Man And Wife

  • ISBN: 9780002261838
  • Author: Tony Parsons
  • Description:
    Harry Silver returns to face life in the 'blended family'. A wonderful new novel about modern times, which can be read as a sequel to the million selling Man and Boy, or completely on its own. Man and Wife is a novel about love and marriage - about why we fall in love and why we marry; about why we stay and why we go. Harry Silver is a man coming to terms with a divorce and a new marriage. He has to juggle with time and relationships, with his wife and his ex-wife, his son and his stepdaughter, his own work and his wife's fast-growing career. Meanwhile his mother, who stood so steadfastly by his father until he died, is not getting any younger or stronger herself. In fact, everything in Harry's life seems complicated. And when he meets a woman in a million, it gets even more so...Man and Wife stands on its own as a brilliant novel about families in the new century, written with all the humour, passion and superb storytelling that have made Tony Parsons a favourite author in over thirty countries. From the Publisher Tony Parson's wonderful character,Harry Silver, returns to face life in the ‘blended family’. A wonderful new novel about modern times, which can be read as a sequel to the million selling Man and Boy, or completely on its own. About the Author Tony Parsons is a columnist for the Mirror and has written for a host of other publications. He was a regular guest on BBC TV's Late Review for six years. His novel Man and Boy is a publishing phenomenon - over a million copies sold, winner of the UK Book of the Year award and translated into thirty languages. Tony Parsons lives in London. Excerpted from Man and Wife by Tony Parsons. Copyright © 2002. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. My son has a new father.He doesn’t actually call the guy dad – come on, he wouldn’t do that to me – but I can’t kid myself. This guy – Richard, bloody Richard – has replaced me in all the ways that matter.Richard is there when my son eats his breakfast (Coco Pops, right? See, Pat, I still remember the Coco Pops). Richard is there when my boy plays quietly with his Star Wars toys (playing quietly because Richard is more of a Harry Potter man, not so big on light sabres and Death Stars and Jedi Knights).And Richard is there at night sharing a bed with the mother of my son.Let’s not forget that bit. ‘So how’s it going?’I asked my son the same question every Sunday as we took our places in the burger bar, our Happy Meals between us, among all the dads and little boys and girls just like us. You know. The weekend families.‘Good,’ he said.That was all. Good? Just good? And it’s funny, and a little bit sad, because when he was smaller, you couldn’t stop him talking, he was full of questions.How do I know when to wake up? Where do I go when I am asleep? How do I grow up? Why doesn’t the sky stop? You’re not going to die, right? And is a Death Star bigger than the moon?You couldn’t shut him up in the old days.‘School’s okay? You get on with everyone in your class? You’re feeling all right about things, darling?I never asked him about Richard.‘Good,’ he repeated, poker-faced, drawing an impenetrable veil over his life with one little word. He picked up his burger in both hands, like a baby squirrel with a taste for junk food. And I watched him, realising that he was wearing clothes that I had never seen before. What family day out were they from? Why hadn’t I noticed them before? So many questions that I couldn’t even bring myself to ask him.‘ You like your teacher?’He nodded, biting off more Happy Meal than he could possibly chew, and making further comment impossible. We went through this routine every weekend. We had been doing it for two years, ever since he went to live with his mother.I asked him about school, friends and home. He gave me his name, rank and serial number.He was still recognisably the sweet-natured child with dirty blond hair who once rode a bike called Bluebell. The same boy who was cute at two years of age that stopped to stare at him in the street, who insisted his name was Luke Skywalker when he was three, who tried to be very brave when his mother left me when he was four and everything began to fall apart.Still my Pat.But he didn’t open his heart to me any more – what frightened him, the things that made him happy, the stuff of his dreams, the parts of the world that puzzled him – why doesn’t the sky stop? – in the same way he did when he was small.So much changes when they start school. Everything, in fact. You lose them then and you never really get them back. But it was more than school.There was a distance between us that I couldn’t seem to bridge, no matter how hard I tried. There were walls dividing us, and they were the walls of his new home. Not so new now. Another few years and he would have spent most of his life living away from me.‘What’s your Happy Meal taste like, Pat?’He rolled his eyes. ‘You ever have a Happy Meal?‘I’ve got one right here.’‘Well that’s exactly what it tastes like.’My son at seven years old. Sometimes I got on his nerves. I could tell.
  • Pages: 304
  • Format: Paperback
  • Genre: General
  • Rating: Not yet rated

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