by Jules Wake
I frowned. Hardly fair. Ava had clearly started it, but unfortunately the scenario was horribly familiar.
Poppy pursed her small mouth and glared at her sister. ‘Soz’, she said with begrudging defiance.
Alice rocked Ava for a minute until the overloud noisy sobs abated. ‘Poppy, you’re the oldest; you’re supposed to be nice to your little sister.’
Old patterns, I thought.
Look after Alice, she’s only little. Remember, Alice is the youngest.
‘What about the house?’ I asked. ‘Bills etc. Anything need sorting out?’
Alice shrugged. ‘Dad takes care of all that. Everything’s on direct debit.’
Dad really did take care of everything. At our farewell dinner he’d taken me aside and asked me to keep an eye on Alice while he and Mum were away with the words, ‘Seriously, I’d like to wring the neck of the guy she got in to do the hedge. It cost me £150 and you should see the state of it. She needs a bit of support with that sort of thing. I think they see her coming.’
I absentmindedly rubbed at the scratch on my arm, which was finally healing thanks to the course of antibiotics. ‘Anything else?’
Alice shrugged. ‘Don’t think so.’
She stood on the doorstep to see us off, both girls waving madly from the car.
‘Who wants to make pizza when we get in?’ I asked, determined that for the next seven days I was going to be ‘fun Auntie Claire’ and that they would have such a good time they wouldn’t miss their mum too much.
‘Me, me!’ yelled Ava from the back.
‘That sounds cool,’ said Poppy with an approving nod as she sat next to me in the front seat.
I nodded back. They were both good kids; there was no reason that this week shouldn’t be a breeze. All I had to do was entertain them over the weekend, get them to school each day next week and feed them each evening. My stomach started to knot at the thought of all that that entailed. What if I couldn’t do it all? What did I know about children?
Chapter Six
Oh my God, I was dying. Already, Monday morning was a train wreck. I wished I was in the office where I knew exactly what I was doing. Who knew getting two children up, dressed, fed, and ready for school could be such hard work? I was making enough of a hash of my own life at the moment, how did I think I could manage the lives of two little girls as well?
Despite doing several Everest-sized mounds of washing – I think Alice had been saving it all up – I’d missed Poppy’s school shirts and she’d thrown a teenager-in-training strop when I’d suggested she wear one of last week’s.
‘You can’t be serious,’ she’d yelled. ‘That will ruin my life.’
‘I hardly think so,’ I said, almost laughing at the drama, except it wasn’t funny, and I went into the utility room to rummage in the pile. I found a Poppy-sized white short-sleeved shirt with the school logo and gave it a quick shake. It seemed clean enough.
‘Look, here you go. This will do and I’ll wash the rest today.’
‘No,’ she wailed.
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. ‘Poppy, just for today, please wear this shirt.’
‘No! You’re being mean and horrid.’ She snatched it from my hand. Bright tears shone in her eyes and then she left the kitchen, slamming the door with enough force that all the dishes on the draining board rattled.
‘I haven’t done my homework,’ announced Ava placidly from the kitchen table where she was toying with her toast as Poppy’s feet thundered up the stairs.
‘I think that, under the circumstances, your teacher won’t mind,’ I said calmly. Why hadn’t she said anything last night?
‘Do you think?’ asked Ava. ‘She gets really, really cross.’ She began pulling things out of her book bag, endless bits of paper which dragged in the bacon grease on her plate, a couple of reading books, and assorted bits of artwork as there was another almighty crash of a door slamming upstairs. ‘Do you like my lantern?’ She held up a bedraggled bit of paper Sellotaped together into a tube with long slashes down the side. ‘Here,’ she produced a yellow exercise book.
‘What were you supposed to do?’ I looked up at the ceiling wondering whether I should go after Poppy.
‘Spellings.’
‘Maybe we can practise them on the way to school.’
But she’d already opened the book and with her lip between her teeth had begun copying the list of ten words.
‘You need to go and get dressed Ava.’ My voice was firm, even though inside I felt a slight sense of panic.
‘But…’
‘There isn’t time.’
‘Pleeease, Auntie Claire.’ Her eyes started to brim with tears. ‘I’ll b-be b-bottom again. I’m always bottom an’ Lucy Chambers always gets ten out of ten.’
I winced. The girls had been so good all weekend and quite brave about their mother going away without them. Alice had made it sound as if she was going to have the jolliest adventure and she would bring them back something lovely. I had my doubts about that. The retreat she was going to was in the foothills of the Himalayas and was an hour’s domestic flight from Delhi. It looked very beautiful but also very remote.
‘Okay, two minutes. Let’s have a look.’
Where had I got the foolish notion that getting two children up and ready for school would take only an hour and a half and that we could leave at eight-thirty and be at school in plenty of time?
And now it seemed I couldn’t even run and breathe at the same time. I was back from my first school run and attempting a gentle jog. Bent double, I tried to suck in another breath. Definitely dying.
With a wheeze I straightened. This was supposed to be the start of my new keep-fit regime. Unable to help myself – it was a legitimate reason for contacting work – I’d emailed Dave and volunteered to join the 5k team. I might also have asked how things were going in the office.
With disgust I glanced back down the leafy path. I hadn’t even run that far.
There was only one thing for it: coffee. And thank God for The Friendly Bean, which was within staggering in distance. Urging my protesting wobbly thighs back into action, I walked to the café, grateful for the emergency fiver tucked into my phone case.
With coffee in hand, too self-conscious and aware of my beet-red face and underarm circles to stay inside, I limped out to the small enclosed area a little way beyond the café. Circled by shrubs and bushes, it had a small paved area with a pair of benches at right angles to each other bookmarked on either end by an abundant flower bed. It was filled with blousy peonies in shades of pale pink and dark rhubarb red, like big pom-poms surrounded by fans of dark green leaves. I stared at them for a moment, struck by the colours. When was the last time I’d actually noticed flowers? Or even had time to sit and look at them. Or to smell them. Everything had been grey for so long. Without thinking, I leaned over to take a deep sniff.
‘Gorgeous, aren’t they?’ said a voice.
Startled, I looked up to see an elderly lady with a fine frizz of soft white hair around her head, like a snowy aura, marching towards me. Something rattled at the back of my brain; she seemed awfully familiar.
She plonked herself down on my bench, almost spilling the coffee I’d put down next to me.
‘Lovely morning. You carry on with your communing with nature, dear. Don’t mind me.’
Feeling a little caught-on-the-hop, I gave her a weak smile. I didn’t normally ‘commune with nature’ as she’d put it. I probably looked a bit strange. Oh, to be in one of my smart suits like a normal person. I wanted to tell her that actually I had a very responsible job and was a ‘someone’ in real life. I closed my eyes as if doing so would shut her out and I could ignore her. I didn’t want to be that person who was desperate to talk to someone because it might be the only adult conversation I had all day. Maybe I could phone Ros and see how things were in the office. I winced thinking of all the things I should be doing there. The list started to snowball and I had to force myself to open
my eyes.
The cheek! I looked into twinkling blue eyes peering at me over the top of… my takeaway coffee cup.
‘Help yourself, why don’t you?’ I said, taken aback but trying to gain the upper hand. My withering sarcasm failed to make so much as a dent in her cheery smile.
‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Without a care, she lifted my coffee in toast and took another slurp. ‘Oh, that hits the spot. I do adore a good cup of coffee. That’s one of the things I do miss.’
For a moment I stared at her, completely thrown by her blithe disregard of my indignation.
‘It’s not good for me,’ she said. ‘Bad for the old ticker, apparently. Why is it all the good stuff is so terribly bad for you? I mean, Brussels sprouts, they taste bloody awful and do dreadful things to your digestive system. I remember my Great Uncle Vincent – that man could clear a room… Why aren’t they bad for you? Swede, another disgusting, tasteless vegetable; why couldn’t that be terribly bad for you instead of chocolate and wine? I do love a good glass of Malbec. And the health police constantly on at you. I keep telling them I’m too old to care but… they insist on serving bloody decaffeinated rubbish. Instant at that. I ask you. I mean, what do you think about decaffeinated anything… a crime against human nature, I think. Stands to reason. God put caffeine in for a good reason. Not that I’m awfully matey with him up there right now. Guess I might decide to become better acquainted when I get closer to shuffling off the old mortal coil. You find that they all become God-botherers when they get older. I call it hedging your bets. Not me. If he doesn’t like me the way I am, tough cookies.’ She held out the coffee cup. ‘Here you go, dear. Don’t worry, I drank out of this side and I’ve got nothing worth mentioning. Not that I can recall anyway.’ Her brow furrowed as if she were giving it serious thought.
My lips twitched and much as I wanted to maintain a dignified distance and ignore her unwanted presence, I was intrigued and, to be honest, entertained by her. I rather liked her forthright untarnished views. She said it as she saw it and it was very refreshing.
I could see exactly which side she’d drunk from by the ring of fuchsia-pink lipstick lining the cup, so I took a sip of my coffee from the other side. It must be hell to have to go without coffee.
‘I’m Hilda.’
‘Claire.’
‘So what are you doing here?’ She eyed my shoes. ‘Running?’ She lifted her own feet and regarded her Day-glo trainers with satisfaction.
I laughed. ‘That was my intention. I’m a bit out of practice. Today was more about shuffling. I didn’t get very far.’
‘You’ll get better. I’ve not seen you here before. It’s very good for you. Running, that is. A bit every day and you’ll soon be up and… running.’ With a chortle at her pun, she poked me in the thighs. ‘Gets the endorphins going. Do you work in an office?’
I nodded, not wanting to admit that I was on temporary hiatus. It would be too embarrassing explaining why. She might think I was taking the easy way out, time off when there was nothing really wrong with me. I clenched my fists under my thighs. And she’d be right. Dr Boulter had overreacted. I could probably go back next week once I’d caught up on a bit of sleep.
‘You don’t want to get an office bottom, do you?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Office bottom, also known as spreading arse. Too much sitting down.’
‘Ah, no. I don’t.’
‘So, a bit further every day and before you know it you’ll be running a marathon,’ she said with an air of complacency. ‘I can tell we’re going to get on famously. What did you say your name was again? That’s the downside to being old: butterfly brain. By the time you get to my age, it’s so full of stuff, I lose things in there.’
I smiled, rather charmed by her description that shied away from forgetfulness.
‘I’m Claire.’
‘Pleased to meet you Claire and welcome to Command Centre.’
‘Command Centre?’ This woman veered from sensible and stately to completely whacky in nought to sixty. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of her.
‘Yes, this is my little spot. I know everything that goes on in this park.’ She patted the plump pink peony heads at the end of the bench on which we were sitting as if they were pet dogs, thereby loosening a few drops of rain. ‘It’s my personal fiefdom, if you like. I’ve lived around here off and on for sixty years.’ She pointed to the rather smart Regency houses that just peeped over the trees to the south of the park. ‘I used to live in one of those when my son was small. He used to want to come to the park a lot then. Play on the swings. Feed the ducks. Children,’ she sighed, ‘they grow up so quickly. One minute they’re clinging to your hands, the next minute they’re packing you off to a home. Of course, he hasn’t been here for years. Do you have children?’
‘Er… no.’
‘You don’t sound very sure.’
‘I’m looking after my nieces for a week while their mother is away and I’ve just taken them to school.’
‘Ah, that must be fun. How old are they?’
Mmm, the jury was out on the fun bit. This morning had been a bit of a nightmare. ‘Poppy’s ten and Ava’s six’
‘Lovely ages. Shame they have to grow up really. My son’s turned into a pompous twerp.’
‘How old is he?’ I bit back a smile at her weary dismissal.
‘Forty-five going on ninety-five.’ She shook her head and pursed her walnut-wrinkled mouth. ‘Don’t ever let anyone dump you in a home. I come here every day, just to get out of that dreary place.
‘Where do you live?’
‘Dreary place, weren’t you listening?’ She gave me a mischievous grin. ‘Also known as The Sunnyside Memorial Home for the half-dead and totally bewildered. My son insisted. I had a bit of a fall and broke my hip. He was all for putting me in a care home on the south coast. I’m old but I’m not senile.’ She gave me a wicked grin. ‘So I started running again, just to annoy him.’
‘How does that annoy him? I’d have thought he’d be rather proud of you running at your…’ my voice petered out.
‘Oh Lord girl, don’t be shy. At my great age. It’s all right, you can say it. With these wrinkles, I’m in no position to be getting coy about how old I am. If I’m still running every day, there’s no way he’ll get a doctor to say I’m not fit enough to live independently. I run around the park, just one loop, every single day. Rain or shine. And no one’s going to stop me.’
‘I remember you,’ I blurted out. ‘Sunshine-yellow tracksuit.’ Startler of pigeons. Harbinger of coffee disasters.
‘That’s my particular favourite. So good of you to notice it. I have a rather lovely emerald green one as well. Which reminds me, I haven’t done my stretches and at my age, they’re a must.’
She stood up and began doing a series of lunges. I watched in amusement as she bounced around the small area with more enthusiasm than skill.
Finally, jogging on the spot, she waved a hand at me. ‘Right, toodle-pip. Same time tomorrow.’
I shrugged. Today’s attempt at running had been woeful. Maybe I’d been a bit hasty emailing Dave about the 5k. The treadmill in the gym always seemed so much easier. Maybe I’d get the train into Leeds and visit the gym instead.
With a sniff, she turned and began to jog away down the path to join the main drag through the park.
I watched her retreating figure. At least it had been nice to have some company; she was a character and she’d made me smile quite a few times. In fact, my face felt positively mobile for once instead of having that stretched, clenched-teeth feeling that, now I thought about it, had been around for a lot longer than a few weeks. When was the last time I’d felt anything other than an insidious sense of doom and that everything was about to go wrong?
Chapter Seven
The kitchen looked as if a small tornado had swept through it. Spilled milk on the table, dried cornflakes in the bowls, which had acquired superglue-like properties, and abandoned toast crusts
– apparently Ava’s hair was curly enough – as well as a pool of sticky orange juice that had been tramped across the floor, down the hall, and there was one tacky footprint on the cream lounge carpet. Breathe, Claire. It was okay. I could do this. I’d got the girls to school… and only five minutes late. I didn’t dare look at the bedroom where I knew there’d be a pile of abandoned school uniform items. Who knew children could generate so many dirty clothes? Little Ava could attract food, mud, and paint to her clothes, skin, and hair in equal quantities. There were even red paint and orange juice stains on her white ankle socks – although grey would have been a better description; they hadn’t been white for a long time.
The mess set all my tidy-senses tingling, bringing with them that familiar on-edge something-bad-was-going-to-happen feeling. As soon as I’d cleaned the juice from the floor by the fridge, I realised that underneath the fridge was filthy. So I pulled that out. Then I attacked the dust behind it. But the sides of the kitchen cupboards beside it were disgusting, so I cleaned off the sheen of grease, only to find that the extractor fan was also covered in a film of the same grease. With each bowl of hot soapy water I filled, I felt like the sorcerer’s apprentice. Each time I pulled out or moved something, there was more to do. The tiles behind the cooker were food-stained. The ceiling needed painting. The flooring was marked.
I stopped, realising that my breath was coming in shallow pants. This was ridiculous.
But even though my brain registered the onset of panic, I was still taking the shelves out of the oven to scrub them.
This was crazy. I should be at work, not doing this. Work, where I knew what needed to be done. Knew what I had to do. Where I had a million things to do. There were reports to be written. Data to be analysed. By now a gazillion emails to be responded to.
I also missed the routine of going to work. Getting up at six. Leaving at six forty-five. Wearing a smart suit. Being someone. Being recognised in the office. People there knew who I was: a senior manager. I missed having things to do.