawer and goes in, wondering as she seats herself opposite him why on earth his wife doesn't buy him Head & Shoulders like she buys Derek. She cannot, really, feel entirely sympathetic for his wife. The Little Blonde Secretary Bird feels that, in some way, the hysterectomy must be her fault. If a woman cannot look after her husband's dandruff, then she probably cannot look after her womb properly, either. She could just about tolerate the warts, but the dandruff.. .
Derek is on the telephone ordering a new bathroom suite. He will surprise his wife of six months by redoing the entire thing single-handed. It will keep him occupied and save them hundreds of pounds. He will put the money towards a loft extension too. There is mounting excitement as he states the catalogue numbers to the plumbers' merchants. The taps will be the crowning achievement. Won't she love those? French with ceramic handles.
Really nice. She likes nice things. He puts down the phone and rubs his hands. He just can't wait to get started.
*
Square Jaw is only marginally recovered from the repugnant sight of a staring fat woman untidily eating a ham sandwich on the tube. He was already feeling grim and angry, having yet again left his girlfriend in tears, propped up in bed and snuffling into the duvet cover. 'Sorry, sorry, sorry,' he said without actually meaning it. 'For Chrissake,' he had wanted to shout (but didn't), 'what's a bunch of flowers, anyway?' They'd been more or less living together for two years. Surely there came a time when such trifles were unimportant? And there she sat, making him feel guilty again with her indisputable argument, primly delivered as usual, about it being important to her and therefore important in its own right. Well, what about all the things he did do? ('Like what?' she said, the bitch, and he couldn't think of one at that moment.) Did she want him to be like
Similar Books
