slept with Myles and she knew girls who’d slept with scores of men, so why did she have to be the one to get caught? The slender streak of independence that ran through her shrivelled at the prospect of coping with this momentous happening on her own. Her parents were good and kind people, but they were locked in the morality of the past. Their beloved daughter becoming pregnant—pregnant and single. This would shake their world.
Lizzie would never forget the relief when Myles had said, with a lump in his throat, that they’d get married and he could support her and the baby on his salary from the council.
Now Myles was earnest again as if he could convince her by the force of his argument.
“Lizzie, I’m not saying I regret any of it but we had to get married. It seemed like the only option at the time. We did it and we’ve stuck together but we both knew it wasn’t what we’d wanted. Didn’t you always think there should have been more?”
She had never thought there should have been more. True, there were no violins playing in her head when Myles kissed her, but had there been violins in her parents’ heads during their marriage? Marriage wasn’t about that, surely? Did her happily bickering sister and brother-in-law share some secret hand-holding when they were out of the public gaze? No way. Violins were for soppy movies, not real life.
“We’re still young enough to enjoy life,” Myles said, desperately trying to make her understand. “We can make up for lost time.”
“What’s her name?” demanded Lizzie, suddenly finding her voice. “What’s her name?”
“Oh, Lizzie …” The look Myles gave her was full of pity. “There’s no one else. Dunmore is too small to hide a secret like that. I just want out before I’m too old, before I lose the confidence to do it.”
And that was the most painful thing of all. There was no one else. No other woman had made Myles decide to leave his wife. The only woman involved was Lizzie herself. The spur was the nature of their marriage.
For months after he’d gone, she asked herself how she, who thought she was in touch with the world, missed what was plainly obvious to everyone else—that there was a magic ingredient to marriage and that hers lacked it?
She replayed Myles’s words over and over again: “Is that what you want, Lizzie? Us here, stuck together by necessity and children, unable to live full lives together but never having had the courage to live apart?”
Debra had been devastated and had arrived home from nursing college shaking and crying. “How could you do this to us?” she’d shrieked at her mother. “How could you?”
And Lizzie, who longed for Myles to stay but who wouldn’t hold him against his will no matter what, had calmly told her daughter that people grew apart and wasn’t it better to admit to it instead of living a lie?
“Life goes on,” she said with a serenity she didn’t feel. “This is still your home, but your father won’t be living here anymore. His home will be like another home for you.” Lizzie did not know how she managed to get that measured, “everything will be fine” tone into her voice but she did it. Debra’s sobs lessened, the way they had when she was a child and had a hurt only Lizzie could cure. Did mothers ever stop mothering, Lizzie wondered as she stroked Debra’s head.
Joe had reacted differently. Then twenty-one and living happily in London, he’d come home for a few days, and when Lizzie had confided her genuine shock and bewilderment at what had happened, Joe was momentarily lost for words for possibly the first time in his life.
“Oh, Mum,” he said sorrowfully, “even when I was younger, I knew you and Dad were staying together for me and Debs. I thought you’d both made a choice to do that.”
Lizzie stared at him. He looked so like his father: a wiry frame, the shock of receding dark hair that defied all brushing, the same gentle brown eyes. Even he had
Lizzie would never forget the relief when Myles had said, with a lump in his throat, that they’d get married and he could support her and the baby on his salary from the council.
Now Myles was earnest again as if he could convince her by the force of his argument.
“Lizzie, I’m not saying I regret any of it but we had to get married. It seemed like the only option at the time. We did it and we’ve stuck together but we both knew it wasn’t what we’d wanted. Didn’t you always think there should have been more?”
She had never thought there should have been more. True, there were no violins playing in her head when Myles kissed her, but had there been violins in her parents’ heads during their marriage? Marriage wasn’t about that, surely? Did her happily bickering sister and brother-in-law share some secret hand-holding when they were out of the public gaze? No way. Violins were for soppy movies, not real life.
“We’re still young enough to enjoy life,” Myles said, desperately trying to make her understand. “We can make up for lost time.”
“What’s her name?” demanded Lizzie, suddenly finding her voice. “What’s her name?”
“Oh, Lizzie …” The look Myles gave her was full of pity. “There’s no one else. Dunmore is too small to hide a secret like that. I just want out before I’m too old, before I lose the confidence to do it.”
And that was the most painful thing of all. There was no one else. No other woman had made Myles decide to leave his wife. The only woman involved was Lizzie herself. The spur was the nature of their marriage.
For months after he’d gone, she asked herself how she, who thought she was in touch with the world, missed what was plainly obvious to everyone else—that there was a magic ingredient to marriage and that hers lacked it?
She replayed Myles’s words over and over again: “Is that what you want, Lizzie? Us here, stuck together by necessity and children, unable to live full lives together but never having had the courage to live apart?”
Debra had been devastated and had arrived home from nursing college shaking and crying. “How could you do this to us?” she’d shrieked at her mother. “How could you?”
And Lizzie, who longed for Myles to stay but who wouldn’t hold him against his will no matter what, had calmly told her daughter that people grew apart and wasn’t it better to admit to it instead of living a lie?
“Life goes on,” she said with a serenity she didn’t feel. “This is still your home, but your father won’t be living here anymore. His home will be like another home for you.” Lizzie did not know how she managed to get that measured, “everything will be fine” tone into her voice but she did it. Debra’s sobs lessened, the way they had when she was a child and had a hurt only Lizzie could cure. Did mothers ever stop mothering, Lizzie wondered as she stroked Debra’s head.
Joe had reacted differently. Then twenty-one and living happily in London, he’d come home for a few days, and when Lizzie had confided her genuine shock and bewilderment at what had happened, Joe was momentarily lost for words for possibly the first time in his life.
“Oh, Mum,” he said sorrowfully, “even when I was younger, I knew you and Dad were staying together for me and Debs. I thought you’d both made a choice to do that.”
Lizzie stared at him. He looked so like his father: a wiry frame, the shock of receding dark hair that defied all brushing, the same gentle brown eyes. Even he had
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