Why do I do this every year? I hate it and it’s just become a chore. It was great fun at the beginning. I spent ages planning and organising. Choosing foods that would appeal to everyone. Even down to the slop that old Bert had to eat because he refused to wear his teeth. Now it’s ready prepared buffet meals from Tesco!

A large gin might help the proceedings to move along at a more agreeable pace.

I loved that house. Small but cosy. Not in the best part of town but it was ours. There was even a little vegetable patch in the garden. The rabbits ate all of the lettuce! SHE didn’t think it was good enough.

Another drink won’t do any harm will it?

Why had he started that argument this morning? She was resigned to the gathering, glad that his mother wasn’t able to come and then he’d dropped the bombshell.

Why did he call her ‘love’? He didn’t mean it. He didn’t love her. It was habit and so predictable.

It was the smile. That triumphant sort of smile he’s got that did it."

"The only thing that was going to make this bearable was the fact that SHE wasn’t coming. Oh God! I’ve got to put up with all her snide sarcastic remarks." She’d said.

Why did he have to smile that smile? The argument just took off from there. His mother hates me. Never thought I was good enough for him. Her son, her handsome, intelligent son who could have chosen anyone but chose me. I’ll never forgive her for what she did, or him for letting her. We would have managed if it hadn’t been for her.

I did love him in the early days, before we came to live so near to HER.

It was such a fun thing to do in the old days, before I got to know HER properly, before I realised he was such a wimp and a mummy’s boy. I spent the whole week preparing and baking. Even thinking up party games and buying everyone a silly little present. I did it for him as much as for anyone. I wanted him to be proud of his wife and I suppose I wanted to impress his family. When did love become contempt?

Maybe if the old witch had had more kids it would have been better or if his dad hadn’t run off with the barmaid. Only children are often spoiled rotten. I’m glad I’ve got Sophe as a sister.

Why had he kept on? And that infuriating smile!

Things would have been different if we’d had the kids we’d planned. We’d had such plans. Three children, didn’t matter what as long as they were well and happy, a house in the country. Just us, that’s all we wanted. We waited thinking ‘there’s time’. Time has a way of disappearing and then it was too late and nothing could be done. Was it then that things turned sour? No! We still had each other then. We still loved each other. It was HER fault that love died. She wanted, needed him back.

Why does he pander to her every whim? She has a slight pain, indigestion most likely, and he’s round there calling the doctor. They must need a fork lift truck to carry her medical notes!

She’ll regard me as the slut she thinks I am. I remember that time I overheard her talking to Lucy, ‘He should have married Jackie when he had the chance. She’s got two children now and a grandchild on the way. It would have been something to comfort my old age.’

Why didn’t I just ignore it then? Carry on with the magazine. It was the smile again that did it. Did he have that smile in the early days? I don’t think he did, or it was different. It was a real smile, one with some warmth in it. This one is a mocking, sneering smile. I think it was that nice smile that first attracted me to him. It was down at the pub, I’d gone with the girls and he was there. All smiles and laughter. He’d bought me a drink and asked me out and that was it. On our next date he took me to meet his mother. That should have made me suspicious. We sat and talked to her all evening. I suppose I was blinded by love and didn’t notice.

A bit of lipstick would help I suppose. But I can’t be bothered. SHE won’t think any better of me

I know what she’ll do when she’s here. She’ll smile and she’ll hold Lucy’s baby. Tell her how lucky she is. She’ll dive into her bag and take out an expensive present that she’s bought, looking at me as if to say ‘it could have been you’. Rubbing salt into the wound. Why is it my fault we didn’t have children. It could just as easily have been him. But then who would inflict that grandmother from hell on any poor child?

Sophe tried to warn me, but they do say that love is blind. It was certainly true in my case. Why did he keep on about the tea? I’d got a bottle of that cheap sherry she drinks for ‘medicinal purposes’. She does mellow a little when she’s had a couple of those. Why did he say it? And say it with that smile.

Why?

That’ll be HER. Always likes to be first.