From Cradle to Grave Read Online Free PDF Page A

her . . .’ For one moment Morgan was glad that she was single and unencumbered by messy relationships. ‘This is just one of those bumps in the road.’
    Claire gazed at her in disbelief. ‘Bumps in the road? He betrayed me. I can never trust him again.’
    ‘Now, don’t go ballistic . . . I mean, I’m sure Guy regrets not telling you. He should have told you, obviously. But think about it. If you’d known all this, I’m sure that wouldn’t have changed your feelings about him. This just seems worse than it is because you’re so down, emotionally and physically. It’s not that bad,’ Morgan insisted.
    There was a murmur of voices, and the occasional sound of laughter from the living room. ‘They all knew about it,’ said Claire. ‘And nobody told me.’
    Morgan sighed, knowing that she was right. ‘Well, I guess . . . they thought it wasn’t their place to say anything.’
    ‘They were laughing behind my back,’ said Claire bitterly.
    ‘Now, honey, that’s just not so,’ said Morgan. ‘Nobody’s laughing at you. If anything, they seemed almost as surprised as you were that Guy hadn’t told you. Now don’t start thinking this was some kind of conspiracy. Everybody came here today to celebrate. Really.’
    Drew pushed away from his mother’s breast with his little fingers and began to fuss. Claire looked at him helplessly. She bent down to kiss his little round head, but he was fighting against her, flailing his tiny fists.
    ‘What?’ Claire cried to her baby. ‘Oh, Drew, what is it?’
    Morgan lifted the baby from Claire’s arms. ‘Maybe he needs changing. I’ll do it.’ Morgan carried him to the changing table in the corner of the room. She marveled at how light, almost birdlike, he felt in her arms.
    Claire murmured something, which Morgan didn’t hear.
    ‘What?’ Morgan asked, turning to look at her.
    ‘I said, I can’t do it,’ said Claire. ‘I can’t go on.’
    Morgan felt as if a cold hand had clutched her heart. She held the baby close, her hand around his little round head, as if to shield his ears from his mother’s words. ‘Claire, don’t talk like that,’ she insisted. ‘Don’t even say such a thing.’
    Claire turned her head, and gazed out the bedroom window. The afternoon sky had completely clouded over, and the breeze had stiffened. It blew the crisp, desiccated leaves away from the trees. Separated from their branches, they were lifted for a moment, and then, still tumbling helplessly in the wind, they drifted to the ground. She shook her head. ‘Fine,’ said Claire softly. ‘I won’t say it.’

THREE
    M organ rolled her suitcase into the waiting area of her departure gate. She set the bag beside a bank of battleship gray, molded plastic chairs, and sat down on the end seat. There were only a few other people scattered through the lounge. A middle-aged couple dressed in drab colors and sensible shoes sat a few seats down, facing her. Several rows behind them, a man was sleeping, slumped across two seats, his mouth open. The flight to Heathrow was not scheduled to depart for another three hours, but Morgan had arrived with time to spare. She liked to be early. Especially for an international flight.
    She pulled the Sunday newspaper she had bought from her voluminous leather shoulder satchel, but though she unfolded it in front of her, she was too excited to read. She finally lowered the paper and just sat there with her eyes closed, imagining the month ahead, the gorgeous villages and countryside she would visit, the colleagues she would meet. Her doctoral thesis on Harriett Martineau’s life and work was outlined, and some of it was written, but this trip would provide the needed detail, the visual images she could keep in her head as she revised and polished. Simon had called earlier in the week to describe the manor house turned hotel which he had booked for them in the Lake District. Sometimes, after she talked on the phone to Simon she worried