27
Still no word from Frank, and we were supposed to meet today.
George took me out for a meal this evening. I feel so rotten at the moment I didn’t even bother to change my dress or do my hair or anything. I can’t stand the way George looks at me. He has a question in his eyes. He reminds me of a kicked dog asking for reassurance. I hate the way it makes me feel.
We talked about absolute rubbish too, anything but the obvious. I’ve given up my hopes of getting the job in Longton. Just to mention it will be a reminder of the night I told George about wanting to work; the night he admitted he knew about me and Frank. Though to see us now you’d think he knew nothing. He’s the model of a doting husband. But he’s not stupid. Surely he’ll snap at some point. I wish he would! It would be a relief to have it out, hear him shout at me and tell me what a bad wife am.
But no, he’s George isn’t he. Sweet caring George who fell for me the first time he laid eyes on me and would forgive me anything it seems. It doesn’t help that I now suspect all those days he’s spent away from home, he was whiling away the hours at my Mother’s house, pouring out his woes to her as she soothed him with tea. And there’s me thinking he had found a hobby!
I only know about this because Mother paid us an unexpected visit yesterday. I was glad of the distraction at first, the awkward silences between George and I are driving me mad. But it soon became apparent what she was really there for; I overheard her and George muttering in the sitting room as I went to make drinks.
‘Are things any better?’ she asked
‘Not really’ he replied ‘Worse than last time I saw you if I’m honest’
I realised then what had been happening, why Mother knew so much and why George was keeping so calm. Mother has been telling him how to handle the situation. Poor George, doesn’t he realise she’s just trying to make sure we don’t fall out and spoil the marriage?
I suppose she’s right. I don’t know what I’d do if I wasn’t Mrs George Brown.
I wish Frank would hurry back.
