The Other Woman's Shoes Read Online Free PDF Page A

using another part of his brain to calculate when Eliza’s period was due. Because like it or not (and she didn’t like it, she didn’t even like admitting to it), the truth was Eliza was more than prone to PMT. She didn’t fling plates exactly, just insults, jibes and irrational comments.
    She wasn’t due for another two weeks.
    Perhaps she did want a baby. Being a bull-by-the-horns straightforward type of guy, Greg ventured, ‘Do you want a baby?’
    ‘Eventually, yes.’ Eliza put down her espresso cup with such force that the black liquid slopped into the doll’s-size saucer. She paused, and then added with more accuracy, ‘Maybe. I’d just like there to be the option.’
    But there was the option, wasn’t there? thought Greg. Her ovaries or womb, or whatever, were all OK, as far as they knew. (Female plumbing beyond the G-spot wasn’t his area of expertise – was it any man’s?) Of course having a baby was an option if that’s what she wanted. She’d just never mentioned it before. He’d never thought about it. But now she had mentioned it, well, why not? Instantly, visions of splashing in the sea with a small grubby person flashed into Greg’s mind (and he didn’t mean his bestmate, Bob, even though Bob was only five foot six, he meant a child. His child). He could see himself and his child playing on swings, kicking leaves in a park, hunting for conkers.
    ‘We could have a baby, if that’s what you really want.’ He reached out and took Eliza’s hand; she noted with some annoyance that he didn’t even have to put down his cigarette to manage the manoeuvre, so practised was he at this art. He had started smoking when he was fourteen, because it made him look hard and cool. He was still doing it now, twenty years later, for the same reasons.
    Eliza snatched her hand away and avoided answering the question by saying, ‘I fancy a cup of tea.’
    Tea? Christ, cravings already. Eliza never ordered tea. Could she already be up the duff? Was this what these recent mood swings were about? Christ, shit, bloody hell.
    Bloody marvellous!
    Eliza read Greg’s mind.
    ‘I’m not.’
    ‘No?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Sure?’
    ‘Certain.’
    ‘Oh.’
    There was a pause. If Eliza had been more tuned into Greg’s emotions she’d have noticed that it was a disappointed pause.
    ‘Still, if it’s tea you want.’ Greg stood up and walked to the bar. If only life were that simple: it’s tea she wants, she’ll be happy once she has a cup of tea. As he walked towards the bar and Signora Bianchi, Greg started tocalculate how he should best negotiate procuring a cup of tea in an Italian café, which would be tantamount to treason as far as Signora Bianchi was concerned.
    How much caffeine was there in tea then?

5
    Who on earth chooses to sit in these grubby little cafés, which are really not much better than pubs? wondered Martha as she walked past Caffè Bianchi, pushing a grumbling Maisie in her stroller. The heavy wooden door suddenly opened, coughing forth a cloud of cigarette smoke. A young woman rushed out and fled past Martha and Maisie. Obviously late for something. Signing on, probably, thought Martha, and then immediately regretted the thought. It was very judgemental and censorious, and not necessarily accurate, to jump to the conclusion that the woman was a doley. Just because it was – Martha checked her watch – a quarter to ten in the morning, this didn’t necessarily mean that the girl was unemployed. Martha tried to think positively. There are all sorts of things that a woman could do for a living. She might work shifts, or have a shop job. Wednesdays might be her day off, if she works in retail: she’s bound to have to work Saturdays and would be due a day in return. Martha noted that the woman’s shoes (although they were horrible square-heeled fashion-statement shoes) were at least clean. Martha always noticed people’s shoes.
    Those shoes were Eliza’s shoes. Her own