Make Do and Mend in Applewell

by Lilac Mills

  ‘Lottie?’ he called, keeping his voice low. Morgan would undoubtedly be in bed at this hour, Robin too. Only Sabrina would be up, although Lottie would be doing her level best to encourage their daughter to have a bath and get ready for bed, because Robin wouldn’t settle if his sister was still bumbling around. Robin claimed it was unfair that she was allowed to stay up later than him, and he didn’t give a hoot about their age difference being a sound and logical reason for the discrepancy.

  Henry didn’t receive a reply, but there were noises filtering down from upstairs so he guessed his wife was still seeing to the children. The aroma of onions and garlic lingered in the air, and he wondered what she’d made for dinner.

  Opening the oven, he saw a plate and he peeped underneath the foil covering. With a grimace, he hastily shut the door – homemade burgers and vegetable fries, with a side of yet more vegetables in the form of corn on the cob. A filling, healthy meal and one Henry had no doubt would have benefited from being eaten freshly cooked. He noted the solitary plate and guessed Lottie had eaten hers already.

  He didn’t blame her. He couldn’t expect her to wait around for him to get home, especially when he was so late.

  Not feeling in the slightest bit hungry, he poured himself a glass of wine, walked into the living room and slumped onto the sofa. The kids had been watching a cartoon channel, so he flipped over to something more grown up, then wished he hadn’t as a close-up of a crying woman filled his vision.

  ‘You’re home, then,’ Lottie said from behind him, and Henry nearly jumped out of his skin.

  ‘Blimey! Don’t creep up on me like that!’ he cried, a hand over his thudding heart.

  ‘I didn’t creep. You were too engrossed in whatever you’re watching to hear me.’

  ‘I wasn’t, and yes, clearly I’m back.’ She was being sarcastic, so he answered in kind. He knew it was unwarranted, but honestly, he could do without his wife’s passive aggression. He had enough on his plate at the moment.

  ‘Your tea is in the oven,’ she said, dropping into the chair opposite with a loud sigh.

  ‘I’m not hungry.’ He ignored the momentary flash of annoyance that had appeared on her face, and he stamped down on the urge to ask her whether she’d fancy eating a dried-up meal. It wasn’t her fault he was late and at least she’d made him something, even if it did look inedible. And he wasn’t lying when he said he wasn’t hungry.

  Since Paula from HR had informed him his services were no longer required, his appetite appeared to have deserted him. The only things to pass his lips recently were endless cups of coffee and antacid tablets. And wine.

  He drained his glass, debated whether to have another on an empty stomach and decided one more wouldn’t hurt. It might even help him sleep.

  Henry got up, went back into the kitchen and poured himself a second. Feeling guilty, he poured his wife one, too, all the while trying not to glance at the oven, feeling its blank, accusing stare as the uneaten contents berated him.

  Lottie took the glass from him with a muttered thanks and downed half of it in one go. It looked like her day had been as bad as his, but he couldn’t for the life of him work out why. It wasn’t as though she had to get up and go to work, and today Morgan had been at nursery in the morning so she’d had a good couple of hours without any of the children bothering her. He wished he could have a couple of hours to himself just to do nothing.

  Occasionally, when they were really going at it, Lottie would shriek at him that perhaps they should swap places and he could stay at home and be a house-husband, and she could go to work and see how he liked it. He thought it sounded wonderful, but he never actually said so. Deep down he knew how hard she worked, and some mornings he was glad to get out of the door unscathed and leave the chaos of the school run behind.

  Aware he was being unfair and not wanting her to delve into the reason why he was late home yet again, he decided to head her off at the pass. ‘How is the boat-bed coming along?’

  ‘It’s good,’ his wife said, with a shrug. ‘I’ve done the sanding down and put a base in the bottom ready for the mattress to sit on. There’s still quite a lot of work to do, though, but I think it’s going to look good. I can’t believe you found it, and I can’t believe John Porter didn’t want any money for it. Result!’

  Henry pulled a face. It still didn’t sit well with him that John had just given it to them, even though he knew the farmer would never use it and it would just sit there behind one of the sheds and rot. He felt good that they were saving it from oblivion, but he couldn’t shake off the impression he was being treated as a charity case, even though John couldn’t possibly be aware of their impending financial circumstances. Hell, his own wife didn’t even know…

  ‘You’ll have to come out to the shed and have a look at it,’ Lottie said. She smiled warmly at him.

  Henry blinked in surprise. They’d been so uptight with each other lately that it was a shock to see such an open smile directed at him. It was unexpected and rather disconcerting. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d smiled at him like that. Which didn’t say much about the state of their marriage, did it? Although, come to think of it, she probably wasn’t smiling at him, but at the thought of how the boat-bed was coming along.

  Henry was the first to admit that the state of their marriage was probably his fault. He was the one being distant and uncommunicative, but he had so much on his mind that he didn’t feel able to share with her. Although he continued to stick to his original plan of not telling her about this latest redundancy until he had a new job lined up, he knew he was being a miserable git, but he couldn’t seem to help it.

  There was very little further conversation as the evening trundled on, and eventually Henry let out a huge yawn. That was another thing – he was exhausted all the time, yet he didn’t seem able to sleep. There was a time, not so very long ago, when he wouldn’t wake up even if a bomb went off outside, but not these days. He seemed to lie awake for hours now, cursing Lottie who dropped off to sleep the second her head hit the pillow, and when he did eventually enter the land of Nod, it was to be kicked out of it repeatedly as he woke several times during the night.

  ‘I’m bushed,’ he announced. Seeing Lottie’s answering yawn, he switched the TV off and they both made their way upstairs.

  Henry crept along the landing and into their bedroom, careful not to make any noise which might disturb their sleeping children, and flopped down onto the bed as he waited for Lottie to get ready. Their nightly routine followed the same pattern – she had a shower first because she spent ages afterwards plastering her face and body with all kinds of creams and potions while he had his, often shaving at night because it saved time in the morning, meaning he had a few precious extra minutes in bed. Light from the half-open door showed his wife’s shadow on the wall of the landing as she went into the bathroom, and he heaved a deep sigh, his mind whirling.

  He barely noticed Lottie coming back into the bedroom and letting her towel fall to the floor as she reached for a bottle of something gooey and nice-smelling. Instead, he heaved himself off the bed and took his turn in the bathroom, crossly wiping the mirror free of condensation and wondering how one woman could generate so much steam. He’d be lucky not to scrape half his face off if he couldn’t see his reflection properly when he shaved, and he opened the window wide to try to air the bathroom out.

  By the time he’d finished and returned to the bedroom, Lottie was under the covers with the duvet up to her chin. He knew she’d be wearing fluffy PJs and he hopped into a pair of pyjama shorts, earning himself a ‘Shh!’ from his wife as his feet thudded on the floor.

  Henry held his breath and waited for a wail from Morgan, which thankfully didn’t come.

  Closing the bedroom door with a soft click, he plunged the room into darkness and felt his way around to his side of the bed, climbing in with a low groan. Exhausted didn’t begin to describe how tired he was, and he prayed he’d get more than a couple of ho
urs’ kip.

  ‘Henry?’ Lottie sounded odd.

  He turned onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘That’s what I was going to ask you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ He worried he might have let something slip.

  ‘You seemed a bit distracted lately,’ she said. ‘Is there anything wrong?’

  Henry swallowed and forced himself to remain calm. ‘Of course not! Whatever gave you that idea? Everything is tickety-boo.’ Even as it left his mouth, he cringed: never in his life before had he used the term tickety-boo.

  He waited for her to say something else, but she didn’t. Instead, she squirmed around so she was facing him, and her arm slipped around his waist. He could feel her warm breath on his cheek and in the darkness he saw the pale oval of her face, inches away from his own.

  She nuzzled into his neck and he felt her lips on his skin, as her hand moved from his waist to caress one of his buttocks.

  If she’d made such a move even as little as a week ago he would have been seriously up for it, but right now the last thing he could think of was making love to his wife. He was far too tired for one thing, and, for another, he wasn’t in the mood. Panicked, a part of him briefly wondered if he’d ever be in the mood again, before he dismissed the ridiculous notion. All he needed was to sort out a new job and everything would be fine.

  He pulled away slightly and removed her hand, giving it a squeeze. ‘Sorry, Lottie, not tonight. I’m absolutely bushed. It’s been a long day.’

  Lottie stiffened for a second, before scooting away to the other side of the bed. ‘That’s OK,’ she muttered. ‘I understand.’

  But from the tone of her voice Henry knew she was hurt. Trying to make amends, he shuffled over to her side of the bed, the knobs of her spine pressing against his chest as he cuddled into her and put his arm around her waist. She gave a long drawn-out sigh and he kissed her shoulder. ‘Night, night,’ he murmured, but even as he lay there spooning his wife, he could feel the tension simmering between them, and it was a long time before either of them fell asleep.

  Chapter 6

  Lottie

  The following morning Lottie stomped up the stairs and flung open Sabrina’s bedroom door. ‘Wakey, wakey,’ she trilled, then she did the same to Robin, listening on the landing to ensure both children had stirred before she returned to the kitchen to make their breakfasts.

  ‘Mummy cross?’ Morgan asked her from the lofty heights of his three-cushioned seat. He’d progressed from a highchair to a proper chair, albeit with some help, several months ago, and Lottie had difficulty getting used to his newfound freedom. At least when he had been in his highchair she’d known he’d still be there when she came downstairs after waking his siblings. Only yesterday morning she’d walked into the kitchen to find him pouring milk all over the table. Apparently, he’d wanted some on his toast, the way he did on his cereal.

  ‘Mummy’s not cross,’ she lied, and tried on a cheerful smile. It was a poor fit for her mood.

  ‘Mummy is cross,’ her youngest insisted, and she realised there was no pulling the wool over his eyes.

  ‘Only a little bit,’ she admitted.

  ‘With me?’ Morgan poked himself in the chest with his spoon, leaving a blob of porridge on his pyjamas. Thank goodness she always insisted the children ate their breakfast before getting dressed. There were only so many loads of washing she wanted to do in a day.

  ‘Never with you, my cherub,’ she declared, swooping down to kiss his curly head. The look he gave her was far too knowing, so she amended her statement to, ‘OK, sometimes, but not today.’

  ‘Robin?’ He sounded gleeful.

  ‘Not Robin, and not Sabrina, either,’ she added hastily. The relish Morgan displayed when one of his siblings was in trouble was quite bothersome. She’d have thought the kids would stick together in the face of parental ire, but that was not the case. All three seemed happy to snitch on each other given half the chance.

  ‘Daddy!’ her astute son announced, having correctly determined the reason for her annoyance.

  ‘Not Daddy,’ she replied automatically, not wanting their children to think there was anything wrong between them. The look Morgan gave her told her she’d not been successful in her denial that she was cross with Henry.

  Cross was too short a word to express the way she was feeling – hurt, unwanted, undesirable – and that was only the result of his rejection of her last night. Add neglected, unappreciated, ignored and abandoned to the list, and it was starting to be more accurate.

  Lottie walked to the bottom of the stairs and yelled at the top of her voice: ‘Sabrina! Robin! Get your backsides down here this second!’

  ‘Mummy’s cross,’ she heard Morgan mutter as she marched back into the kitchen and poured herself a much-needed cup of coffee.

  She heard the children thunder down the stairs – why they couldn’t walk down them like normal people was beyond her – then they pushed and shoved their way through the door and launched themselves into their usual seats.

  Wordlessly, she poured milk into two bowls of cereal and added some sliced banana and a handful of blueberries.

  ‘Mummy cross,’ Morgan informed his siblings. ‘With Daddy,’ he added, for good measure.

  Robin looked a little alarmed, but Sabrina only looked curious. ‘What did he do?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m not cross with Daddy,’ Lottie said through gritted teeth, hearing the shower kick into life in the bathroom overhead. She glanced up at the ceiling and rolled her eyes. As usual, it was left to her to get the kids fed, dressed, and out of the door without one of them killing another. That she’d been up with Morgan since five thirty didn’t help her mood. Trust Henry to have slept through it, despite her nudging him in the hopes he’d let her have another hour in bed.

  No such luck.

  No wonder she was cross – she was tired and fed up. The way things were at the moment, she might as well be a single parent for all the use Henry was around the house.

  ‘Daddy, you’ve been naughty,’ Morgan told his father as soon as Henry waltzed into the kitchen, his hair still damp from the shower, the faintest hint of stubble on his face, smelling of the aftershave she’d bought him for Christmas.

  It was only because Lottie was staring at him, thinking how handsome he looked (and how deeply unfair it was that she needed at least two cups of coffee and more slap on her face than a clown would wear before she looked half-decent at this time in the morning) that she saw a flash of panic on his face.

  It was gone so quickly, she wondered if she’d imagined it. And, as he crouched down beside his youngest son – a safe distance away, she noticed – his expression was one of mild interest so she knew she must have done.

  ‘Why is Mummy cross with me? Did she say?’ he asked, with a smile. He didn’t look at her, and she narrowed her eyes in irritation.

  ‘No. Have you been naughty?’ Morgan was waving his spoon around and Henry hastily drew back. This time she was positive she hadn’t imagined the odd look on her husband’s face. So if she hadn’t imagined this one, she surmised that she hadn’t imagined the first one, either.

  Knowing she needed to think about it but not having the time right then, she shelved the thought and got on with chivvying the children into washing their faces, brushing their teeth and getting dressed. Morgan, despite her doing all his dressing for him, was always the last one to be ready. He preferred squirming out of her grasp and haring into the other kids’ rooms to annoy them, his turn of speed impressive. Vaguely, she hoped they might have an Olympic runner on their hands, and if she hadn’t been quite so exasperated she would have smiled.

  Eventually, though, she’d wrangled him into his clothes and the older two were dressed and as ready as they could be without her double checking their bags. She’d packed them with everything they needed the evening before, as she always did, but more often than not something would be missing even though she knew she
’d put it in there. Plimsolls were the most frequent of the missing items when it came to Sabrina (she didn’t like PE), and Robin usually managed to ‘forget’ his spellings book.

  Just a typical day, then.

  * * *

  With her two eldest safely dropped off at school, Lottie gave a sigh of relief. Despite loving those few short hours when Morgan was in nursery, she also enjoyed the time she spent alone with him. He was bright and funny, and a handful, and it was important he had some one-to-one time with her.

  It’s a pity his father doesn’t feel the same way, she thought sourly, as she grasped Morgan’s hand tightly and prepared to cross the road. And she wasn’t just referring to Henry spending time with Morgan. It would be nice if he and Lottie spent some time alone as a couple. She was still smarting from his rejection of her last night. They hadn’t made love for ages – which she had to admit was more down to her than him, but she was usually so tired that as soon as she put her head on the pillow, she was asleep.

  He hadn’t been up for it last night, though. Far from it. He’d made it crystal clear he wasn’t interested, and the cuddle hadn’t made up for his brush-off.

  ‘Can I have sweeties?’ Morgan asked hopefully, as she opened the door to the general store and grabbed a basket.

  ‘Not today,’ she replied, as she nearly always did. It was rare she bought the children sweets, and she also tried to regulate what they bought with their meagre pocket money, not wanting them to waste it on sugary rubbish that would only rot their teeth and make them hyper. ‘You can have some strawberries,’ she said, her voice as hopeful as her son’s.