The notebooks .sx She would tell him about the swish of black gaberdine along the cold flagstones ; you could barely see it , she said , except by the candles , or when the daylight happened through the little arched leaded windows .sx Somehow one never looked at the faces of the sisters , she had said , one always looked down , down at the swishing habits , often glimpsed rather than seen , in shadowy corners as they spied upon their charges and then hurried on .sx Sometimes , alone in the chapel , you only knew afterwards that you had been seen , as you became aware of the swirl of heavy fabric against the stone of a pillar , but looking up , it would have gone .sx When he knew her better , and saw the dresses she made , he felt that she had translated that dark swishing of her past into something bright , something you could look at square on instead of glancing at through lowered eyelashes .sx These confident wide skirts that swirled at her shins , she owed them to the nuns , that and the way she looked up through her eyelashes and never square on .sx He found it charming , but never told her so .sx Yesterday , he had suggested that he sleep in the spare room from now on .sx Perhaps he had hoped for some response other than her tacit agreement , but in any case it had not surprised him when she busied herself in finding fresh sheets and clean blankets .sx It was left to him , however , to prepare the room , and it was in moving the old chest of drawers that had been in the children's playroom , that he discovered her notebooks .sx At first , he thought they were diaries , dated as they were year by year , but as he examined them , he realised , with a sort of shock , that they were of a peculiar kind .sx For all they contained was a record of his speech over the years , and only his speech as it described her .sx Any passing comment on her looks , her clothes , her hairstyle had been carefully noted and written down here :sx thirty years of marriage summarised in his words , and nothing of any wit or passion , for he was not given to great expression of emotion .sx He opened the notebook for 1954 , the year they met .sx They both worked for one of the big London department stores .sx He was a junior manager in ladies' fashions , and she did the alterations , and sometimes made dresses for private customers .sx His eyes fell upon :sx '6th July .sx " You look nice " .sx ' Later , " Did you make that dress yourself ?sx " and flicking through he found '31st October .sx " Your hair looks nice like that " .sx ' .sx He replaced the book .sx His overwhelming feeling was one of embarrassment , firstly , for having read something so private , even if it was his wife's , but secondly because .sx .. To find his awkwardness scrawled across a page like that and to find his memories of those early courting days , that summer when they would go out after work and he would watch her emerge from the grime of the Underground station in a whirl of colour , and it was as if all the hope that people felt , with no rationing any more , and the shops being full again , and you didn't have to scrimp and save , and there she was swathed in some creation that she had sewed herself with masses of heavy fabric - it was all summed up in this vision , and he wanted to say she was beautiful , that she was his new life , their new life together .sx .. He had said only You Look Nice , and he couldn't now remember even saying that ; and yet she had written it down , treasured it , clutched it to herself .sx Or had she done so simply out of a need for order , to chart and classify the course of their courting , all those magic moments encased in utterances of pure banality ?sx Or worse , a sense of irony .sx Perhaps she knew she was beautiful , she knew the effect of her appearance , perhaps she felt she deserved to be told a hundred times that she was magnificent , glorious , and so his painful You Look Nice had been cruelly recorded for posterity ?sx Yet there was nothing of this about her , and even the slow decline in their marriage was without malice .sx He suspected that she thought he had been unfaithful ; he hadn't , but how could he tell her so without arousing suspicion ?sx In silence they had become strangers .sx The notebooks , however , were eloquent .sx Bare of all descriptions ( it was left to him to remember the contest and location of his utterances which seemed , as he read , to grow in confidence ) , they continued :sx 14th March 1956 ( they had been married ten months) :sx " You're lovely " .sx 18th August 1956 :sx " You look smashing in pink " .sx Later , " Are you a little thinner these days ?sx " - and as the years passed , " You look good enough to eat " ; " You look all tousled " ; " Pregnancy suits you " ; " I love you " ; " You do look funny like that " ; " You're my life " ; " You're a beautiful mother " ; " She's as pretty as her mum " ; and at some point , on holiday :sx " You ought to wear that swimsuit every day .sx .. " .sx Reading it now , this catalogue of everyday intimacy , he lost his unease .sx This rose-tinted summary of their early married life , although devoid of any context , gave him a voice that he'd never had .sx These funny little sayings strung together became a whole , a charm bracelet of his feeling for her .sx Then she began to write the painful things ; he described her as blowzy ( he couldn't remember that either , though he thought of it as one of her words) .sx " You neglect your appearance " ; " Why can't you look like that ?sx " ; " No one would believe you're only 35 " .sx It recalled to him this era in their life together .sx Having withstood the holy sisters for so many years , having been joyful and pretty , revelling in the clothes she made for herself just like those she made for her customers and for the children , it was as if that heavy black drapery had caught up with her .sx She appeared weighted down , her eyes lowered , no longer daring even to peek upwards .sx She had atrophied under his gaze .sx It was strange to feel remorse for something he had not done , but here was his crime .sx Her growing silence in their marriage had been accompanied , it seemed , by an ever-increasing torrent of words from him .sx " Why don't you try a bit harder ?sx " ; " You could go out more " ; " You look funny like that " ; " What about all those lovely clothes you used to make ?sx You could do that again .sx " Each comment was dutifully transcribed ; and finally , here we were in 1976 , a few years ago , " Doesn't anything mean anything to you any more ?sx " .sx That was the last comment of the last notebook ; and it was one he remembered .sx He realised , at last , that this had all been said in an urge to help , and what seemed like a tirade against a worthless woman to him had been careful , if awkward attempts to bring her back to the world , back to him ; failed attempts .sx The notebook for 1977 was blank .sx There were none at all for subsequent years ; over ten years of silence .sx He felt angry .sx He found himself returning once more to the books which recorded the middle years of their marriage , when their two children were growing up , and when , it seemed , his comments had become negative .sx Here was one , January 1969 .sx " You could make an effort , you know , you could look much younger than you do .sx " How differently he remembered that time , their boy had won a place at the grammar school , their daughter was learning the piano , and they were happy , he knew they had been happy then .sx Yet the only record she kept was an odd comment that he probably didn't even mean .sx These passing references to her hairstyle , her clothes , conveyed nothing .sx He recalled her gracefulness ; another thing bequeathed by the nuns , and uprightness of posture that comes from being clad in black from top to toe .sx He knew he had never seen her the way she described and was angry with her for her selfishness , for being so wrong .sx They had been happy , and even in their silence there had been a companionship .sx It was her fault if it had changed ; her fault if he had to sleep in the spare room from now on .sx He put the book into his pocket , then packed all the others carefully away , and went downstairs to where she was watching the television news .sx He placed the book on the table in front of her , looking hard at her .sx She glanced at it , then back to the screen .sx " I found them , " he said .sx She said nothing .sx His anger took him by surprise , and he turned down the sound on the television .sx " I said , I found them .sx What were you thinking of ?sx " .sx " They're only my notebooks , " she said defensively .sx " And anyway , you shouldn't have read them .sx " .sx A jumble of words came to him , but he was unaccustomed to such feelings of resentment , and all he could say was , " You just didn't listen , did you ?sx " .sx The bitterness behind his voice surprised her .sx She looked at him , but could think of nothing to say , and after a while turned the sound up again .sx He stood awkwardly by the window looking out onto the blackness of their patio , he could see nothing beyond .sx Once he turned towards her , wanting to say " If only I could have said the right things " .sx .. something like that .sx But the silence defeated him , and eventually he went upstairs to bed .sx She switched off the television and seeing the notebook he had left , picked it up .sx It occurred to her that she had never re-read the later ones .sx The early ones were well thumbed , and she liked to read the things he had said .sx But these critical comments , on her ageing , on her appearance , seemed to chart too well the decline of her marriage .sx Once the children had grown up it was as if she no longer knew what she was for any more .sx It was clear that he too thought she had nothing more to offer , and he would say she looked old , or she looked funny , or how she could do more with her life .sx Her eye fell on an entry :sx 'You've grown into yourself , you know .sx ' She wondered what he had meant , and checked the date on the notebook .sx What had he seen when he looked at her then ?sx Were they doing the garden ?sx Was it one evening when the children were in bed , and did he look up suddenly and see her , a woman of nearly 40 , looking dowdy and blowzy and familiar ?sx She had feared the familiarity most of all , in case it meant that rather than see her and judge her he would cease to see her altogether .sx Yet he had said , she had grown into herself ; and perhaps he had always seen her , all this time , perhaps his comments had never been judgments but simply what he saw .sx A wave passed over her , some feeling that had no name .sx It felt like an ending , but they would continue as they were , she supposed , in this silence that people called companionable , yet which to her now appeared unbearable .sx In a rush of feeling she went upstairs to pack away the book once and for all , and was over the threshold before she remembered that this was now his room .sx She paused , standing in the doorway , imagining him seeing her now , a familiar shadow against the lighted doorway , and was reminded of something .sx She ventured to the chest of drawers , and taking up the very last notebook , which contained no words at all , she turned to the back page .sx There , taped inside , were two small squares of material .sx One was black gaberdine ; the other was a bright floral cotton .sx She stood , remembering the dress in the sunshine , aware of him awake in the room behind her now .sx