Marriage Made Me Do It: An addictive dark comedy you will devour in one sitting
An irreverent thriller about one housewife’s descent into madness.SO ADDICTIVE YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO PUT IT DOWN!It’s time to break the rules!My name is Roxy Davenport and I’m part of a dying breed: I’m the perfect housewife.My whole life, I’ve tried to follow the rules of previous, “wiser” generations. High school sweethearts must marry (check!), the wife must stay home to look after the children (check!), all married couples must procreate and raise 3.2 children (demerit – we only managed one – oops!).But it turns out all the while, my husband has been playing by his own rules…and playing around.So screw him! I’ve chucked the handbook out the window. He has no idea what’s coming for him. And my perfect neighborhood will never be the same again.
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Killer Reads
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2017
Copyright © Ashley Fontainne 2017
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com
Ashley Fontainne asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © September 2017 ISBN: 9780008266899
Version: 2017-08-16
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 This Is The Life I Wanted, Right?
Chapter 2 Don’t Bite The Hand That Feeds You
Chapter 3 I’m Supposed To Handle This How?
Chapter 4 Fifty Shades Of Ginger
Chapter 5 Book Club Revelations
Chapter 6 Welcome To Hell – Also Known As Entering The Workforce
Chapter 8 Rambling Dreams Of A Crazed Housewife
Chapter 9 Unraveling At The Seams
Chapter 10 Fun Q&A At The Police Station
Chapter 12 Hot Headlines – Suburbia Made Her Do It!
For Rebecca Roberts - voice talent extraordinaire, relentless cheerleader and amazing friend
Ignoring the droning voice of the old man talking up front, I let my thoughts wander. As usual, they went back to my youth. Growing up in the Seventies and Eighties, I was blissfully ignorant of how screwed-up my life would turn out when I reached the A-word: Adulthood.
I’m the oldest sibling of three girls born into a middle-class family. We grew up living in the suburbs, safely hidden from the dangers of “the big city.” God, life back then had been a breeze. We walked to school, without fear of stranger danger, on sidewalks wide enough for three people to stand side by side, with shade provided by sprawling oak trees. We played with our friends—outside, mind you—until the streetlight in our cul-de-sac buzzed, ready to come on. We didn’t have electric gadgets to tether us inside, weakening our bodies and turning our minds to mush. Nope! We survived skinned knees and bike wrecks, eager to go out and do the same thing again the next day after school. We’d run to the house and land on the porch before the streetlight sparked to life and eat a home cooked meal at—of all places—the dinner table.
We weren’t rich, like my best friend Elizabeth Gelmini’s family—they had a swimming pool and a tennis court, for Godsakes, and both her parents drove BMWs—but we weren’t poor, either. Since I was the oldest, I got the new clothes, and my younger sisters, Rebecca and Rachel, were forced to wear my hand-me-downs. Boy, do I miss the days when Rebecca whined and complained while stomping around in her Pepto-Bismol-colored room throwing hissy fits as only a pre-pubescent girl can.
“I don’t want Roxy’s clothes! Look, Mom! There’s a stain on these jeans. And this shirt is so out of style! No one wears puffed sleeves anymore! I’ll look like a fool and all my friends will laugh at me. Why can’t I get a new pair of Calvin’s or Jordache’s? Tennis shoes without holes in them, or even the latest design of a shirt?”
“Rebecca Denise, that’s enough. Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know. Your father works very hard to provide a good life for you girls so I can stay home and raise you. Stop being so unappreciative. I didn’t give up a chance for a career in nursing just to listen to an ungrateful child yell at me.”
“Mom! I can’t wear her shirts. Roxy’s big boobs stretched them out! I’ll have to stuff my bra!”
The memory made me smile, which I quickly concealed with my hand. This was not the place or appropriate time to be happy.
I glanced over at Rebecca. Though her features had matured and changed, her attitude certainly remained the same. Rebecca was the quintessential middle child. Textbook case. Hell, her picture was probably underneath the caption “Middle Child Syndrome” in every psychology book on the planet. If it wasn’t, they were missing out on the perfect poster child.
