Life After Life

by Kate Atkinson

“But he forced himself on you,” she fumed, “how can you think it was your fault?” “But the consequences…” Ursula murmured. Sylvie blamed her entirely, of course. “You’ve thrown away your virtue, your character, everyone’s good opinion of you.” “But no one knows.” “I know.”

She wondered what argument Derek could possibly have against her playing tennis. He seemed to be having the same struggle and eventually said begrudgingly, “I suppose so. As long as you still have time to do everything in the house.” Halfway through their tea—stewed lamb chops and mashed potatoes—he got up abruptly from the table, picked up his plate and threw it across the room and then walked out of the house without saying a word.

Derek’s whole life was a fabrication. From his very first words to her (Oh, my, how awful for you. Let me help you) he had not been genuine. What had he wanted from her?

Derek, Maurice, Christopher… No way this is random, the psychological profile is too perfectly drawn. Kate A. seems to have experienced first hand what psychopaths and narcissists are like. Poor her. Poor us.

“You’re a liar, through and through. Why did you marry me? Why did you make us both so unhappy?” The look on his face. That look. She was asking to be killed, but wasn’t that easier than doing it herself?

He’s found it hard to settle to anything since Oxford. He’s a ‘hippie’ apparently.” Ursula thought Pamela was very indulgent with her third son. She found Christopher rather creepy. She tried to think of another, more generous word but failed. He was one of those people who stared at you with a meaningful smile on their face, as if he was somehow intellectually and spiritually superior, when the fact was he was simply socially inept.