The Gallery of Vanished Husbands: A Novel by Natasha Solomons Page B

sixteenth birthday and apart from a brief respite during her marriage to George, she’d worked there ever since. Mr Greene always considered spectacles to be a blessing – not only were they his vocation but they’d also saved the lives of most of his family. Along with his three brothers, he’d been declared unfit for combat during the Great War owing to a strong astigmatism. Forty years on, the firm was filled with cousins and uncles most of whom had reassuringly poor vision (‘a blessing, a blessing’ they all knew to recite when Mr Greene repeated the results of a poor eye test). Ben Greene ground the actual lenses, Sollie made the frames, Jacob did the accounts, while Ed Lipshitz who, with a squint in his left eye surely must be considered the most blessed of all, went out on the road as salesman, sending Frieda and Leonard picture postcards from places as far-flung as Blackpool and Bournemouth.
    As Juliet slipped in the front door to the factory, she tried to be grateful but she knew it would be one of those days when she felt she’d waited through entire lifetimes between arriving at ten to nine and putting on her coat at a quarter to four. During those summer months when Charlie had been painting her, she’d spent the week in furtive anticipation of the fortnightly trips up to town on weekday afternoons. She’d felt guilty as she concocted the first lie, but as the weeks wore on, unease gave way to anticipation. The girls in the office might have pitied her bad luck with headaches and toothaches through July and August, but Juliet had hummed with happiness. Now the days rattled on, empty and identical.
    Drearily, she climbed the stairs. In her pocket she had Leonard’s broken spectacles. He’d been sent off to school tearful and in his spares. Juliet abandoned the feminine preserve of the back office and braved the hot metallic stink and machine-gun rattle of the grinding workshop. She shouted over the din, waving at her father. Mr Greene grinned with delight as though he did not see her at the factory every single day and this was a treat.
    ‘Hello, my darling,’ he said, kissing her. ‘How are the children?’
    ‘Naughty. I think Leonard’s still rather over-excited after his expedition. I’m afraid he broke his glasses.’
    She handed Mr Greene the shattered spectacles, which he examined with a physician’s interest. Usually he was severe on those who broke their spectacles, such hallowed items ought to be treated with proper deference, but she was confident that Leonard would be excused. Leonard was at long last the fabled son for ‘Greene & Son’. He was a blessing and, to his grandfather’s overwhelming joy, he was also very blessed, requiring spectacles from the age of three. ‘Ah, these things happen,’ said Mr Greene, slipping the frames into a brown envelope. ‘I’ll get one of the boys to mend them for him today.’ He smiled. ‘I remember the day I measured him for his very first pair. I helped him to see for the very first time. What a gift for a grandpa! I felt like a conjurer who’d stumbled across a genuine piece of magic.’
    Juliet, who had heard this story many times before, kissed him in thanks and retreated to the office, swapping the crash of the grinding machines for the clatter of typewriters. She glanced at the clock. It was not yet five to nine.
     • • • 
    The days stretched on, endless and unremarkable. Before Charlie and the portrait, Juliet had been able to accept, if not relish, the quietness of her life. Now she itched, restless. She’d sent Charlie away – did that mean nothing would ever change?
    On Friday they went round to Mr and Mrs Greene for chicken. On Saturday Juliet let down the hem on Frieda’s school skirt, and Leonard broke the bird bath, colliding with it while chasing Frieda. For tea they had brisket. On Sunday they went for a walk. Juliet was boiling saveloys for tea when the doorbell rang.
    ‘Leonard! Frieda! Can you see who it