Free Precious Things by Kelly Doust Page A

thought Rachel’s day-to-day job sounded a little dull, but her friend was frequently invited to swanky affairs with the sort of guest list you’d trade your grandmother to be on, and she had acquired quite the gaggle of celebrity friends on her rise through the ranks.
    â€˜Sorry, Rach, I don’t know what to say . . .’ Maggie struggled for words. ‘I’m just so . . . You’ve taken me by surprise. But you know how these things go, don’t you? They never end well . . . And . . . well, how do you feel about John now?’
    â€˜I love John, I do,’ wailed Rachel. ‘I mean, I really thought I did. Oh, I don’t know. Everyone said marriage would change things, that it was boring. But I didn’t believe them, you know? I thought we’d be different somehow. But it’s all papers in bed and the loo door leftopen . . . all that overwhelming domesticity that you’re so good with . . . It’s all right for you and Tim, you’re virtually joined at the hip, but I’m not sure I’m really cut out for it. Plus the sex has . . . waned over the past few months. We only do it a couple of times a week now. Not every night like we used to.’
    Maggie tried recalling the last time she and Tim had had sex, and found with a faint pang of sadness that she couldn’t immediately remember. Was it last weekend? Or a week or so ago? They were both just so tired all the time. Domestic life didn’t leave much time for being sexy, and Maggie sometimes felt, since having Pearl, that she and Tim were more like friends to each other – close ones, but friends all the same – rather than lovers. If anything, the papers in bed sounded quite nice at this point in her life. And the loo door left open . . . well, that happened. Her mind continued to wander until she realised Rachel was still talking
    â€˜â€”and last night was kind of mind-blowing . . . Honestly, Maggie, the things he did to me . . .’
    Maggie listened, wondering how Rachel had the space for all this . . . passion . It seemed so long ago she’d felt the same way about Tim. It’s because she doesn’t have kids , Maggie thought, the pit of her stomach feeling leaden. They change everything. She knew there was no point quizzing Rachel on whether she was doing the right thing. People had to make their own mistakes – Maggie had learned that lesson the hard way, long ago.
    With a start, Maggie realised the time.
    â€˜Rach, I’m so sorry, I’ve got to go. Can I call you back later?’
    â€˜Of course, of course . . . you go. Call me this afternoon, though?’
    â€˜I will,’ Maggie promised. Then she hung up the phone and began tearing about like a mad thing, pulling out a pair of fresh tights and some underwear from her closet, and shimmying out of her flannelette pyjamas, which she left on the floor in a crumpled mess.
    Five minutes later, going as quickly down the front stairs as she could in the tight sixties wiggle dress and spiky heels she’d chosen for the television interview, Maggie was juggling several carrierbags and a box full of things for the show. Opening the car boot to dump everything inside, she couldn’t help but think, as she always did whenever she noticed her car, what an embarrassment it was: the eleven-year-old Golf had dents in every panel and a different-coloured driver’s side door, from when she’d pulled into traffic too hastily and a Range Rover had ploughed right into the side of her. Maggie thought wistfully of the classic car she’d been dreaming about for as long as she could remember; a 1967 Jaguar. One day , she thought, one day. Before she got too old and it looked like she was having a midlife crisis. Wouldn’t that be nice?
    At least the Golf is reliable , Maggie thought with a sigh, plonking herself in the driver’s seat. Maggie wondered when she’d ever own a car that didn’t make her feel