The Perfect Family

by Samantha King

  SEVEN

  I’m not sure how many minutes pass as I remain in my hiding place on the stairs, listening to Lucy chat about Jasper joining Annabel’s drama club and the school disco in a few weeks’ time. I watch as Aidan, tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, wiggles some kind of bright-red detonator device on to the base of his astonishingly elaborate construction. I have no idea where he gets his dexterity from. Technology and gadgets are beyond me, even plain old Meccano. Christmas mornings have always seen a line behind Dom’s armchair, waiting for his help to insert batteries, decipher instructions and “please enter your password to add a new device to the network.”

  At least, that’s how Christmases used to be. Aidan looks up and I feel a surge of pride in my son, banishing the thought that Christmas will never be the same again. He’s such a clever boy. Annabel always came top in every test, but Aidan has the deft fingers and logical mind of an engineer. “He’ll reinvent the world, one day,” Dom loved to say. “Yes, and Annabel will mess it all up and paint it a different color,” I’d always reply.

  My ears prick up as I hear Lucy say how unhappy Jasper was on the first day back at school, starting yet another new term without the twins, and I wonder what other parents are saying about me. I’m sure most of them thought it was my decision to send the twins private. I saw the hastily averted glances at the school gate; no doubt they thought I was being a snob. I would have felt disloyal saying that changing schools had all been Dom’s idea, just as I’d felt awkward about explaining that shyness, not snobbery, kept me from joining in their cake sales and coffee mornings. Lucy sailed through that world; I was happier in my own little bubble.

  Aidan and I have always had our shyness in common. Annabel had my laugh, my blue eyes, my snub nose and pointy chin; but her irrepressible confidence, incandescent prettiness and desire to throw herself at life were all her own. I remember how Aidan and I both watched in awestruck admiration as Annabel would swing across the playground through a chorus line of eager high-fives. She was Daddy’s princess and Mummy’s angel, and she never doubted for a second that her princess status at home was viable currency in the outside world.

  Did I envy her? I’m gripped by a sudden dreadful thought. Does that explain my choice—that I was secretly jealous of my daughter? Annabel was so confident of her place in life. She never waited to be invited; she simply joined in, took over, with Aidan in tow. She was always picked first for teams, but she would never leave her brother behind. Except for that one time. How bitterly ironic that being unchosen saved Aidan’s life, in the end . . .

  Perhaps that’s how other parents are judging me—as a heartless, jealous mum. I wonder if Lucy finds the playground an awkward place now. Guilt by association; tragedy might be contagious. Don’t speak to any friend of that woman in case a killer comes knocking on your door, too! She handed her daughter over without a second thought. What kind of mother does that? They will be whispering about me in corners, but they couldn’t possibly judge me more harshly than I do myself.

  Lucy hates any kind of clique or bitchiness, though, and I reassure myself that she’ll either zone out the gossip or gently chide the scandalmongers so charmingly that they won’t be offended by her disapproval. She never gets mad; she always looks on the bright side of life, and her positivity is one of the things I love about her; she’s sunshine on a cloudy day.

  “That yellow blouse is dazzling, Luce. You’re like a bowlful of sunshine.”

  The coincidence of the compliment jolts me and my heart starts hammering as, for a second, I don’t recognize the voice, having assumed Dom wouldn’t be back from work for ages yet. He rents an office in Teddington, just round the corner from Lucy’s deli, and although it’s mainly for admin—as he spends most of his time either out meeting prospective clients or working in-house with teams already under contract—it dawns on me that he’s been spending more and more time at the office lately.

  I peep round the corner to watch as he cups Lucy’s face with his big hands, planting a kiss on each of her smooth cheeks.

  “Good job you’ve got your shades on, then.” I can hear the smile in Lucy’s voice as she stands on tiptoe to receive his greeting. She’s taller than I am but Dom still towers over her. “Why are you wearing Ray-Bans inside, incidentally? Just out of interest.”

  She’s always teased Dom for his fashion obsession, and he always takes it in good part. I smile at the familiar repartee.

  “Because they make me look cool. What else?” he says, not embarrassed in the slightest at sounding vain. He swipes one of her home-baked cookies out of Aidan’s hand. “These are amazing.”

  “Thanks.” She checks her watch. “Which reminds me. I’ve got a delivery from the wholesaler coming, and I’ve still got to pick Jasp up from drama club. Will you be around later?”

  “Should be. Why?” He takes off his sunglasses and stares intently at her.

  “I just wanted to pick your brains about something. I’ve been toying with diversifying the deli. Thought you might have some bright ideas to help me out.”

  “Always happy to help a good friend. You know that.” He smiles at her, and she smiles back.

  “It’s been a crappy year, to be honest. Interest rates, losing a couple of my best suppliers. The bank was all over me when I first set up. Not quite so helpful now.”

  “I know what you mean. I lost one of my biggest clients last week. Poached by a consultancy just down the road, would you believe?”

  “Sadly, I would.” They are in full flow now. “A new café opened up three doors down from me and they’ve already poached my Saturday girl. She only started two weeks ago. The cheek of it! And my skinflint landlord has just put up the rent on my flat. I need to find a bigger place anyway, but it looks like Jasper and I will be out on our ears if I don’t get a move on. Sorry, I didn’t mean to cry on your shoulder. You have far bigger things to worry about.”

  “Don’t be daft. You’re welcome to cry on my shoulder any time.” Slowly, I poke my head around the banister again and see Aidan with his head bowed, eyes fixed on his Lego model, nimble fingers twiddling bricks. Dom and Lucy stand on either side of him, and I watch as Lucy scoops the last cookie out of her tin and pops it on to the plate. She brushes crumbs from her hands and licks honey from the tip of her left thumb. Dom watches her.

  “These are your mum’s favorites, too,” Lucy says to Aidan, and I wonder if she’s deliberately mentioning me.

  “Mum doesn’t like honey.”

  I want to weep at the affirmation that I’m still in Aidan’s thoughts. I know this is my cue to show myself, to stroll into the kitchen and pop the kettle on again for a fresh brew, to sit down at the table and chat with them all. But that’s just it: I can’t chat. I can’t speak. I can’t bear to look at Lucy’s face and feel her sympathy but also her confusion: Why did I do what I did? I’m scared because I can’t answer her questions, and I’m on edge because I never used to feel worried about the easy friendship between Dom and Lucy. But for some reason I am now. Very worried.

  So I stay where I am: hidden, watching. Listening in the shadows. Dom sits down next to Aidan, leaning across him to steal the last cookie from his plate. “I think she’s actually allergic to it.

  “Honey, that is. Well, to cooking in general,” he jokes.

  “Oi! That’s mine.” Aidan glares at his dad and I remember how he would always give Annabel his last cookie, his last sweet, his favorite book or toy. No matter what, he’d share anything with his twin. Then again, Dom hadn’t waited to be invited—he’d simply taken what he wanted.

  “Don’t be greedy. And remember who puts food on your plate in the first place,” Dom says, reaching out to cuff Aidan round the ear.

  Aidan’s shoulders hunch and his mouth is a wobbly line. Something shifts in the depths of my memory, looming heavily behind my mind’s eye, pulsing hotly before it vanishes beyond reach. What is it? What?

  “It’s all right, hon. Here, have mine,” Luc
y says, diffusing the tension. “Mr. Grant was asking after you today. Says he still misses you at chess club.” She ruffles his hair. “Jasper misses you in class, too. Though I bet you’ve made loads of new friends at the prep.”

  “I should hope so. It’s costing me enough,” Dom chips in, resting a hand on Aidan’s shoulder.

  “Not really. No one’s into the stuff I like.”

  My chest hurts as I watch Aidan angrily break his amazing model apart, systematically separating all the bricks into little piles of different colors.

  “It’ll get easier. Change is always hard,” Lucy says softly.

  “Exactly,” Dom echoes. “I know your mum isn’t a fan but trust me, in years to come that school will look amazing on your CV. You should listen to what Lucy says, son. She runs her own business too. She knows what she’s talking about.”

  “I liked my old school better. So did Annabel,” Aidan mumbles, his head bowed.

  No one hears him but me. I watch as Dom hands Lucy the empty cookie dish, their fingers accidentally brushing. I don’t see her expression because she quickly turns away to scrape crumbs into the food-recycling tub. When she turns back to the table, she stands behind Aidan’s chair and flicks back her hair as she glances up at Dom.

  “We should take the kids over to Bushy Park with their kites. Before it gets dark. I’ll pick up some snacks for a picnic, shall I, and head over there once I’ve got Jasper.”

  “It’s a date,” Dom says.

  Oh, hello: this is a new feeling. Paranoia. I scribble it dutifully on the mental whiteboard, adding it to the growing list. My best friend and my husband of ten years, chatting comfortably at my kitchen table with my only surviving child, kettle on, planning a picnic. They look like a family. Dom, Aidan . . . Lucy.

  A warm smile spreading across her face, Lucy rests a hand on Aidan’s other shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze.

  Don’t you dare lay a finger on my son!

  EIGHT

  My head is bursting with confusion and suspicions I can barely acknowledge, even to myself. I need to see Lucy; I have to try to talk to her and feel that everything is all right between us. But as I make my way down the hall the house is quiet, and when I reach the kitchen doorway I see that the room is empty. The table has been cleared, the dishes washed up and put away. There’s no trace left of Dom, Lucy and Aidan having even been here.

  They must have gone out through the back door. Perhaps they decided to leave straight away; perhaps Dom offered to take them to the twins’ favorite café on Hampton High Street instead of having a picnic. He seems to do that more often, lately. It’s kind of him, I suppose, to spare me the trouble of cooking—he knows I don’t enjoy it—and to give me some time alone. He’s allowing me to bypass the questions and small talk from the local shopkeepers, and to avoid the strained sympathy of neighbors or other parents from school that we might bump into.

  Maybe today I could have gone with them, though, I think with mounting frustration. I wanted Aidan to tell me about his day at school; I wanted to hear news of old friends from Lucy. Only they’re gone; I’ve missed them—and I miss them. I may not take part in their conversations, but their voices comfort me. Without them the silence expands into an endless vacuum. And even as I tell myself to stop being so silly, the coil of suspicion tightens into a solid lump of fear: Lucy is replacing me, and it’s my fault for letting her, for allowing grief to weave its web of sadness ever tighter around me until I feel paralyzed by it.

  Or had Lucy already been inching her way into my shoes, and I just never noticed? The easy familiarity between the three of them felt normal, unquestioned, as if it has been that way for a long time. I feel like I’m the one on the outside—the intruder in my own home.

  I stare at the kitchen table, forcing myself to focus on happier thoughts, smiling as I think of Aidan methodically building his Lego model. I remember Annabel sitting next to him, just there, so many times, the pair of them painting or drawing, giggling and whispering. The three of us were always together. Even if we were each engaged in our own separate activity, we spent most of our time in this house within feet of each other. It filled my heart with such joy to see them happy, and I’m suddenly consumed by the hope that the ten years I had with them were as wonderful for the twins as they were for me.

  The ache of longing intensifies into a deep pain inside me. My whole body hurts and I feel a powerful urge to lie down on the tiled kitchen floor and howl in agony that I will have no more years with Annabel; I want to beat the walls in angry protest that Aidan won’t, either. It was so easy being with my children; it’s so impossibly hard being apart from them.

  Being apart from Annabel.

  Aidan is still here, I remind myself; I must find my way back to him. I close my eyes and try to conjure up a burst of energy, to force myself to leave the shadows, to leave the house and follow them, to take my place alongside my son. Dizzily, I make myself keep moving, trailing round the kitchen, examining every corner as if the three of them might suddenly jump out and surprise me.

  I notice that my favorite wedding photo is on the kitchen windowsill rather than in its usual place in the living room. I try not to torment myself that I will never see Annabel as a bride; I will never get to watch her try on wedding dresses or chat about where to go on honeymoon. She will never introduce me to the love of her life; she will never cry on my shoulder over the boys she’s loved and lost. I try to make myself smile as I imagine what kind of crazy boys she would have brought home as a teenager. I can’t manage it; the thought bites so painfully.

  I glance one last time at our wedding photo, deciding to leave it where it is. I wonder if Aidan moved it; maybe he’s worried about Lucy’s presence, too, and wanted to drop a subtle hint. I take comfort from that thought, even though I know I’m deluding myself. Then I scan the kitchen looking for a note: it occurs to me that I have no idea when Dom and Aidan will return, and I feel a moment’s panic before remembering that they won’t be late—it’s a school night, after all. Dom is being a good father; he’s being a good husband.

  I wander out of the kitchen and back up the stairs to our bedroom. I’m tired, so very tired. If I could just rest for a while . . . But as soon as I close my eyes, my thoughts return to the easy familiarity between Dom and Lucy, the hint of flirtatiousness, and I wish I could remember if that’s old or new—if they’ve always had this closeness, or whether since Annabel’s death their friendship has become more . . . intimate. The word shocks me, and I wish I could remember . . .

  I wish I could remember if I’ve been happy as Dom’s wife . . .

  NINE

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to ask Max to babysit?”

  It was our ninth wedding anniversary, and the first one we’d actually contemplated celebrating since our milestone fifth. Life had got so busy—Dom’s business was really taking off; school life had taken over. There was always another play for Annabel to rehearse; always another swimming meet, football tournament or violin recital. Our half-hearted attempts to instigate a regular “date night” had fallen at the first hurdle when the twins both came down with chickenpox. We’d postponed our planned dinner date; neither of us had got round to making another reservation.

  “Yes, I’m sure. I told you, he’s round here too much as it is.”

  “The twins need some family. They don’t have grandparents, remember? It’s good for them to have a relationship with their only uncle. Maybe it’s time you two made your peace. I realize things weren’t easy before, and you clearly have your differences, but Max has always been really good with the twins. I know he’d like to see more of them.”

  “You know, do you? And how do you know?”

  “He told me.” I sighed. We’d been over this a hundred times.

  “Like I said, he’s round here too much. Why do you invite him?”

  “Because he’s family. And because the twins have fun with him.”

  “Meaning they don’t with me?”


  “I didn’t say that. But you’ve got a lot on your plate with work, and—”

  “And while the cat’s away the mice need to play? Jesus. I’m working this hard for us. Not just so you can hang out with my useless, waste-of-space brother.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I appreciate how hard you work, and I know you’d love to spend more time with the twins too. I don’t want you to feel guilty. I just want you to see that Max has actually been a big help. After-school clubs clash, sometimes. I can’t be in two places at once. And if Max can walk Annabel to drama or Aidan to football, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “No. It’s not.”

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  “Ask Lucy. I bet she’ll be happy to babysit.”

  “No, I meant generally. Are you saying you don’t want your brother round here at all? Why?”

  “Because I don’t like him very much.”

  “Still? After all this time? That’s just so sad.”

  I’d always known Dom resented his older brother, and I could see that Max was a strong personality; he talked nineteen to the dozen and told those long, rambling jokes that never had any punchline. But he’d shown only kindness to me and the twins. Nothing was ever too much trouble. It wasn’t that I actually asked him for help; he just seemed to know. The faulty lawnmower was suddenly fixed; the broken bathroom latch was mended. And he was as happy hanging out playing board games with the twins in our living room as he was flying kites with them in the park.

  I could see he had a particular soft spot for Annabel. Perhaps Dom was jealous of that: his princess enjoying the attention of someone who wasn’t Daddy. He needn’t have worried. Lately, Annabel had started saying she would rather hang out with her friends than her crackpot uncle. She’d started arranging her own lifts back from drama club with friends’ mums.