Page 9 of The Winter of Second Chances
‘Screw that,’ said Sally.
Annie sighed and rubbed her temples.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It was just too complicated not to be with Max. And I guess a part of me was too proud to admit that I’d failed.’
‘Youfailed?’ Sally spluttered. ‘This is classic learned behaviour derived from societal misogyny.’
‘Blimey!’ said Annie.
‘Unbelievable!’ Sally was on a roll. ‘He breaks his vows and you’re the failure? This is why we need feminism. Women have been programmed since the dawn of time to take responsibility for men’s failings. Stop shouldering the blame for your husband’s shortcomings. In fact, let me just take that from you right now.’
Sally leaned across the table, grasped Annie by the shoulders and then let go, throwing her arms up into the air with a flourish as if she were batting away a hornet.
‘There!’ said Sally. ‘I hereby remove all feelings of failure associated with your husband’s roaming penis.’
Sally dusted her hands off over the side of the table, ceremonially removing any remnants of blame.
‘Right!’ she said. ‘Gone. What’s next?’
Annie gawped. It was the strangest thing, but she actually did feel as though an invisible weight had indeed been removed.
‘You’re amazing!’ said Annie.
‘Far from it,’ said Sally. ‘I’m just aware of the things I don’t have control over: one of them is my legs, the other is people’s behaviour.’
‘You should do public speaking,’ said Annie.
They ordered more drinks and some olives and bread to share; Annie, never normally one to miss a meal, realised she hadn’t had dinner and was beginning to feel the effects of the house wine.
‘So, are we talking classic shotgun wedding here?’ asked Sally, spearing an olive with a cocktail stick.
‘Pretty much,’ said Annie. ‘I had to have my dress let out three times before the wedding and even then, I looked like I was smuggling two bear cubs under my gown. Twins,’ she said by way of an explanation.
‘How old were you?’
‘Seventeen,’ said Annie.
‘Wow!’ said Sally. ‘Married at seventeen! How very twentieth century of you.’
‘What about you?’ asked Annie.
‘I was twenty-five,’ Sally replied. ‘The first time. He was thirty. We had a good run, until he started an affair with his podiatrist, silly sod. Joe, my eldest, was five when we divorced. And then I met Pete on a single parents’ holiday in Corfu. It was all a bit of a whirlwind; marry in haste repent at leisure, that sort of thing. And then along came Susan.’
‘Were you always bisexual?’ asked Annie. ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry, that’s such a personal question. It must be the wine, I promise I’m not usually so blunt. Just forget I asked that.’
Sally laughed.
‘Susan likes to say that sheturnedme,’ said Sally, raising one eyebrow. ‘But with hindsight I think I probably was bi. We just didn’t have a name for it back then. Joe says we sound like an inclusive reading book for primary schools:Sally and Susan Love Each Other Very Much.’
When the bell went for last orders, Sally ordered a taxi and Annie ordered a toasted cheese sandwich and a packet of crisps to take back to her room. The women swapped phone numbers and Sally made Annie promise to tell her how she got on with tomorrow’s viewing.
Annie had just settled into bed when her phone pinged with the sound of an email.
Dear Ms Sharpe,
My name is John Granger, I am Mrs Mari Chandler’s nephew.
My aunt has asked me to send you directions of how to get to Saltwater Nook, which I shall detail below.
