desperate lack of harmony had been so apparent in Myles and Lizzie’s marriage that even Gwen thought they were better off apart?
Unfortunately, in the months after Myles moved out, Lizzie had a lot of time to think about this.
It was their younger child, Debra, turning eighteen and moving to Dublin that had been the catalyst. Until then, all appeared well in the Shanahan household. They had a nice home in a small housing estate on one of the older, tree-lined roads in Dunmore: a red-brick semi with four bedrooms, a dining room that, admittedly, was used less and less, and a small garden in which Lizzie spent an in-creasing amount of time. She had her job, her friends, her garden, and Myles had his work in the planning department in the council and his pals in the squash club.
If life wasn’t exactly exciting, then Lizzie consoled herself that it would be once the children had both left home.
She and Myles were, or so she was led to believe, in the enviable position of having had their children early. Very early, she used to laugh, thinking of herself in maternity tights at the wedding. But that had its advantages. With twenty-one-year-old Joe in art college in London, and Debra starting nursing in Dublin, it was just Lizzie and Myles again. She could barely remember what life felt like without the kids.
But there was going to be no empty-nest syndrome in her house. No way, José. Not for her the resigned gaze at the empty places round the table. She adored the children, adored them, but they wouldn’t thank her for turning into a resentful old woman just be-cause they’d moved on and grown up. Lizzie and Myles Shanahan were going to live life to the full.
In this new, zestful frame of mind, she’d wondered if they could install a conservatory, maybe, or go on the sort of dream holiday they’d always promised themselves but had never been able to afford because there were always things to be bought for the children. A safari, she thought, wistfully imagining dawn Jeep rides into the grassland like the ones on the holiday programmes.
Lizzie looked after herself too. No sliding into slatternly ways for her. When tendrils of grey began to sneak into her shaggy light brown curls, she got streaks put in at the hairdresser’s. Myles seemed pleased with all of this.
He hadn’t let himself grow old before his time either, Lizzie thought approvingly. They were both forty-four. Some people were only just getting married or dealing with young kids at that age, and they’d done it all!
She got brochures for the conservatory and one day, just for the fun of it, picked up some safari ones too.
That evening, Myles sat in his armchair in front of the fire and looked mutely at the brochures Lizzie had left with such excitement on the coffee table. Then, in a quiet voice, he told her that he wanted a divorce, that he was so sorry but hadn’t she realised? Didn’t she agree that it was the right thing to do?
Lizzie, who’d already checked her husband’s diary to see if he’d be able to take holidays during the best season for a safari, stood frozen beside the mantelpiece, one hand clutched around the china seal Joe had given her after a childhood trip to the zoo.
“I thought you knew; I thought you agreed with me,” pleaded Myles. “You were getting on with your life and I was getting on with mine. We were only together for the kids and now they’re gone, well …” His voice trailed off.
With terrible clarity, Lizzie saw that he meant what he said.
“We married too young, Lizzie,” he added sadly. “We didn’t have time to think about the future or whether we were really suited. If you hadn’t been pregnant with Joe, we’d have never done it, would we?”
Lizzie gazed back at him. The shock of this made her remember another: the shock of discovering she was pregnant, standing in the loo of the restaurant where she was working and thinking that the test had to be wrong, it had to be. She’d only ever
Unfortunately, in the months after Myles moved out, Lizzie had a lot of time to think about this.
It was their younger child, Debra, turning eighteen and moving to Dublin that had been the catalyst. Until then, all appeared well in the Shanahan household. They had a nice home in a small housing estate on one of the older, tree-lined roads in Dunmore: a red-brick semi with four bedrooms, a dining room that, admittedly, was used less and less, and a small garden in which Lizzie spent an in-creasing amount of time. She had her job, her friends, her garden, and Myles had his work in the planning department in the council and his pals in the squash club.
If life wasn’t exactly exciting, then Lizzie consoled herself that it would be once the children had both left home.
She and Myles were, or so she was led to believe, in the enviable position of having had their children early. Very early, she used to laugh, thinking of herself in maternity tights at the wedding. But that had its advantages. With twenty-one-year-old Joe in art college in London, and Debra starting nursing in Dublin, it was just Lizzie and Myles again. She could barely remember what life felt like without the kids.
But there was going to be no empty-nest syndrome in her house. No way, José. Not for her the resigned gaze at the empty places round the table. She adored the children, adored them, but they wouldn’t thank her for turning into a resentful old woman just be-cause they’d moved on and grown up. Lizzie and Myles Shanahan were going to live life to the full.
In this new, zestful frame of mind, she’d wondered if they could install a conservatory, maybe, or go on the sort of dream holiday they’d always promised themselves but had never been able to afford because there were always things to be bought for the children. A safari, she thought, wistfully imagining dawn Jeep rides into the grassland like the ones on the holiday programmes.
Lizzie looked after herself too. No sliding into slatternly ways for her. When tendrils of grey began to sneak into her shaggy light brown curls, she got streaks put in at the hairdresser’s. Myles seemed pleased with all of this.
He hadn’t let himself grow old before his time either, Lizzie thought approvingly. They were both forty-four. Some people were only just getting married or dealing with young kids at that age, and they’d done it all!
She got brochures for the conservatory and one day, just for the fun of it, picked up some safari ones too.
That evening, Myles sat in his armchair in front of the fire and looked mutely at the brochures Lizzie had left with such excitement on the coffee table. Then, in a quiet voice, he told her that he wanted a divorce, that he was so sorry but hadn’t she realised? Didn’t she agree that it was the right thing to do?
Lizzie, who’d already checked her husband’s diary to see if he’d be able to take holidays during the best season for a safari, stood frozen beside the mantelpiece, one hand clutched around the china seal Joe had given her after a childhood trip to the zoo.
“I thought you knew; I thought you agreed with me,” pleaded Myles. “You were getting on with your life and I was getting on with mine. We were only together for the kids and now they’re gone, well …” His voice trailed off.
With terrible clarity, Lizzie saw that he meant what he said.
“We married too young, Lizzie,” he added sadly. “We didn’t have time to think about the future or whether we were really suited. If you hadn’t been pregnant with Joe, we’d have never done it, would we?”
Lizzie gazed back at him. The shock of this made her remember another: the shock of discovering she was pregnant, standing in the loo of the restaurant where she was working and thinking that the test had to be wrong, it had to be. She’d only ever
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