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Marian Keyes is the author of ten bestselling novels and two essay collections. She lives in Ireland with her husband and their two imaginary dogs.

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February the fifteenth is a very special day for me. It is the day I gave birth to my first child. It is also the day my husband left me...I can only assume the two events weren't entirely unrelated.

Claire has everything she ever wanted: a husband she adores, a great apartment, a good job. Then, on the day she gives birth to their first baby, James informs her that he's leaving her. Claire is left with a newborn daughter, a broken heart, and a postpartum body that she can hardly bear to look at.

She decides to go home to Dublin. And there, sheltered by the love of a quirky family, she gets better. So much so, in fact, that when James slithers back into her life, he's in for a bit of a surprise.

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Watermelon

Perennial

Chapter One

Let me just give you the briefest outline of myself and I'llsave details like, for example, my first day at school untillater, if we have the time.

Let's see, what should I tell you? Well, my name is Claire andI'm twenty-nine and, as I mentioned, I've just had my firstchild two days ago (a little girl, seven pounds, four ounces,totally beautiful) and my husband (did I mention his name isJames?) told me about twenty-four hours ago that he has beenhaving an affair for the past six months, with - and get this- not even his secretary or someone glamorous from work, butwith a married woman who lives in the apartment two floorsbelow us. I mean, how suburban can you get! And not only is hehaving an affair but he wants a divorce.

I'm sorry if I'm being unnecessarily flippant about this. I'mall over the place. In a moment I'll be crying again. I'mstill in shock, I suppose. Her name is Denise and I know herquite well.

Not quite as well as James does, obviously.

The awful thing is she always seemed to be really nice.

She's thirty-five (don't ask me how I know this, I just do;and at the risk of sounding very sour grapes and losing yoursympathy, she does look thirty-five) and she has two childrenand a nice husband (quite apart from my one, that is). Andapparently she's moved out of her apartment and he's moved outof his (or ours, should I say) and they've both moved into anew one in a secret location.

Can you believe it? How dramatic can you get? I know herhusband is Italian, but I really don't think he's likely tokill the pair of them. He's a waiter, not a Mafia stooge, sowhat's he going to do? Black pepper them to death? Complimentthem into a coma? Run them over with the dessert trolley?

But again, I seem flippant.

I'm not.

I'm heartbroken.

And it's all such a disaster. I don't even know what to callmy little girl. James and I had discussed some names - or, inretrospect, I had discussed them and he had pretended tolisten - but we hadn't decided on anything definite. And Iseem to have lost the ability to make decisions on my own.Pathetic, I know, but that's marriage for you. Bang goes yoursense of personal autonomy!

I wasn't always like this. Once I was strong-willed andindependent. But that all seems like a long, long time ago.

I've been with James for five years, and we've been marriedfor three years. And, my God, but I love that man.

Although we had a less than auspicious start, the magic tookhold of us very quickly. We both agree that we fell in loveabout fifteen minutes after we met and we stayed that way.

Or at least I did.

For a long time I never thought I'd meet a man who wanted tomarry me.

Well, perhaps I should qualify that.

I never thought I'd meet a nice man who wanted to marry me.Plenty of lunatics, undoubtedly. But a nice man, a bit olderthan me, with a decent job, good-looking, funny, kind. Youknow-one who didn't look at me askance when I mentioned ThePartridge Family, not one who apologized for not being able toget me a birthday present because his estranged wife had takenall his salary under a court maintenance order, not one whomade me feel old-fashioned and inhibited because I got angrywhen he said that he'd screwed his ex-girlfriend the nightafter he screwed me ("My God, you convent girls are souptight"), not one who made me feel inadequate because Icouldn't tell the difference between Piat d'Or and Zinfandel(whatever that is!).

James didn't treat me in any of these unpleasant ways. Itseemed almost too good to be true. He liked me. He likedalmost everything about me.

When we first met we were both living in London. I waswaitress (more of that later) and he was an accountant.

Of all the Tex-Mex joints in all the towns in all the world,he had to walk into mine. I wasn't a real waitress, youunderstand, I had a degree in English, but I went through myrebellious stage rather later than most, at abouttwenty-three. Which is when I thought it might be a bit of alaugh to give up my permanent, wellish-paid job in Dublin andgo off to the Godless city of London and live like anirresponsible student.

Which is something I should have done when I was anirresponsible student. But I was too busy getting workexperience during my summer holidays then, so myirresponsibility just had to wait until I was good and readyfor it.

Like I always say, there's a time and a place for spontaneity.

Anyway, I had managed to land myself a job as a waitress inthis highly trendy London restaurant, all loud music and videoscreens and minor celebrities.

Well, to be honest, there were more minor celebrities on thestaff then amongst the clientele, what with most of the staffbeing out-of-work actors and models and the like.

How I ever got a job there at all is beyond me. Although Imight have been employed as the token Wholesome Waitress. Tobegin with I was ...

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Watermelonby Marian Keyes Excerpted by permission.
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