The woman on the ELEPHANT
On the night of my 30th wedding anniversary I could have won a BAFTA for best actress. My two daughters and their husbands had arrived at my house. The way I hugged and kissed them, you’d have thought I was the happiest woman alive. But I was so miserable, my make-up was cracking under the strain of holding a smile.
‘Happy 30th!’ my elder daughter, Tammy, cried as she thrust a bunch of red roses into my hands.
My husband, Robbie, hadn’t been there to greet them because he’d told me he had to go out to buy cigarettes. But I suspected his main mission was a quick visit to a certain brunette in the new housing estate.
Without being aware of it, I found a vase in the kitchen and arranged the roses. I also chatted to my younger daughter, Sharon, about her pregnancy, with asides to her husband not to stuff himself with crisps. Multitasking in action.
‘This is the card, Mum.’
Tammy handed
