by Carrie Adams
Lulu opened her mouth to answer, but Amber, I noticed, gave her a little push. “You farted!” said Amber.
Lulu looked hurt. “Didn’t.”
“What’s that smell, then?”
“Mum, I didn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said to Lulu.
“But I didn’t!” she shouted.
I could see where this was going.
“Mummy, she didn’t,” said Maddy. “Amber just made that up.”
“Why would I do that?” yelled Amber, and stormed off.
I didn’t get her back to apologize, because I knew exactly why she would do that. “I think everyone’s a bit tired. Shall we all go upstairs? Is there any homework to do?”
My sweet younger daughters shook their heads. God, it was great to have them home. “Lulu, what about reading?”
“Done it.”
“Really?”
Lulu nodded. Maddy did, too, so I knew it was true. Maddy hasn’t learned how to lie yet. She isn’t anything like a typical youngest—I took a sharp breath.
“You okay, Mummy?” asked Lulu.
I rubbed my chest where the pain had been. “Just a little indigestion. So, no homework to do, no reading. Let’s go upstairs, have a big bath, and we’ll have lots of time for stories in my bed.”
The girls shouted gleefully and tore up the stairs. No frantic supper to prepare, no homework to rush, no simple yet mystifying words to extract from Lulu…so why didn’t I feel relieved? Any normal person would. It meant the last hour of the day with my children would be fun and not the battleground it had historically been after an overstimulated, oversugared, underdisciplined weekend with their father.
I stared down at the pristinely ironed shirts and gave the bag a stupid little kick. I knew, of course, that Jimmy hadn’t done any of it. That sort of thing just wasn’t his forte. Which left only one person. Tessa King. I bet she’d done the bloody reading, too. Tough. I wasn’t ready to be grateful yet. So Jimmy had found himself a nice au pair to do the dirty work. Stupid man! I would have done it. I would have done it all. I looked back at the door, half-expecting her still to be standing there, a patronizing smile on her face, her arms around my children. “Hey, Bea, just bringing the kids home. Yes, we had a great time! They’re fabulous children…”
Yes, they are fabulous! I wanted to shout. Fabulous, because I have given them my life! My soul! My energy! My wisdom! My whole! And in return I get you! The image of her was fuzzy around the edges. I’d only caught her profile coming out of the car. Big nose, I thought. Then Amber had called me in and it had seemed easier to retreat.
I hurled the bag over my shoulder and followed my children upstairs. Amber’s door was closed. I knew better than to open it. I could hear the bloody Dumbbells playing, some ghastly song about getting felt up. The younger ones were already running around naked when I got to their room. Delighting in being back among their belongings. I had been to James’s flat and it always felt like what it was to me and the girls. A temporary solution. Transient. A place where roots were tubbed, ready for easy removal. They had things there—but old things they no longer played with. Or things they would come to in the future, but the future was as unimaginable as a sky with no end and, like all things we don’t understand, they were cast aside.
This was home. I had worked hard to make it so. And I could tell by the scrabble of bare feet on bare boards that they were happy to be here. And I was happy to have them home. And yet, and yet…
I used to dream of peace and quiet when I was married. I hated it now. I guess I had lived in the asylum too long. Open spaces and days that didn’t move at the pace of a machine gun freaked me out. On my weekends without the kids I would walk around in circles waiting to be asked to fetch something, mend something, stick something, hold something, wipe something, be something. Then stop. And realize nobody was asking anything of me and I was nobody without them. I didn’t need less time with them, I needed more. I needed them constantly. What would happen to me when Maddy reached Amber’s age? Would she close the door on me, too?
A small hole opened in my stomach. It stayed with me through bath time and the constant chatter about bridesmaids’ dresses. Through three stories. Through the chat I tried to have with my unresponsive eldest. It stayed with me as I walked along the corridor of a hushed household and down the creaking stairs. It stayed with me while I searched the house for things to pick up and put away and it stayed with me when I realized there were none. There was a hole. And I would have to dam it or risk losing what little there was left of me. I opened the fridge.
“THANK GOD YOU’RE THERE!” I said to Faith. “I’ve been calling and calling.”
“Sorry, what’s wrong?”
“Where’ve you been?”
“The cinema.”
“What about Charlie?”
“He’s asleep.”
“Who was looking after him?”
“Bea, did you call late on Sunday night to discuss my child-care arrangements?”
“No. Sorry.”
“The babysitter doesn’t answer the landline.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Happy now?”
I paused.
“Bea, what is it?”
I put my throbbing head into my hands. Maybe this call wasn’t such a good idea after all.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you about the lunch.”
I looked up through my fingers. “Lunch?”
“The official introduction.”
“Introduction?”
“Bea, are you drunk?”
“I wish.” I flustered and forced myself to sit up straight. “I’m on this ridiculous diet, couldn’t risk the calories. What official introduction?”
“Tessa came to Peter and Honor’s for lunch. The whole family was there.”
If Faith realized her mistake, she didn’t comment on it. Whole family but me, I wanted to say. Whole family but me! “I didn’t know about it,” I said faintly, picking up my glass.
“The girls must have told you.”
“No. They didn’t.”
“That’s weird,” said Faith. “Are you sure you’re okay, Bea? You sound a little—”
“Weary. Went out last night with some friends. Got a bit late.”
“Bea! That’s great.”
Yeah. It was also a lie. I needed another drink.
“Meet anyone?”
“No one I’d see again,” I replied. That would have been hard, since I was on the sofa alone for the duration of the night. “So how did it go, the grand lunch?”
“She did okay,” said Faith.
Trying to be diplomatic but not nearly hard enough, in my opinion. My idea of diplomatic was trashing Tessa to the hilt. Anything else would incur my wrath and border skirmishes were bound to follow. I finished my glass of wine and poured again. But not yet. I needed Faith for information. “Okay, you say?”
“She was nervous, poor thing. Wearing these terrible shoes, which made her look like a matron. But she’s bright, I’ll give her that.”
Intelligent. Interesting. Diverting, I bet. Full of witty anecdotes and up to date with the news. It’s okay for some. I don’t have time for newspapers.
“You still there?”
“Yes.”
“There was the excruciating moment when Charlie asked to see her heart,” said Faith, giggling despite herself.
“Her what?”
“Oh. Um. Nothing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The girls didn’t tell you?”
No, they didn’t tell me about that either. “Oh…yes…the heart. Of course. How could I forget?” I forced a laugh, wondering what I was supposed to be laughing about. “Excruciating is the word.”
“I mean honestly! Heart-shaped pubes…doing a striptease. It’s a bit over the top, isn’t it?”
I retched, then swallowed hard.
“At least she had the decency to be embarrassed,” Faith continued.
Decency! Heart-shaped pubes. Striptease. I retched again. Didn’t sound decent. Nothing the woman did sounded decent. Bribing my children with fairy dresses. Concert tickets. Lip gloss! Did she think I was stupid?
“You okay, Bea?”
“Trying not to laugh,” I managed.
“I actually felt a bit sorry for her.”
“Well, don’t. She just turned up here!”
“What? Why? Did you talk to her?”
“No.”
“You didn’t let her in?”
“No. She was in the car with Jimmy.”
“Sorry. I don’t follow. Why did they come over so late?”
“This was earlier,” I said, my temper rising. Why was Faith being so obtuse? So slow?
“Oh,” said my ex-sister-in-law. “So she didn’t come alone to see you just now?”
“No. She was in the car with Jimmy.”
“Yes, you said that…but…Oh, okay. You mean when he dropped the girls home?”
Obviously that was what I’d meant. Wasn’t that bad enough? And what did “Oh, okay” mean? She had come to my house, with no warning, brazen as you like, as if it were perfectly normal for my husband and another woman to be dropping my children home! And another thing. She hadn’t even bothered to say hello or anything…
“Bea, you still there?”
“Hm?”
“Bea. Are you okay? You sound really pissed off.”
“I’m not pissed off, I’m just…” I stared at the near-empty bottle in front of me. “I’m tired.”
“It’s just, well, at Luke’s fortieth you said—”
I sat up. Alert. Tuned to the danger. “A moment of madness,” I said emphatically. “That’s all.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“Because Lucy noticed you were wearing your engagement ring.”
“It’s the only decent piece of jewelry I have.” Annoying, irritating, meddling, know-it-all, hippie-shit Lucy. What did she know about responsibility? Duty to care? Guilt?
“That’s what I said. But I’d understand, you know, if, well, if you’d thought you’d made a mistake. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
“Honestly. It was nothing. We’d been getting on so well recently that I allowed myself to forget everything that had happened. I absolutely don’t feel like…No, no. The whole family night went to my head for a second. It’s hard when I see him and the girls having such a great time together. Dancing together like a family. As it should be.”
“Are you sure—”
“It’s fine, Faith. I didn’t mean it. You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”
“No! I’ve been feeling terrible about it. I said those things to you about Jimmy always loving you. I had no idea about Tessa—’course, it makes sense now. That’s why he’s been so much more relaxed with you. So much happier. He’s finally over you. We’ve got Jimmy back. Sorry, that sounds very harsh, but—”
“Harsh?” I laughed again. Daggers. Hideous, jagged, cold, hot daggers. Stabbing. Stabbing. Stabbing. Not deep enough to kill but, God almighty, it hurt and the blood—there wasn’t supposed to be that much blood. They said they’d got it all out. They lied.
“No, not harsh. Fair,” I said, forcing myself to speak. “I left him. I…” Did so much worse than that. I fucked everything up. But I wasn’t myself. Couldn’t they see? Love is a strange thing. He had so much. It overwhelmed me. I’d never been loved like that. Not even by my mother. I had trained myself to become lovable. I had worked out how to make a man fall in love with me. It wasn’t hard. Men were easy. Mothers were harder to crack. But I couldn’t return it. I couldn’t live up to it. I couldn’t love him back. It wasn’t my fault—
“Bea?”
“Hi.”
“You using your bloody mobile again?”
“Sorry.”
“You keep cutting out on me.”
“Sorry.”
“Call me from the landline. You’ll give yourself a tumor.”
“Chance would be a fine thing.”
“What?”
“Can’t find the damn thing.”
“What thing? Bea, you’re not making sense.”
“The portable phone. Anyway, I’ve got to get on.”
“It’s half-past ten on Sunday night.”
“Name tags,” I said. “Are we still going out for a drink on Wednesday?”
“Actually, sorry, Bea, I double-booked.”
“Don’t worry. A friend of mine’s going to the cinema that night, so…”
“Okay, great. Another time, then.”
Yes. And another evening home alone.
“And, Bea, it’s great about the diet. It’ll really help.”
“Thanks.”
Patronizing cow. I put the portable phone I had supposedly lost on the table next to the bottle of wine I supposedly hadn’t drunk and drained the glass. It was a ridiculous diet, since it seemed to be nine-tenths liquid. It was working, though. The pounds were falling away and I liked the constant feeling of hunger. It was a close companion. And I was in need of one of those.
I WOKE UP TO THE alarm bleating in my brain. I swiped at it. It fell from the bedside table with a clatter and went on bleating. I peered at my watch to see whether I could lie in for a few minutes but the footfalls on the landing told me otherwise. So did the time. I must have put the alarm on wrong. It was already twenty past seven.
I leaped out of bed and immediately regretted it. I rubbed my throbbing forehead. I’d forgotten to open the window again. I always get a headache if I sleep without the window open. My clothes were piled neatly on the chair next to my dressing table. But I noticed my pajama buttons were done up wrong. Funny that. I must have been so tired by the time I went to bed. I don’t even remember putting them on. I looked at my neatly folded clothes again. I had a thought, like a diminishing dream. Before it was fully formed, it had vanished, and I couldn’t grasp what it might have been. Except that it was uncomfortable.
I put my clothes on quickly, no time to choose different ones, splashed a lot of cold water on my face, brushed my teeth, and left my room. I wondered whether I was coming down with something. The girls were dressed and already in the kitchen. Amber was pouring bowls of cereal when I got there. Special K. Thankfully, they liked it. The dreaded Crunchy Nut had not passed the threshold. I could be proud of that much. I went to kiss the girls good morning.
“You smell funny, Mummy,” said Maddy. “Ow! Amber kicked me.”
“Did not!”
“Did!”
“Enough! I’ve got a headache.”
I put in a round of toast and mashed some banana. The toast burned. Bloody dial. I think there might be a poltergeist in my house. I put in another round.
“What about the honey and yogurt?” asked Lulu.
“Give me a chance!” I retorted.
“I’ll do it,” said Amber, reaching out to the fridge.
“Don’t lean back like that, Amber. You’ll fall.”
She was trying to be nice, no doubt feeling guilty about her surly behavior the night before. Well, I’m sorry I can’t be as cool as Tessa and give you free CDs and tickets to concerts, and I’m sorry I have to be the one who is continually telling you not to lean back in the chair but someone bloody has to.
“Mum! The toast!”
Black smoke billowed out of the old machine.
“Bloody hell!” I swore. “What’s wrong with this thing?”
“You’ve turned it too high.”
“I haven’t,” I replied petulantly. “I just turned it down.”
“That’s the wrong way,” said Amber.
It’s very annoying to be put in your place by your child. “I just turned it—” I glanced at the toaster. The red dot sat under max. “If this is your idea of a joke, it’s not funny. It’s a waste of food.”
“You’d still eat it. Even if it had been on the floor.”
“Amber Kent! That’s a terrible
thing to say.”
She glared at me. Fury in her eyes. Or was it something else? My anger was replaced by fear. “What is it, Amber? What’s going on?” The little ones stared wide-eyed at me, then at their sister. A muscle twitched in Amber’s cheek. Her father’s the same. They’re so unbelievably similar, those two. She was about to say something, I know it, but then she looked at Lulu and Maddy, dug her spoon into her cereal, and jerked it into her mouth. She must have chewed that mouthful a hundred times. By thirty, I knew I wasn’t going to get anything else out of her. Finally, I got the bread toasted, the banana mashed, the yogurt smeared on top, and a drizzle of honey in the shape of a heart. But it was too late for anyone to eat it. We’d run out of time. I scooped the soggy mess into a Tupperware box, grabbed a pile of book bags, and hustled them out of the house.
“Are you sure you should drive?” said Amber, helping the girls into the car.
“What are you talking about?”
“You said you had a headache.”
I was wrong-footed. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for your concern.”
She shrugged and squeezed into the back with her sisters. Normally, she sits up front with me. I knew what this meant: Tessa was winning and I was losing. Well, I would, wouldn’t I? She didn’t have to lay down rules, get three kids up and dressed every morning, fed, watered, supervised, educated. She didn’t have to force civility on beasts that would rather run wild. She got to swan about in fancy clothes with pink pubic hair and spoil my children with endless pizzas and presents. It was obscene. Skinny cow probably only picked at the raisins—
Amber screamed. “Stop!”
I braked hard.
“What?”
She pointed. A woman and two small children were halfway across the pedestrian crossing. The bonnet of the car was inches from the children’s skulls. The woman glared at me, terrified. I raised my hand apologetically. Where the hell had they come from? Bloody Tessa King. Pervading my thoughts. Ruining my life. I edged forward slowly and drove the rest of the way like a milk float. We were late. Well, I thought, waiting for the secretary to come out of her office and open the already locked door, there’s a first time for everything.
I SAT IN THE CAR for a long time before I started the engine, breathing slowly. The adrenaline that had been released into my system the moment Amber had shouted was like detergent through grease. It cut a clear line through my brain and I saw everything perfectly. I’d seen the empties in the bin and I knew I hadn’t put them there. This had to stop. All of it. Right now. Before any damage was done. Before anyone got hurt. If I could put the fork down, I could put the glass down. It hadn’t been long. Miso soup would do just as well. Nearly. I didn’t need to drink. It just made the hunger go away. I could stop. A couple of glasses a night did not an alcoholic make. It wasn’t as if I was pouring it on my cereal. I’d fallen asleep on the sofa before. But I could always remember putting myself to bed. That was the difference. And the mornings…they were getting harder. I was grouchy, I knew it. It was because I was hungry. That was the problem. I wasn’t eating enough, so, of course, the wine went to my head. Well, I wasn’t going to start eating again. Everyone said I was looking better. Especially Jimmy. I’d just have to lay off the wine in the evenings. Have some extra salad. Easy. I knew I could do it.