going to work out then I can’t stay with him just because I’m desperate to have a baby, can I?’
‘I suppose not,’ she agreed. ‘How have things changed between you, then?’
‘Well, all the things about me he used to say were cute or quirky, like my clothes, for instance, now seem to embarrass or annoy him.’
‘Your clothes are often unusual,’ she admitted, ‘but they suit you. I mean, that’s just the way you are.’
I was dressed in wine-coloured corduroy jodhpurs and a Peruvian jumper covered in green, red and blue llamas. I had a matching Peruvian hat with ear flaps and tassels, but of course it was too hot to wear that in the pub. On my feet were blue Birkenstock clogs.
‘In fact, I’m the only one of your friends who wears boring clothes,’ she said.
‘Not boring, understated,’ I corrected. Muted colours and quiet elegance really suited her. ‘Justin says you always look nice.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a compliment, from him,’ she said dubiously. ‘What does he think about Timmy? His clothes are even weirder than yours, not to mention the hats!’
‘Oh, well, being a hat maker, he uses his head as a marketing tool. But Justin’s made it clear he doesn’t like him and he wouldn’t even come with me to Timmy and Joe’s civil partnership ceremony.’
‘That spotted prom dress with the red underskirt you wore to the wedding looked lovely in the pictures.’
‘Timmy made the dress and the hat – he is so clever!’
‘I wished I could have been there,’ Bella said wistfully.
Timmy, Bella and I had been friends since infants’ school, and while Bella had trained to be an air hostess, Timmy and I had headed down to London, to art school – fashion in his case, graphic design in mine.
‘Justin’s become such a skinflint too. He wasn’t like that at first, but suddenly he started saying we had to economise and couldn’t afford to get married, couldn’t afford to move to somewhere out of town, couldn’t afford to have children … I mean, he earns a big salary – he’s a hospital consultant!’
‘And you aren’t doing too badly with the Slipper Monkey books either, are you?’
‘No, I’m doing really well. I tried to aim the mix of words and pictures at early readers in the five-to-eight-ish age range, but they seem popular now even with adults. They may even be a minor cult!’
‘I’m not surprised. The illustrations are lovely,’ Bella said loyally. ‘It’s the way you use spiky ink lines to suggest the wiriness of the little monkeys and bright watercolour wash for the soft fuzziness of the fur. They’re quite magical.’
‘It’s nice when your best friend is your biggest fan!’ I said. ‘My agent says there’s talk of spin-off items, like toys and games now. In fact, I don’t really need to do the foot modelling any more. I could give that up and wear decent shoes.’ Despite the success of the books I still did a little foot modelling for adverts and catalogues. Immy got me into it when I was a student – she said the only beautiful bit of me was my feet – and I signed up with a specialist agency. It was quite lucrative, but I had to take real care of my feet.
‘I’m not sure I can imagine you in anything other than Birkenstock clogs and sandals,’ Bella said honestly. ‘Do you still secretly wear your wedding shoes?’
Apart from Aunt Nan, Bella was the only person who knew that the first thing I’d done when I’d got engaged was splash out hundreds on the ivory satin wedding shoes of my dreams, really girlie ones, with thin crossed straps over the instep, trimmed with lace and crystals … And yet several years later, the wedding was still just a dream.
‘Yes, when Justin’s out – he has no idea! I suppose it’s a family tradition, in a way, what with Aunt Nan always taking afternoon tea on Sundays in her wedding dress, like a latter-day Miss Havisham.’
‘She looks very pretty in it,’ said Bella loyally, long acquainted with the vagaries of the Bright household.
‘My wedding shoes are getting a bit worn,’ I said gloomily, ‘but it’s not looking like they’re going to be carrying me up the aisle any time soon.’
‘So, Justin’s penny-pinching, critical of your clothes, appearance and friends, has gone off the idea of marriage and children …’ summed up Bella.
‘Mummy Dearest doesn’t help, pouring poison into his ear all the time. She seemed to loathe me even more about the same time Justin went all skinflint. And Justin doesn’t even respect my work; he always talks about it as if it’s a hobby, rather than my job.’
My compulsive habit of twisting colourful fuzzy monkeys out of pipe cleaners and leaving them hanging about all over the flat also seemed to be driving him mad.
‘Well, that’s the minus side,’ Bella said brightly. ‘What’s he got going for him?’
‘Apart from being tall, charismatic and handsome? Aunt Nan always said he was like Dr Kildare from some old TV series, and when I looked it up on Google I could see what she meant. Only she also said she’d never trust a man who looked like that!’
‘So he’s tall, handsome and also a well-paid young orthopaedic consultant – which probably means he can delegate evenings and weekends to some lesser doctor, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, it’s not really the sort of thing you get called out in emergencies for. But he’s actually not so young any more, he’s about to hit forty. I do wish he wouldn’t go on as if we’re practically living on the breadline. He was even miffed when I wouldn’t accept an allowance from Lars, though I don’t see why the poor man should pay out for me, when my mother was married to him for only a couple of years.’
‘Nice of him to offer.’
‘Lars keeps trying to persuade me to change my mind, but I won’t. I do accept his lovely presents, though.’
‘So come on, what other good points does Justin have?’
‘Charm – though he doesn’t often direct it at me these days. And he can be very affectionate and persuasive. He says he wants me to lose weight only for my own health, for instance …’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘But then, he loves my baking and sulks if there’s nothing in the cake tin, or I haven’t made a fresh bara brith loaf.’
‘All that baking’s not exactly going to help you with the weight loss, is it?’ Bella pointed out.
‘No, not really,’ I sighed. ‘He does think the foot modelling is a good thing. He’s quite proud of my doing that, oddly enough, and tells everyone I have beautiful feet. He doesn’t even object to my slathering my feet in Vaseline each night and then wearing cotton socks in bed.’
‘Secret foot fetishist?’ she suggested doubtfully.
‘Maybe … but you can’t build a relationship on that! No, I think we’ve been drifting slowly further and further apart and perhaps he doesn’t
