The Promise of Happiness by Erin Kaye

Author:Erin Kaye [Kaye, Erin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General
ISBN: 9780007340415
Google: XCQWdAJ7R_wC
Amazon: 144481267X
Publisher: Isis Audio Books
Published: 2011-07-20T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Andy lay sprawled lifelessly on the sofa, in a T-shirt and cargo pants, his legs elevated on a beanbag, watching sport on TV. It was unlike him to be this inactive. ‘Does Joanne really expect me to be there tomorrow? Kevin wants me to help him with the boat.’

‘But it’s Abbey’s birthday celebration, Andy,’ argued Sian, feeling aggrieved that they were even having this conversation. She shouldn’t have to cajole him into going to an important family event like this. ‘Everyone will expect you to be there, especially Abbey. You know how she loves you.’

Instead of bringing a smile to his lips, this made him look even more miserable. Sian frowned, perplexed. She hardly knew Andy these days, he was so changed from his former carefree self. Now he was edgy, preoccupied and unhappy. It had taken a lot of courage to face up to the fact that her relationship with Andy was falling apart. Since they’d moved into the house seven weeks ago she felt like she’d been walking on eggshells around him. When she tried to get him to talk about what was wrong, he’d somehow manage to change the subject. Funny how you could live with someone, even sleep with them, and talk about everything but the one thing that really mattered. But not tonight, she thought with steely determination – she was going to tackle him head on. She’d given him space and time to sort out his feelings though, if truth be told, she’d been in no rush to press for answers, for fear she would not want to hear them. Now she was ready.

‘Well, let’s not talk about tomorrow now,’ she said bravely, struggling to keep her voice, and emotions, on an even keel. ‘Dinner’s ready. Why don’t we sit down and eat? I got us a nice bottle of wine – well, two actually.’

He followed her into the kitchen where the lights had been dimmed. The small nineteen-thirties table, salvaged from a skip, was laid with a vibrantly coloured tablecloth from a co-operative in Africa, matching napkins and candles in empty jam-jars. The room was warm and smelt of good food.

‘What’s the special occasion?’ said Andy, when he saw the table, baulking a little or so it seemed to Sian.

She swallowed the lump of sadness in her throat, slipped on a pair of oven gloves and said, briskly, ‘Nothing. Come on, sit down before it gets cold. It’s mushroom goulash and rice and salad,’ she continued, getting the food out and setting it on cork placemats. ‘And I made a lemon tart for afters.’

He pulled the chair out, the legs making only a scuffing sound on the cork tiles. ‘Thanks for doing all this, Sian. Where’d you get the time?’

‘I left work a little early tonight. Bernie shut up shop for me. Pour us some wine, will you?’ She nodded at the bottle sitting on the table.

Andy, looking uncomfortable, sat down on the edge of his seat and filled two glasses with white wine.

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