him.
‘That’s right. You don’t.’
Martin threw out his hands in a gesture of I do my best . ‘So this is about more than the job. It’s about everything.’
‘Maybe.’ Anna had the feeling that this conversation had already been written; that it was running ahead of her, pre-scripted. And being a script, it would end in a row, an ultimatum, a point of no going back.
‘You were quick to put Jeff right when he thought we were married,’ Martin said quietly.
‘I don’t like people making assumptions. But we can’t argue here.’
‘I don’t want to argue anywhere. A relaxing Sunday was what I had in mind. Looks like that’s off, then.’
He was on his feet, shouldering his kit bag, turning his back on her. Suddenly self-conscious, Anna became aware of all the people around, the jangly music in the background that couldn’t have been quite loud enough to drown their conversation. She threw a jaunty smile at the barman in a pretence that nothing was wrong. Following Martin through the swing doors, she knew from the set of his shoulders and the speed of his walk that she’d done it now, spoiled their day – more than their day – and no wonder.
What now? Perhaps he expected her to scuttle after him, but instead she lingered in the foyer, reading notices about exercise classes and New Year offers on beauty treatments. When he realized she wasn’t coming, Martin would probably march back to the flat, unless he’d chosen a film and would go ahead and see it by himself.
She thought of phoning Bethan to see what she was doing, but was reluctant to admit to rowing with Martin. Bethan and Cliff, both so sunny-natured, never seemed to quarrel, though she supposed they must. She left the foyer for the rawness of outside; it was a grey, miserable day, a hint of drizzle in the air, no trace of yesterday’s transforming sunshine.
Ruth. Ruth was the person she’d like to go to now. But that was impossible; Ruth would be at Holtby Hall, and Anna wasn’t sure where that was, knowing only that it was out in the Essex countryside. Even if she Googled it, she’d need to drive there, and didn’t want to add to Martin’s annoyance by taking the car without asking. Although she’d passed her test while still in her teens, she hardly drove now; living in London, there was little need. When they used the car it was invariably Martin who took the wheel, mainly because if Anna drove he was a bossy and fidgety passenger. Anyway, how could she run to Ruth and say she’d had a row with Martin, expecting Ruth, of all people, to sympathize?
I’m on my own, she thought, when it comes down to it. That’s how it has to be.
She waited for a bus. If one came quickly, she could be back at the flat before Martin. She would pretend nothing had happened; that was usually the best way to get over a disagreement. But if he wasn’t there, she’d have a quiet afternoon by herself, reading or watching TV.
As soon as she entered the flat, she knew it was empty. She was half disappointed, half relieved. If Martin came in, he’d probably shut himself in the spare bedroom that served as his study, hardly emerging for the rest of the day. She imagined a scene in which she apologized for saying those things, put her arms round him and kissed him, led him into the bedroom. But the fact remained that he was unlikely to thaw until she was safely bound by a contract of employment with Burton Brown.
He wants to control me, she thought, and her resentment hardened.
Now, with the afternoon to fill as she pleased, she felt only apathy. When the phone rang, she picked up quickly, expecting Martin’s voice.
It was her father. ‘Anna, love? I’m glad you’re there. Have you got a minute?’
‘Hi, Dad. Yes, of course.’
A pause, then: ‘I’m a bit concerned about your mum. She’s started to behave a bit oddly.’
‘Oddly, how?’ Anna’s voice came out tight with anxiety.
‘Well – she’s suddenly taken against the idea of
‘That’s right. You don’t.’
Martin threw out his hands in a gesture of I do my best . ‘So this is about more than the job. It’s about everything.’
‘Maybe.’ Anna had the feeling that this conversation had already been written; that it was running ahead of her, pre-scripted. And being a script, it would end in a row, an ultimatum, a point of no going back.
‘You were quick to put Jeff right when he thought we were married,’ Martin said quietly.
‘I don’t like people making assumptions. But we can’t argue here.’
‘I don’t want to argue anywhere. A relaxing Sunday was what I had in mind. Looks like that’s off, then.’
He was on his feet, shouldering his kit bag, turning his back on her. Suddenly self-conscious, Anna became aware of all the people around, the jangly music in the background that couldn’t have been quite loud enough to drown their conversation. She threw a jaunty smile at the barman in a pretence that nothing was wrong. Following Martin through the swing doors, she knew from the set of his shoulders and the speed of his walk that she’d done it now, spoiled their day – more than their day – and no wonder.
What now? Perhaps he expected her to scuttle after him, but instead she lingered in the foyer, reading notices about exercise classes and New Year offers on beauty treatments. When he realized she wasn’t coming, Martin would probably march back to the flat, unless he’d chosen a film and would go ahead and see it by himself.
She thought of phoning Bethan to see what she was doing, but was reluctant to admit to rowing with Martin. Bethan and Cliff, both so sunny-natured, never seemed to quarrel, though she supposed they must. She left the foyer for the rawness of outside; it was a grey, miserable day, a hint of drizzle in the air, no trace of yesterday’s transforming sunshine.
Ruth. Ruth was the person she’d like to go to now. But that was impossible; Ruth would be at Holtby Hall, and Anna wasn’t sure where that was, knowing only that it was out in the Essex countryside. Even if she Googled it, she’d need to drive there, and didn’t want to add to Martin’s annoyance by taking the car without asking. Although she’d passed her test while still in her teens, she hardly drove now; living in London, there was little need. When they used the car it was invariably Martin who took the wheel, mainly because if Anna drove he was a bossy and fidgety passenger. Anyway, how could she run to Ruth and say she’d had a row with Martin, expecting Ruth, of all people, to sympathize?
I’m on my own, she thought, when it comes down to it. That’s how it has to be.
She waited for a bus. If one came quickly, she could be back at the flat before Martin. She would pretend nothing had happened; that was usually the best way to get over a disagreement. But if he wasn’t there, she’d have a quiet afternoon by herself, reading or watching TV.
As soon as she entered the flat, she knew it was empty. She was half disappointed, half relieved. If Martin came in, he’d probably shut himself in the spare bedroom that served as his study, hardly emerging for the rest of the day. She imagined a scene in which she apologized for saying those things, put her arms round him and kissed him, led him into the bedroom. But the fact remained that he was unlikely to thaw until she was safely bound by a contract of employment with Burton Brown.
He wants to control me, she thought, and her resentment hardened.
Now, with the afternoon to fill as she pleased, she felt only apathy. When the phone rang, she picked up quickly, expecting Martin’s voice.
It was her father. ‘Anna, love? I’m glad you’re there. Have you got a minute?’
‘Hi, Dad. Yes, of course.’
A pause, then: ‘I’m a bit concerned about your mum. She’s started to behave a bit oddly.’
‘Oddly, how?’ Anna’s voice came out tight with anxiety.
‘Well – she’s suddenly taken against the idea of
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