Lucy wakes on a house she does not recognise, next to a man she doesn't know. It is only when Mrs McCready comes to the door that she begins to understand what has happened, and how long ago...
Lucy woke feeling weak, but no longer ill. There was sun behind the thin curtains for the first time in days; she could feel it on her shoulder. She pulled the covers up a little, burrowing into the pillow, preferring the warmth of the bed to the weak comfort of the wintry sun; not really ready to wake, not ready to admit she was feeling better, and would have to go to work.
Alister felt her stir. He turned to look at his wife, smoothing her hair away from her eyes.
‘Morning,’ he said.
Her eyes flew open, no longer half asleep, and a look of puzzlement and fear passed across her face.
‘What's the matter?’ he asked, laughing.
Lucy's heartbeat slowed again. Why be afraid of Alister? She rubbed her eyes with a hand that shook a little.
‘Sorry. Still half asleep, I didn't expect you to be there.’
Not the precise truth. She had not expected anyone to be there, she had forgotten his existence. Perhaps she was not well enough to go to work after all.
Work? What work? she asked herself, the image of grey desk and filing cabinet fading into absurdity. Lucy had never worked. She had married Alister straight out of school at sixteen, looked after his ageing father for fifteen years, and when he died, they had settled down to having babies. Three so far, all boys, thank God. It was the only way to justify that long wait.
It was strange; she could remember nothing of those fifteen years, other than the basic fact of their existence. Her swift explanation each time someone asked why she had waited so long to fulfil her function, her stammered, Alister's father needed looking after, was not fleshed out in her memory. She knew that Alister's father had been called Ralph, and that he had eventually died of cancer. There were photographs of him in every room, so that she could convince herself that she remembered what he looked like, but deep down she knew that she did not remember his face, or anything else about him.
Lucy would not dream of telling Alister about her faulty memory, he might start thinking it was time to trade her in for a younger model. She wasn't doing badly really. Twenty-five years of marriage behind her, and no sign that his eye was wandering. A man as successful as Alister would not normally be expected to keep an ageing wife, it could be seen as a sign of weakness. Of course, having the children late helped. He would have a hard time getting out of their contract if he decided he wanted a new wife before Jonathan was at least sixteen. So she had a clear ten years yet...
Lucy woke feeling weak, but no longer ill. There was sun behind the thin curtains for the first time in days; she could feel it on her shoulder. She pulled the covers up a little, burrowing into the pillow, preferring the warmth of the bed to the weak comfort of the wintry sun; not really ready to wake, not ready to admit she was feeling better, and would have to go to work.
Alister felt her stir. He turned to look at his wife, smoothing her hair away from her eyes.
‘Morning,’ he said.
Her eyes flew open, no longer half asleep, and a look of puzzlement and fear passed across her face.
‘What's the matter?’ he asked, laughing.
Lucy's heartbeat slowed again. Why be afraid of Alister? She rubbed her eyes with a hand that shook a little.
‘Sorry. Still half asleep, I didn't expect you to be there.’
Not the precise truth. She had not expected anyone to be there, she had forgotten his existence. Perhaps she was not well enough to go to work after all.
Work? What work? she asked herself, the image of grey desk and filing cabinet fading into absurdity. Lucy had never worked. She had married Alister straight out of school at sixteen, looked after his ageing father for fifteen years, and when he died, they had settled down to having babies. Three so far, all boys, thank God. It was the only way to justify that long wait.
It was strange; she could remember nothing of those fifteen years, other than the basic fact of their existence. Her swift explanation each time someone asked why she had waited so long to fulfil her function, her stammered, Alister's father needed looking after, was not fleshed out in her memory. She knew that Alister's father had been called Ralph, and that he had eventually died of cancer. There were photographs of him in every room, so that she could convince herself that she remembered what he looked like, but deep down she knew that she did not remember his face, or anything else about him.
Lucy would not dream of telling Alister about her faulty memory, he might start thinking it was time to trade her in for a younger model. She wasn't doing badly really. Twenty-five years of marriage behind her, and no sign that his eye was wandering. A man as successful as Alister would not normally be expected to keep an ageing wife, it could be seen as a sign of weakness. Of course, having the children late helped. He would have a hard time getting out of their contract if he decided he wanted a new wife before Jonathan was at least sixteen. So she had a clear ten years yet...