Prologue
‘Would it be possible for you to move a little to the left?’ I enquire politely.
I don’t wish to be rude but I’ve been stuck in this position for a good five minutes now and my right leg is going to sleep. I didn’t say anything initially because I wasn’t sure how long we’d be here but the evidence would suggest that I could be in for the long-haul and I’m starting to lose sensation in my toes. All hopes of this being a quickie are totally out of the window.
Nick shifts slightly to the side and continues banging away. I try to stay focused because I am very aware that this is a two-person task and I don’t want to be accused of lying flat on my back and expecting Nick to put in all the effort. It’s happened before. But, as often happens when I’m in this position, my mind can’t help wandering and before I know it, I’m compiling a mental shopping list for tomorrow’s trip to the supermarket and wondering whether I locked the back door because there’s been a spate of burglaries in this area and you can’t be too careful.
Nick grunts loudly and I wince.
‘Be quiet,’ I hiss. ‘You’ll wake up the bloody kids.’
I don’t know why I’m bothering. His relentless hammering can probably be heard halfway down the street.
Nick looks down at me. ‘Well, if you were more involved then it might be a bit less effort and I might be a little quieter and I’d almost definitely be finished a whole lot quicker.’
‘I am involved,’ I snap back. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’
I’m not really. I’m bored and I’m chilly and I just want to go to sleep but apparently this has to happen now, despite the fact that we already did it a few hours ago.
I can remember a time before all of this. A time when evenings were our sanctuary: a place where we could play and explore and voice our wildest thoughts with abandon, not stifle every sound for fear of disturbing our offspring. That was before we had kids though, when the world was big and exciting and filled with potential. Not exhausting and predictable and filled with necessary marital duties.
‘Yes!’ Nick punches the air in triumph and I roll my eyes. It’s like he thinks he’s the first man to ever do this and, as I have often assured him, he really isn’t. Nor will he be the last. But it doesn’t seem to matter what I say – his pleasure and self-satisfaction knows no bounds, and if I’m honest, his enthusiasm is quite sweet.
‘Well done,’ I tell him, scooting out from underneath him. ‘It’s still dripping though. Is that normal?’
Nick bends down and takes a closer look. ‘I think it’ll stop in a minute,’ he says. ‘It should be fine.’
I grit my teeth and try not to sigh. ‘You said that last time,’ I remind him. ‘And yet we had a full-blown flood two hours later. I’m tired, Nick. I’m too old to spend my nights doing stuff like this.’
He shrugs. ‘I don’t love it either, Hannah, but it has to be done.’
I pull myself to my feet and put down the torch. We both stare at the newly fixed bathroom pipe and the tap that is attached to it. Its random leaking makes me think that it could somehow be a metaphor for our lives but I’m too exhausted to figure out exactly how.
‘How tired are you?’ asks Nick, reaching out for my hand. ‘Only, the kids don’t seem to have woken up and the night is still young!’
I glance at my watch. The night is as young as I am, which is not very. Then again, this is the first evening in ages that our teenagers have been asleep before we are which does afford us a rare opportunity. And I’ve already spent some time on my back tonight.
I’m not completely averse to doing it again.
Chapter One
The shoes are utterly ridiculous. Seriously. I can’t think of a single occasion when I might actually wear them and I definitely don’t own any items of clothing that will go with them. They are impractical and unnecessary and I could pay for two driving lessons for Scarlet for the same cost.
I really, really want them.
‘Are you sure that they fit?’ enquires Nick as I attempt to stuff my foot inside the first shoe. ‘You look like you’re struggling a bit there, Hannah.’
‘I always wear size six,’ I complain, scowling at my unhelpful feet. ‘I just don’t understand it.’
‘Well, why don’t you ask for the next size up?’ Nick glances at his phone. ‘Surely that’s the logical solution?’
‘I already did,’ I mutter. ‘They don’t have them. But it’s not a problem because these are fine.’
I take a deep breath and push my feet inside.
‘There! They fit perfectly!’ I stand and smile triumphantly at Nick. ‘Let’s buy them and then we can pop to the pub on the way home and have a cheeky drink to celebrate being out on a school day.’
This shopping trip is the first proper time we’ve had together in ages and I want to milk every last moment before we have to return to normality.
Nick frowns at me. ‘I don’t think—’
‘I love them!’ I interrupt, thrusting one foot out in front of me. ‘Look how long they make my legs look. They’re everything a person could possibly ask for in a shoe and I’ll be happy for the rest of eternity when I own them.’
‘Everything a person could ask for other than them actually fitting you,’ retorts Nick. ‘Which I would have thought was a pre-requisite in any item of footwear.’
‘They fit me just fine,’ I snap back. ‘I am a grown-ass woman and I am clever enough to know whether a pair of shoes fit me or not.’
Nick raises his eyebrows. ‘Come on, Hannah, why can’t you just admit it? The shoes don’t fit but that’s not a problem – there are plenty of others to choose from.’
But the others are not like these beautiful creatures, I wail in my head. I don’t want other, less exotic, more comfortable shoes. I want these shoes. I deserve these shoes. I have waited an eternity for shoes covered in sequins with a glitter heel and I am not leaving this shop without them. They are going to make my life better, I just know it.
I gaze at my husband, bestowing him with my most gracious and beatific smile, which feels surprisingly natural now that I’ve got these shoes on. I actually feel a bit like a princess. I really think that purchasing them will revolutionise my life; there’s nothing that I won’t be able to do when I’m wearing footwear as striking as this.
‘They’re perfect,’ I tell him. ‘They’re exactly what I need.’
I sit back down and slip them off (ignoring the slight sense of relief that they are no longer viciously pinching at my toes) before handing them to the sales assistant.
Nick shakes his head at me as she starts boxing them up, but I can see a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.
‘You’re sure they fit?’ he asks. ‘We’re supposed to be buying you a pair of celebratory book-publishing shoes, not a piece of medieval torture equipment.’
I finish lacing up my trainers and reach out to take his hand.
‘I love them,’ I tell him, keeping my voice quiet so that nobody will overhear us, while also cleverly evading his question. ‘And every time I look at them I’m going to remember what they represent, which is me being an authentic, genuine author.’