Free Husbands by Adele Parks

that she has managed to hit the correct balance of changing some things and leaving others well alone.
    ‘Amelie, what do you think of me?’ I blurt.
    Amelie stares at me, probably reflecting that the question is borderline barmy. ‘Where’s this leading?’ she asks cautiously. Of course she’s right not to jump with both feet into a character assassination or even a glowing reference.
    ‘Well, you’re perceptive. You’ve known me for six years. We’ve seen each other through the good, the bad and the frankly bloody awful times—’ I squeeze her hand. She smiles briefly. Bravely. ‘You probably think you have me pegged, don’t you?’
    ‘I don’t presume,’ she replies, tactfully. ‘You aren’t easy to peg, as you put it. You’re quite an impulsive woman.’
    ‘Do you think so? Most people would look at my life and think it a scary amalgamation of clichés.’ Amelie looks puzzled. ‘Well, I am a thoughtless drifter, who can’t make a go of it in any of the numerous industries I’ve had a stab at. I was working as a waitress when I met my husband, a wealthy, older man. I know people think I married Philip to get myself out of a hole.’ I stare at the trail of flakes of croissant that sit on my lap, on the breakfast counter and the floor. I feel truly sorry for myself. I wonder if it’s too early in the day to cry.
    ‘Which people? Nonsense,’ asserts Amelie. ‘It’s clear that you love him and he loves you. Have you had a row?’
    I squeeze her hand again, poor Amelie, I didn’t want to alarm her. ‘No, nothing like that. The people who work with Philip, the other waitresses in the cocktail bar, people like them think I’m a cliché.’
    Amelie tuts and waves her hand dismissively, ‘No, they don’t.’ Then she becomes more assertive on my behalf, ‘And even if they do, who cares? They don’t matter to you.’
    ‘I do love Philip,’ I insist. ‘I didn’t just marry him because I couldn’t face my arse being squeezed by one more randy, drunken customer. But I can see why people are doubtful.’
    ‘Do you have any doubts?’ she asks.
    I take a deep breath and try to be as honest and clear as possible. I know it’s vital that I explain myself to Amelie if she is to help me.
    ‘The thing is—’
    ‘I’m starving.’
    I turn to see who is the source of the interruption.
    ‘Morning, Eddie. Gosh, you must have been playing with your Buzz Lightyear late last night.’
    Eddie looks wary: he probably thought that using a torch under the covers had fooled Amelie. Amelie doesn’t pursue the issue – she always says the trick to being a calm mum is choosing the battles that are worth fighting; a late night at the weekend clearly doesn’t fall into that category. ‘Freya and Davey were up ages ago,’ she adds.
    ‘Oh.’ Eddie immediately loses interest in food and runs to the back door. ‘Can I go play too?’
    ‘Don’t you want some breakfast?’ offers Amelie, fartoo much of a professional to insist that Eddie should. He takes the bait.
    ‘Maybe, OK. Hi, Aunty Belly.’ Eddie smiles at me. Normally, I am unable to resist his smile and the private nickname. Normally, I’d sweep him up in a huge cuddle and plant kisses all over his face. This morning I find it hard to mumble more than, ‘Hi, Eddie.’
    Eddie is still here. Eddie spent the night at Amelie’s. That means… I try not to panic. Maybe Laura is here too. Maybe she rang Amelie last night and they agreed not to wake Eddie and so Laura stayed here or just went home alone.
Alone
is the important bit. As though Eddie can sense the question I need answering he asks, ‘Where’s my mum? When will she pick me up?’
    Amelie is busy pouring Rice Krispies into a bowl. She falters for a nanosecond, Eddie doesn’t notice but the almost imperceptible hesitation tells me all I need to know.
    ‘Mummy will pick you up before lunchtime,’ she says.
    Eddie nods and accepts his breakfast.
    Amelie and I sit in silence as he slowly