Second Chances Read Online Free Page A

sat down heavily on the top step, his head drooping as though it was made of stone.
    ‘Don’t wanna go to bed,’ he muttered. ‘Leave me here.’
    ‘Rubbish!’ I balanced on a lower step, bending to hook my elbows under his armpits. ‘Couple of Alka-Seltzer, good night’s sleep, you’ll be right as rain.’
    His voice rose to a bellow. ‘Jesus, Martha! Leave me alone, will you?’
    ‘Shh!’ I was furious now, pushing and pummelling, trying to drag him to his feet. ‘For God’s sake, pull yourself together!’
    I really, truly don’t believe he intended what happened next, though he called me a fucking smug bitch as he shoved me away. I remember thinking, as I fell—clutched at the handrail, missed—and rolled and hit the bottom step, that he had a deal of strength for someone so shambolically drunk.
    I was still crumpled and dazed in a heap when I felt shaking hands on my face. Kit sounded stricken, breathy with panic and almost sober. ‘Martha? Look at me. Come on, Martha, look at me! Can you hear me?’
    His face loomed close to mine, sheet-white, eyes wide and bloodshot as he searched my pupils for signs of concussion. I’d landed on my shoulder, not my head, but I felt as though I’d been run over by a truck. Kit abruptly pulled me to his chest and wrapped his body around mine. His voice was pitched higher than usual.
    ‘Christ Martha, Christ Martha, please be okay.’
    ‘Bloody hell,’ I moaned, feeling the slick warmth of blood seeping from my nose. ‘How much worse can things get?’
    Then my self-control crumpled, and I began to cry, out of pure misery. Kit sprawled on the bottom step, his back against the wall, cradling my head and saying sorry, sorry, sorry.
    It was there at the foot of our stairs—at rock bottom—that we finally began to talk, and to listen. We talked about our marriage, our past and our future. We faced the facts of our crisis: mortgage, school fees, frozen bank accounts. We worried about Sacha and about the boys. We seemed unable to stop talking, faces close together, whispering anxiously through the early hours. Then we began to look for a way out.
    By the time we disentangled our limbs and stood up, our future was utterly changed. I felt stunned by the decisions we’d made, yet quietly elated. Kit brought me a cup of tea, gently wiping the blood from my face with a warm flannel.
    ‘Jesus, I’m an idiot,’ he murmured.
    I laid my finger on his lips. ‘Enough,’ I said. ‘Enough regret. I need you whole, Kit.’
    The midsummer dawn was a silver gleam at the window. A new day.

Three
    My sister sat pole-axed, her eyes over-bright. ‘For God’s sake, Martha! Why? ’
    I’d been dreading this confrontation. My glass shook, splashing wine in a red worm over my wrist. ‘It’s not been easy,’ I said feebly.
    Louisa had a baby shoved up her jersey, as usual. Well, not quite a baby; we were there to celebrate Thundering Theo’s first birthday. He had teeth. He could walk. Call me old-fashioned, but should children who wear orange Kickers still be breastfeeding? She always takes things to excess, does my sister. She had four children in five years. Excessive, I call that.
    ‘Martha.’ She shut her eyes. ‘Tell me you’re not serious. You aren’t going to sell your house, ditch your career and move halfway around the bloody world?’
    ‘Well—’
    ‘This is Kit’s idea, isn’t it?’
    ‘Not really, although he’s been really low about the agency.’
    ‘I thought he was sick of the advertising game. Claimed to despise everything it stands for.’
    ‘Perhaps, but it was his game.’
    One-handed, she pretended to play a violin. ‘I love Kit, but he’s just a moody bastard. All glittering blue eyes one day, waltzing you around the kitchen, brooding Beethoven the next. You can’t uproot your family on his whim.’ She fixed me with a suspicious glare. ‘Oh God! I get it. He’s hit the bottle again, hasn’t he?’
    ‘No, no.’
    ‘If he’s laid a