THE UNGRATEFUL GREG
That morning, Ritas husband rang her directly at the office to announcerather flatly, she thoughtthat hed be heading over to the Smiths right after work to celebrate his professional holiday.
If youre up for it, you can come along, he added with absolutely no enthusiasm, completely certain shed rather stay home, buried in a book or endlessly scrolling on the computer.
Fine, she replied just as indifferently, but at lunchtime she nipped into John Lewis to find him a present. The women clustered around the perfume counter like bees to a picnic.
Ritas eye landed instantly on a posh bottle of colognethe box sleek and black, decorated with a rather rakish chap slouched in a blazer, winking with that roguish smirk. The spitting image of her Greg.
The sales assistant was expertly wrapping gifts in shiny ribbons and sticking on bows. Suddenly, an old dear shuffled over and announced,
Oh, love, you lot give your men all these fancy aftershaves, but itll be someone else getting a sniffnot to mention admiring their ties.
The girls all burst out laughing, but Rita thought, thats exactly how it isshe spends her whole life doing everything for Greg, who then flounces off for others adoration. When they were young, shed loved him madly, while he rather kindly tolerated it. When he started his distant learning course, she spent her nights writing his essays. When the kids came along, she took on everything.
Of course, hed been grateful at firstor seemed to be. Then he got so used to all her efforts he simply took them for granted. From the outside, their family mustve looked spot on: decent house, peaceful life, clever and polite children. But then the kids grew up and moved away, and Rita was left with Greg. It finally hit her that something was missing.
Her own mother, two decades ago, had warned her against the marriage. Just look at him, shed said to hopelessly-in-love Rita, Hes gorgeous and he knows it. He admires himself more than you do. Pretty men are for sharing, and everyone will watch him. Youll be the last one to get his attention, even though youll have the most right to it!
So, lets review the facts: Unloved wife. Age forty-three. Not in demand. Smashing.
Rita drifted to the window. The sun was already beating down with proper spring energy. Mothers Day soon, she thought, rather numbly. So what? Another year alone Most of my life behind me. All very promising.
From outside, a noisy chirping drew her attention, followed by an insistent tapping at the glass. Rita looked downa terribly scruffy sparrow was strutting along the sill, giving her an impressively one-eyed stare.
Well, thats a sign if Ive ever seen one, thought Rita. At that very moment, her wall clock gave a thumping confirmation.
Right then, times not up yet. Point one: if no one else loves us, we ought to love ourselves… She slammed the front door behind her and dashed offfirst to the hairdresser, then to the shops
Half past six, the mirror stared back, looking entirely fascinated by a mysterious newcomer swaying on her desk chair: little black dress, sharp new crop with an artfully tri-coloured fringe, eyes dark and enticing (thank you, eyeliner and well-blended shadow), lips plumped and pouting with just a touch of liner and gloss.
Point two: at forty, life is only getting started
She sauntered into the kitchen, returned with a glass of wine, and toasted her reflection: Point threedo we really need a husband who doesnt see what hes got?
Needless to say, she arrived at the Smiths, heels clicking, with a hint of a swagger. There was a bit of a stirseveral gents immediately leapt up to help her with her coat, offer a seat, or possibly an apple. Oh, really? Is that right? My husbands here, you say? Didnt even spot him in the crowd
Her opponentaka Gregwas completely thrown by her dazzling entrance, losing his footing both in battle strategy and social charm, positively battered by universal admiration.
The next morning, desperate to regain his ground, he blurted out with his old bravado, Are we having breakfast or what? But that was a mistake, or perhaps he simply wasnt fully awake, because the woman lying next to him simply wasnt the same fetch-and-carry Rita as before.
Next to him, someone delightfully capricious breathed peacefullya woman utterly at ease with herself.
Without even batting her new rainbow fringe, she purred:
Well, have you made breakfast yet, darling?
She stretched, dozing off again with a smile, thinking: Thats right, love. Or Ill just have to revert to point three.Greg fumbled out of bed, utterly disarmed. He lingered in the kitchen, clattering spoons and opening cupboards with unfamiliar intention. Watching him through slitted eyes, Rita bit back laughter. The world was sweetly upside down, possibility humming in the quiet between moments.
By the time he returnedawkward breakfast tray wobbling, coffee spilling into the saucerRita propped herself up regally, accepting his offering with the faintest of nods. Greg hovered, uncertain, waiting for praise that didnt come, exactly. Instead, she looked him straight in the face, a smile ghosting her lips and her eyes full of something he couldnt quite name, but which made his heart race and his ears burn.
Maybe, he thought, for the first time in years, he might want to earn her attention. Maybe she was no ones afterthoughtnot anymore.
As Rita sipped her coffee and congratulated herself on the first day of her new life, sunlight poured through the window. The scruffy sparrow alighted on the sill once more and chirped encouragement, as if to say: go on, live.
And this time, Rita decided, she would.
