with the move, it had slipped down the list and guilt needled at her
over-burdened conscience.
Holly looked up, distracted, to find Milo still blissfully unperturbed by the chaos now surrounding him. He sensed her gaze, looked up at her and smiled. ‘If you’re up, Holls,
I’d love another cup of coffee.’
‘Yes, yes, very funny,’ Holly replied. ‘Kettle’s on. You’ll have to make your own. I’m late.’
‘I did warn you that you didn’t have time to be nattering on the phone,’ he said, turning the page. ‘I’m not sure that this morning routine of yours is really
working.’
Holly took a deep breath, refusing to rise to the bait. Sometimes she wondered whether Milo just wanted to provoke a reaction, to prove that he could.
To say that Milo was not a morning person would be an understatement of Jurassic proportions, but since she was utterly wiped by supper-time, their window for civil communication was rapidly
shrinking. She constantly reminded herself that his writing was important and that his hours were long and erratic – she wasn’t making excuses for him, whatever Lizzie might say –
she was just stating a fact.
But it didn’t excuse the elephant in the room: Holly’s new policy of keeping her head down and ducking the debate was hardly a long-term strategy for marital bliss.
She checked the clock and pulled her battered make-up bag out of her handbag and quickly smudged some eyeliner into place.
‘You want some help?’
Holly distractedly covered up the stress spot on her chin and didn’t think before answering. ‘You could get the boys into their boots and coats?’ she suggested, ever
hopeful.
Milo leaned forward and plucked the make-up from her hands. ‘I meant with that muck on your face – there’s probably a trowel kicking around here somewhere!’ He laughed at
his own joke and tossed Holly’s make-up bag to one side. ‘I think you might have to admit defeat there, Holly. Only so much you can do with a bit of slap, my love.’
She stared at him, stunned. He may have been laughing, but these recent jokes at her expense simply weren’t that funny. ‘Give it a rest,’ she said, properly needled by his
comments, hitting her on the soft underbelly of her own insecurities as they always did. For Milo, words weren’t just his profession, they were also his weapon of choice and these days his
aim was unerringly accurate.
Later on, when she thought about this conversation, she knew she’d be second-guessing herself. There was a chance, of course, that she was simply over-reacting to Milo’s odd sense of
humour. But then there was also the possibility that Lizzie was right and that he was actually doing his level best to put her down and gradually shred her self-esteem. The problem was that Holly
could no longer tell the difference.
Fresh starts were all well and good, but surely they had to be built on a level foundation? And right now, living with Milo was like walking across a ploughed field in high heels. It was all
about balance.
As ever, it took an age to wrestle Tom and Ben into their gloves, hats and coats, muddling up their identical pairs of shoes, and by the time they were ready to leave the
house, Holly felt as though she’d run a mile.
She manhandled their enormous double-pram, dubbed the Beast, out of the hallway and into their quiet little road. Holly had actually been looking forward to walking to work whenever the weather
allowed. If nothing else, the opportunities for denting expensive Mercedes when she was merely wielding the Beast were marginally lower.
This morning, though, her thoughts refused to be quieted by the beautiful scenery around her. The boys were gabbling away in the pram; their own little language indecipherable even to Holly.
She leaned in to the pram as the road sloped upwards and wondered where it had all gone wrong.
Milo’s comments about her appearance used to build her up, not pull her down. Lizzie had been
over-burdened conscience.
Holly looked up, distracted, to find Milo still blissfully unperturbed by the chaos now surrounding him. He sensed her gaze, looked up at her and smiled. ‘If you’re up, Holls,
I’d love another cup of coffee.’
‘Yes, yes, very funny,’ Holly replied. ‘Kettle’s on. You’ll have to make your own. I’m late.’
‘I did warn you that you didn’t have time to be nattering on the phone,’ he said, turning the page. ‘I’m not sure that this morning routine of yours is really
working.’
Holly took a deep breath, refusing to rise to the bait. Sometimes she wondered whether Milo just wanted to provoke a reaction, to prove that he could.
To say that Milo was not a morning person would be an understatement of Jurassic proportions, but since she was utterly wiped by supper-time, their window for civil communication was rapidly
shrinking. She constantly reminded herself that his writing was important and that his hours were long and erratic – she wasn’t making excuses for him, whatever Lizzie might say –
she was just stating a fact.
But it didn’t excuse the elephant in the room: Holly’s new policy of keeping her head down and ducking the debate was hardly a long-term strategy for marital bliss.
She checked the clock and pulled her battered make-up bag out of her handbag and quickly smudged some eyeliner into place.
‘You want some help?’
Holly distractedly covered up the stress spot on her chin and didn’t think before answering. ‘You could get the boys into their boots and coats?’ she suggested, ever
hopeful.
Milo leaned forward and plucked the make-up from her hands. ‘I meant with that muck on your face – there’s probably a trowel kicking around here somewhere!’ He laughed at
his own joke and tossed Holly’s make-up bag to one side. ‘I think you might have to admit defeat there, Holly. Only so much you can do with a bit of slap, my love.’
She stared at him, stunned. He may have been laughing, but these recent jokes at her expense simply weren’t that funny. ‘Give it a rest,’ she said, properly needled by his
comments, hitting her on the soft underbelly of her own insecurities as they always did. For Milo, words weren’t just his profession, they were also his weapon of choice and these days his
aim was unerringly accurate.
Later on, when she thought about this conversation, she knew she’d be second-guessing herself. There was a chance, of course, that she was simply over-reacting to Milo’s odd sense of
humour. But then there was also the possibility that Lizzie was right and that he was actually doing his level best to put her down and gradually shred her self-esteem. The problem was that Holly
could no longer tell the difference.
Fresh starts were all well and good, but surely they had to be built on a level foundation? And right now, living with Milo was like walking across a ploughed field in high heels. It was all
about balance.
As ever, it took an age to wrestle Tom and Ben into their gloves, hats and coats, muddling up their identical pairs of shoes, and by the time they were ready to leave the
house, Holly felt as though she’d run a mile.
She manhandled their enormous double-pram, dubbed the Beast, out of the hallway and into their quiet little road. Holly had actually been looking forward to walking to work whenever the weather
allowed. If nothing else, the opportunities for denting expensive Mercedes when she was merely wielding the Beast were marginally lower.
This morning, though, her thoughts refused to be quieted by the beautiful scenery around her. The boys were gabbling away in the pram; their own little language indecipherable even to Holly.
She leaned in to the pram as the road sloped upwards and wondered where it had all gone wrong.
Milo’s comments about her appearance used to build her up, not pull her down. Lizzie had been
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