by Sophie King
‘Thanks. How was your course?’
‘Not as inspirational as I’d hoped, actually, Mark. I’m not sure that beginners’ Croatian is really for me. Now, I’ll just put this shepherd’s pie into the oven to warm through, shall I?’
Clearly she was more comfortable with cooking than she was with periods. Perhaps, thought Mark, as he opened the post while Daphne busied herself with the oven, it was her generation.
‘I like to open my post in the morning in case something needs sorting out,’ she said. ‘Is there any cheese I can grate over this?’
Mark ripped open an envelope. ‘I didn’t have time earlier. And, no, there isn’t any cheese.’
She put the kettle on and wiped toast crumbs off the side. ‘Are they looking forward to school? Hopefully they’ll settle down better than last term.’
‘I hope so, too. But they still keep saying they preferred their old school.’ He stared at his Visa statement. ‘Bloody hell! There’s a bill here for over two hundred quid from some mobile-phone company. And it’s not mine.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Look!’
Daphne scrabbled for her glasses, which hung from a chain round her neck, and peered at the statement. ‘Someone’s taken your number. You need to report it. That happened to a woman in my crystal-healing class last year.’
‘It was Florrie.’
‘What?’
Freddy had wandered in, munching a packet of Hobnobs. ‘Florrie. She used your card to top up her phone.’
‘Don’t eat those biscuits, dear. They’ll spoil your appetite. I’ve just put your dinner into the oven, although it would be a bit nicer if your father had some cheese to grate over it.’
‘Florrie!’ Mark stood at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Come down here.’
He waved the statement at her. ‘Freddy says you used my card to top up your mobile phone. Is that right?’
‘Yes.’ Florrie leaned sullenly against the banisters. ‘I did it online so I could ring Mum in America.’
Mark’s head spun with disbelief and apprehension. Online? She must have keyed in the security number on the back of the card. Although the fraud was irrelevant in view of why she had done it.
Florrie glared at him accusingly. ‘I’ve been ringing round to find which branch of the bank she’s working for in New York. There’s about six out there but no one had heard of her. I’ve just tried again and this time I got through to some woman in something called Human Resources. She didn’t want to tell me anything at first but then I explained I had to get hold of my mum urgently. So she checked and told me they didn’t have anyone called Hilary Summers. There was one in London but she’s left.’
She grabbed his wrists and tugged at them angrily. ‘That was Mum – so if she’s not in New York, like you said, and she’s not in London, where is she?’
24
Can you trust your ex to look after the kids safely during access weekends?
Not according to Singleandlovingit Mum whose ex-partner had let their son walk along the top of a park wall – and break his arm when he fell off. Suppose Josh let Tabitha slip when she was getting out of the wheelchair or the bath?
You needed lots of common sense and patience to bring up kids, which Josh had never had when he was at home. But Susan was used to it – used to the week dragging so that each minute on the clock seemed like five. She’d often heard ‘normal mothers’ moaning about how boring it was trying to amuse small children, but they ought to have a go with Tabitha. It wasn’t just the boredom; it was the mental and physical exhaustion involved in getting her to do the smallest tasks.
This week, however, had been wonderfully different. She and Joy had spent ages working out what to say on their flyers, then printing them. The other mums had helped too, and some of the staff, including Lisa, bless her, had heard about the campaign and offered to put posters up.
‘Anything I can do to help?’ she had said, smoothing the bump under her dress. ‘You’re doing a great job. Sometimes I get really scared in case there’s something wrong with my baby.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be fine,’ said Susan, trying to sound reassuring. No point in saying what others had said to her, that somehow she’d find the strength to cope. Meanwhile the campaign was providing much-needed shape to her life, and even Tabitha was getting excited. She had no idea if Tabitha knew what ‘campaign’ meant, but she’d always made it a rule to talk to her daughter as though she understood. ‘Do you want to help?’
Tabitha nodded energetically.
‘Great. You can come on the march with us next Saturday.’
Tabitha’s face fell. ‘Daddaddad.’
No one could ever accuse this child of being thick. She knew Josh collected her on Saturdays.
‘Don’t worry. You’ll still see Dad.’
The centre manager had notified the council and the police. They were going to walk down the pedestrianised part of town, carrying their banners and handing out yet more leaflets. Susan’s father had promised to come with them, even though it was a sixty-mile drive from his home. ‘Good idea,’ he said, on the phone. ‘I can’t believe the cuts this government’s making. It’s a scandal, an absolute scandal. You get little enough help as it is. I wish I lived nearer, love.’
Susan sighed. They’d been through this so many times that it was becoming like one of her depressing rituals with Tabitha. Her father had remarried, some ten years ago, not long after her mother had died. June, his new wife – it seemed inappropriate at Susan’s age to call her a ‘stepmother’ – didn’t want to leave the town she’d been born and brought up in. And although Susan got on well with her father, and nominally so with June, she couldn’t help feeling that the benefit of an extra pair of hands would be outweighed by the invasion of her privacy. June was one of those people who always knew best. A bit like Steff.
‘June says you must make sure Tabitha’s well wrapped up. It’s going to be pretty chilly on Saturday.’
Susan’s lips tightened. ‘I know.’
‘She’s bought us new Thermoses and says don’t worry about the sandwiches, she’ll organise some.’
‘I don’t want to bother her. Wouldn’t she be best at home, especially if her back’s playing up?’
‘Nonsense. The more support the better.’
Susan braced herself. She had to tell him now or he’d only find out for himself. ‘Josh turned up a few weeks ago.’
‘He what? Some cheek! I hope you showed him the door.’
‘He wanted to see Tabitha.’
‘Bit late for that, isn’t it?’
‘Hang on, Dad. That’s what I thought. But she was so pleased to see him that I let him in. He’s got married again. To a nurse.’
Susan’s father grunted. ‘Let’s hope she knows what she’s let herself in for.’
Susan took a deep breath. ‘She’s not too bad, actually. And they’ll be on the march. Tabitha wants them to come.’
‘Well, they’d better not walk anywhere near me or I’ll give him a piece of my mind.’
‘I feel the same way as you but there’s this group I belong to, a kind of online chat group, and we’ve been talking about it. Some of the other mums said that even though it’s painful when the kids see or stay with their exes, they’ve got to do it for the kids’ sake. It’s made me try to be more understanding.’
‘Well, I think that’s very big of you.’
‘I don’t have a choice,’ said Susan, softly, wondering why he didn’t see the irony. Hadn’t he understood how hard it had been for her, too, to accept June, who was so different from her mother?
Thank heavens she’d been grown up when the pair had got married. The thought of being brought up by her father’s wife made her shudder. But Tabitha wasn’t grown-up. Tabitha never would be really grown-up. So it was up to her – Susan – to mend fences between herself and Josh.
Besides, if something awful happened to her, she had to have someone as a stand-by to care for Tabitha. The thought of Josh a
nd Steff taking over was agony, but in her position some things just had to be faced.
Amazingly, it was warm on the day of the march – despite what the weather forecasters and June had glumly predicted.
‘Thanks, Dad,’ said Susan, as he heaved Tabitha’s chair out of the boot.
‘It’s a pleasure, love,’ he said, kissing her cheek. ‘I’m really proud of you, you know. We both are.’
Joy came rushing up, resplendent in a bright orange anorak. ‘We’ve got a fantastic turnout!’
Susan looked around, amazed. Joy was right. All the parents from the centre were there, as well as several others whom she didn’t recognise. It looked as though someone had brought in the Hire-a-Wheelchair mob. Those who were able to held placards and banners reading, ‘save our centre’. There was even a BBC van, and reporters from the local paper, who, Joy told her excitedly, had already taken pictures of her.
And there were Josh and Steff. To her ex-husband’s credit, he didn’t shy away from his former father-in-law. ‘Hello, George and June.’ He stepped forward boldly and shook Susan’s father’s hand. ‘Can I introduce my wife, Steff?’
Steff beamed. She was wearing a short red and yellow tartan skirt with thick black leggings, a yellow jumper and matching scarf. If she went missing, thought Susan, naughtily, she’d soon be found. ‘Nice to meet you, George.’ She crouched down. ‘Hiya, Tabs! How are you doing?’
Tabitha grinned and put out her hand to touch Steff’s scarf.
Immediately Steff whipped it off. ‘You have it, love. Suits you. It’s real cashmere. Your daddy got it for me from Scotland. We’ll take you there one day. You’d like it.’
Entranced, Tabitha stroked the soft wool and Susan felt her throat constrict. ‘Come on, Joy’s waving. We’re off.’
Susan had never been on a march before. It didn’t take as long as she’d thought but maybe that was because so much was going on. In the time it took to reach the end of the precinct – the only safe place to walk in town with the wheelchairs – and back, they had already been asked for comments by both a BBC man (regional, not national, to Joy’s disappointment) and Bekki Adams, the local-paper journalist.
By lunchtime it was all over. They had handed out the leaflets to shoppers, most of whom seemed to support them, and walked Tabitha and Joy’s Danny back to the car park. After all the excitement, Susan felt strangely flat.
Steff fell into step beside her and they walked behind Josh, who was pushing Tabitha. ‘Sue, I wonder if I could ask a big favour. Could we take Tabitha back with us for the night?’
‘Now?’ Susan’s heartbeat quickened.
‘If that’s OK with you. We’d bring her back tomorrow.’
‘No. Sorry. It’s too much. She’ll be tired after today.’
‘Would next weekend be all right, then? We could pick her up on Saturday morning and have her back by Sunday lunchtime.’
Susan felt the tears pricking her eyes. Tabitha needed time with her dad. But she’d never been away from her mother for a night.
‘You can have her for a whole day but not the night as well,’ she said gruffly. ‘Please don’t rush me, Stephanie.’
‘Steff, please . . .’ To her annoyance, the girl brushed her arm in what she presumably considered a girly friendly gesture. ‘I understand. We’ll start off slowly. Thanks, Sue. Thanks a million.’
Every morning after the march when Susan woke up, she counted the days. Six days until Josh had Tabitha. Five. Four.
She didn’t get much sympathy at the centre. ‘I thought Steff seemed really nice,’ said Joy, as they sat watching Tabitha with her jigsaw. ‘If I were you, I’d be grateful they’re giving you a break. It’ll give you a chance to do something for yourself.’
‘I’ve forgotten how to,’ said Susan, fingering a Bourbon biscuit. Someone, thank heavens, had bought a fresh packet.
‘Join the gym,’ said Joy, pointedly. ‘Or have driving lessons. I don’t know how you manage without a car and it would do you good to get out.’
‘I had some lessons before Josh left,’ admitted Susan, ‘but then I couldn’t afford any more.’
‘Wouldn’t your dad lend you the money?’
He might, but he’d have to talk to June first and Susan didn’t like the idea of that. Driving was just another dream she’d have to file away for the future.
Before she knew it, it was Saturday. After Josh and Steff had wheeled Tabitha out to the car, amid Susan’s last repeated dos and don’ts, the house was so silent that she felt like screaming. Well, why not? Her yell resounded in the room like someone else’s and, embarrassed, she turned up the telly so that next door might think it had been that. Strangely, she felt better afterwards. Maybe, she thought, with a flash, that was how Tabitha felt when she shrieked with frustration. But now what? Tidy up? She’d already done that before Josh and Steff arrived. Tackle those weeds? Get a life. Go for a walk.
She’d forgotten how fast she could go without having to push the chair. She’d been holding out against an electric model because the consultant had said that Tabitha’s arms would get less exercise. But it was tough on the pusher. Now she could swing her arms, feel the wind in her hair, get into town in fifteen minutes instead of thirty. Yet something was missing.
‘I’ve got a child!’ Susan wanted to say, every time she walked past a mother with a pushchair. ‘I’m a mother too!’
The high street was full of autumn fashions but there was no point in trying anything on even if she’d had the money or the figure. What was the logic in looking nice when someone was only going to slop food over you? A lovely house, the kind she could only dream of, caught her eye in the window of an estate agent on her left. It was Green & Co, the same firm, noticed Susan, her pulse quickening, that had advertised in the local paper for a weekend salesperson. Susan glanced down at herself. Well-presented. For once her skirt was clean and she was wearing a jumper that matched. It wasn’t going to be a one-off, this thing with Josh and Steff. They would want Tabitha again, then again. If she stayed in the house alone, she’d go mad.
Susan smoothed back her hair, wishing she had put a brush in her bag, took a deep breath, pushed open the door and went in.
Ten minutes later, she came out, breathless with excitement and fear. Fumbling for her mobile, she keyed in her dad’s number. To her disappointment, there was no answer. It was still ringing, without any reply, when she got home.
Still burning to tell someone, Susan switched on the computer.
From Rainbow to What Mums Know: I’ve just done something really brave – for me, anyway! I saw an ad for a part-time job in an estate agent and I walked in off the street. I’ve got an interview next week! What shall I wear? What shall I say? I haven’t worked for over twelve years. If anyone’s got some advice out there, I’d really appreciate it!!!!!
25
For two pins Lisa would have called in sick again today. But she had to do lunch duty at the handicapped centre next door – they all had to do it as part of their job description for the council – and something made her feel she should go. If she didn’t, maybe something would go wrong with Rose, like it had for those poor kids.
‘Hiya, Tabs, how’re you doing?’
She liked Tabitha and her mum, who always had a cheery smile, and never failed to ask how she was and what had happened at her last antenatal check. And she’d never once – since the last time – mentioned that embarrassing incident in the shop.
‘We’re fine, thanks, Lisa,’ said Susan. ‘How are you doing? Still got that nice neat bump, I see. I bet it’s a boy. Girls are bigger usually and spread out all over you from the behind.’
‘Someone told me it was the other way round,’ said Lisa, handing Tabitha a plate of ham salad. The food didn’t seem so bad today. She felt sorry for them when it was a sloppy mess of grey sliced meat and gravy. ‘I did this test I got from a pregnancy website,’ she added. ‘You swing a ring above you, from a bit of string, like, and if it goes clockwise – it did �
� you’re having a girl.’
‘I thought you could only tell that when you’re almost full term,’ said Joy. ‘Didn’t you ask at the scan what sex it was going to be?’
Lisa finished unloading the tray. ‘I’d rather have a surprise.’
Joy laughed. ‘Oh, you’ll get that when you’re a mother, all right. Life will never be the same again.’
Lisa felt a prickle of unease.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Susan, reassuringly, patting her hand. ‘It’ll be fine once you’ve got that baby in your arms. No point in worrying about anything until it happens. That’s what my dad says. Actually, I was having a clear-out the other day and I came across some maternity clothes and baby books. The clothes are a bit out of date, but the books might be interesting. Do you want me to bring them in next time?’
‘Ta.’ She began loading the tray with plates, most of which had leftovers on them.
‘Sure you’re all right with those?’ asked Susan, concerned. ‘We could take them if they’re too heavy.’
She was so nice, she really was. Briefly, Lisa felt tempted to confide that she hadn’t had a scan at all because that American site had warned they might be dangerous. There was also quite a lot of other stuff she’d like to tell her. No. Second thoughts, Tabitha’s mum might tell someone and then it would all get out.
‘It’s OK, thanks. I can cope.’
The bus was full, going back to the estate after work, but she made a big show of puffing out her stomach and a bloke (that was a first!) gave her his seat. Her stomach was beginning to drag with that familiar pulling-down feeling and she couldn’t wait to get home. Nearly there now. Off the bus, across the car park, up the steps, one at a time. Don’t tread on the cracks, whatever you do, or something will go wrong again.
‘Hiya, Lees!’
Kiki was mopping something sticky off the concrete in front of her door. ‘Those bloody kids,’ she said, squatting on her haunches. ‘Treacle. That’s what they’ve put down. It’s a bugger to get off. Careful you don’t slip.’