The Happy Family

by Jackie Kabler

  ‘Come on, love, let’s get you into bed,’ she whispers.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mum,’ I slur, as she half drags, half carries me. She squeezes my waist and tells me to stop apologising.

  ‘It really doesn’t matter, and don’t you worry about Liv either; she’s fine,’ she says, as she lowers me onto the duvet. ‘But I’ve been thinking … Might it have been Robin who threw away that letter from the school? I mean, I didn’t touch it, and if Eloise left it where she said she did on Tuesday evening it should have still been there on Wednesday, when Robin came round to see you, and on Thursday when she came back to work. It just seems to have vanished, which is a bit odd. I’m not saying Robin did it on purpose; I’m not suggesting anything sinister, but, you know …’

  She kisses my forehead and slips from the room, telling me to drink lots of water before I go to sleep and to have a lie-in tomorrow if I feel like it because she and Liv will sort the kids out. I lie back on my pillow feeling even more nauseous now, wondering if I even have the energy to get undressed and trying to focus my fuddled brain on what she’s just suggested.

  Robin wouldn’t have thrown away a letter that was clearly from the school, would she? Even if she was mad at me, which she was? She wouldn’t …

  I’m feeling too ill and tired to think about it anymore right now. The room is swirling around me. It’s not as if I’m going to confront Robin about it anyway, I think, as I roll off the bed. I clamber unsteadily to my feet, pull my trousers and blouse off, and leave them on the floor where they fall, finally wriggling into my pyjamas. Been there, done that, not risking it again.

  My stomach lurches and I know I’m going to throw up. I make it to the bathroom just in time, crashing painfully to my knees beside the toilet. I retch into the bowl over and over again until my stomach is empty. When I finish, I crouch there on the floor for a long time, tears flowing silently down my cheeks.

  How can an evening that started so well have turned into such a bloody disaster? And what will Liv think of me now? Why am I messing everything up so badly? My brain doesn’t seem to be working properly, I’m losing my friends, and even the kids and Jacob think I’m a mess. I am a mess, I am, and I don’t understand why …

  Finally, I crawl into bed and dream of a cold, empty house, the sound of a little girl crying echoing around the lonely rooms. And at the window, a small white face stares in at me with eyes so dark and deep I feel like I’m drowning.

  Chapter 23

  I wake just after 4am, my head pounding, my lips cracked and dry, and my pyjamas damp.

  Did I hear a noise out on the landing? Is someone up?

  I groan and sit up slowly, pushing the duvet aside. I can feel sweat running down my back, plastering my hair to my scalp and stinging my eyes. The room feels like a furnace, so hot it’s hard to breathe, and I whimper and struggle to my feet, staggering to the window to fling it open, breathing in the cool night air in grateful gulps.

  Why is my bedroom so hot? Is it just me, is the hangover kicking in, or … oh shit, have I messed up the heating again? Last night, when I was drunk? Did I …?

  There’s another noise, right behind me this time, and I jump violently. The sudden movement jars my skull, making my head throb even more painfully. I turn to see Finley standing in the doorway.

  ‘Mum … I’m too hot to sleep. My room is horrible,’ he says with a sob, and rushes across the room towards me, flinging his arms around my waist. He feels as overheated as I do. His skin is damp and his T-shirt is sticking to his back.

  Oh God. What have I done now? Liv’s here; she’ll be awake too. They all will …

  ‘I’m going to go and sort it out, darling,’ I whisper. ‘It’s just the heating playing up, I’m so sorry. You go back to bed and I’ll open your windows to cool your room down, OK? It’ll feel better soon.’

  He sobs again, nodding with his head still pressed into my tummy, and I think I might be sick again. I lead him back to his room, grabbing a towel from the bathroom to mop him down with. Eloise is, thankfully, still asleep, curled up on one side of Finley’s small bed. There’s a sheen of sweat on her forehead too though, and I check the radiator and find it unbearably hot, my fingers barely grazing the white painted steel before I have to pull them away. My confusion growing, I open the windows wide, take another few deep breaths to try to quell the nausea, then creep down to the hall, flicking the light on then groaning again. My eyes feel as if someone’s been rubbing them with sandpaper; they’re gritty and painful, but I force myself to study the heating control panel on the wall.

  Twenty-one degrees. My usual setting. This doesn’t make sense …

  And yet I’m already feeling cooler, already sweating less profusely. I walk slowly around the ground floor, feeling the radiators. The rooms are warm – too warm – but the radiators seem to be cooling rapidly now.

  I must have set a timer or something last night and now it’s gone off again. But why? Why would I do that? And why don’t I remember?

  As I make my way slowly back upstairs, I think again about Barbara and Brenda and how I wish I could pop round later and ask them for their advice about this stupid problem, and about the face I saw outside the window, and about everything else that’s been going on too. My heart twists with sorrow that I can’t. And then I think about Robin and how upset she was with me, and I wonder.

  Could Mum be right? Could Robin be behind all this? The heating, the missing letter? But why? What on earth would she gain from it? It just isn’t logical …

  I’m back in my room now, fumbling in my bedside drawer for paracetemol, washing two down with some water from the glass that’s somehow sitting by my bed – Mum, I assume. I strip my pyjamas off and go to the chest of drawers for a fresh pair, and as I do so I catch a glimpse of my naked body in the full-length mirror. I stop and look for a minute, watching a trickle of sweat running slowly down my chest, making its way between my breasts, and wonder if I have the energy to take a shower. I don’t. I get back into bed and when I open my eyes again the sun is streaming in through the open curtains and somehow I’ve got through the night.

  Remarkably, I don’t feel too bad – a lingering feeling of mild nausea, a slight headache, and a raging thirst, but I’ve felt worse. I’m still dreading facing Mum and Liv though, and when I go downstairs they are, of course, already up and chatting in the kitchen, mugs of tea in hand. Liv looks fresh and lovely, dressed in a denim jumpsuit with pristine white trainers, while Mum’s in slinky grey yoga pants and a cream sweater, her feet bare and her toenails painted scarlet. I glance down at my own ancient, creased T-shirt – a Minnie Mouse one Jacob bought me for a joke about five birthdays ago – and sigh inwardly.

  Always, always such a mess.

  ‘Morning!’ I say brightly, and they both look round and smile.

  ‘Morning, sis!’ says Liv. ‘Sore head this morning?’

  She winks and I immediately feel a little better. Maybe she’s not judging me after all.

  ‘A bit,’ I admit. ‘Sorry about last night. I had a bit too much, I think!’

  She shakes her head and pulls out a stool for me to sit down.

  ‘Don’t be silly. We’ve all been there, trust me. I only took it easy because I’ve got the long journey back tonight. Nothing worse than public transport with a hangover.’

  I sit gratefully and Mum stands up.

  ‘I’ll make you a cuppa, love. By the way, did either of you notice how hot it got in the night? I woke up in the early hours and thought I was going to suffocate!’

  ‘Gosh, yes. It was awful. I woke up too and it took me ages to get back to sleep.’

  Liv puts her mug down on the countertop and turns to look at me.

  ‘Is your heating on the blink or something?’

  Shit, I think.

  ‘I’m not sure what’s going on with it,’ I say. ‘I’m really sorry. I woke up too, and poor Finley …’

  BZZZZZZZ.

  The doorbell rings suddenly and, literal
ly saved by the bell, I go to see who’s there, hoping the conversation will have moved on from the damn central heating by the time I come back. To my surprise, Jacob’s standing on the doorstep looking handsome in a blue polo shirt and jeans, his hair freshly trimmed.

  He was at the barber’s early, I think, then glance at my watch, and see to my surprise that it’s already nine-thirty. I must have slept for longer than I thought.

  ‘Beth, I’m here for the kids. Eloise rang me an hour ago and said she wanted to come to ours as soon as possible. The poor kid’s still really upset, and what the hell’s this about the central heating? She said she and Finley barely slept last night because the house was like an oven. I don’t know what the hell’s going on here at the moment, but if the children can’t even get a decent night’s sleep … and what’s wrong with you, anyway? You look dreadful …’

  ‘Shh, please, keep your voice down,’ I beg. He’s speaking so loudly I’m sure Mum and Liv can hear him from the kitchen, and next door I’ve just heard Barbara’s front door opening and footsteps on her path. I don’t want to see her right now, not with everything else that’s going on. I grab Jacob’s arm and pull him into the hall, closing the door behind him.

  ‘The heating’s been playing up. I’ll get it sorted,’ I say quietly. ‘I didn’t sleep well either. That’s why I look dreadful, as you so kindly put it.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He has the good grace to look a little shamefaced, and I’m about to ask him more about his early phone call from Eloise when I hear footsteps on the stairs and turn to see the children making their way down, both lugging overnight bags.

  ‘Eloise, Finley … what, you’ve packed already?’

  Eloise, shoes and red leather jacket already on, ignores me, not even glancing in my direction. Her eyes are fixed on her father.

  ‘Hi Dad, thanks for coming to get us,’ she says, her voice tight and prim with barely suppressed fury. I look from her to Jacob and then at Finley who’s fully dressed too, and a sudden rush of anxiety makes me feel so lightheaded I reach out and grab the bannister for support.

  Please, not another row. Not with my sister here …

  ‘Eloise, you don’t need to go yet, do you? Your aunt is still here until this evening. I’m sure Daddy could come back and pick you up later?’

  She’s still ignoring me, opening the front door and wheeling her little case out into the driveway. Finley watches her uncertainly, then looks up at me.

  ‘She wants to go now, Mum,’ he says. ‘She’s in a bad mood. Can we go, Daddy?’

  I look at Jacob in despair but he’s nodding and reaching out a hand to take Finley’s bag from him. It’s still half-unzipped, the leg of a pair of jeans and the sleeve of a sweatshirt hanging out of it.

  ‘Well, have you even packed properly?’ I say frantically. ‘I mean, have you got your homework stuff, and—’

  ‘Eloise did it for me,’ Finley says. ‘It’s fine, Mum. Don’t fuss.’

  He sounds so grown-up suddenly, so patronising, almost, and now I want to cry because he’s walking towards the door too and neither of them is looking back. Neither of them has kissed me goodbye and now Jacob’s leaving too, and giving me a strange look as he pauses in the doorway.

  ‘He’s right; don’t fuss,’ he says. ‘Get yourself together and get that heating looked at. I’m worried about you, Beth. And, more to the point, worried about the kids. It’s great that you’ve got your mother back, and your sister too, don’t get me wrong. But it’s starting to feel as if it’s all about them at the moment and not about the children, and that’s really starting to concern me now, you know?’

  I open my mouth to speak, to defend myself, to tell him the children are fine, but he’s turning away and heading for the car, and anyway, I know the children aren’t fine, not really. They’re not, and I’m not, and I just don’t know why. I can’t understand why everything’s just so awful …

  ‘Everything OK, Beth?’

  Mum touches me on the shoulder and I jump.

  ‘Yes, yes. Jacob just came for the kids early. He’s got something planned. Not sure what,’ I say quickly, but she’s frowning, peering out of the door and watching the car pulling away. The kids aren’t waving and their heads are down in the back seat.

  ‘But they didn’t even say goodbye to Liv,’ she says, and she sounds so hurt, so disappointed, that I almost can’t bear it. I’ve hurt my mother now too, offended my sister, and I just want to slump to my knees right here in the hallway and bawl. I don’t though. Instead, I force back the tears and tell my mother more lies, say I’m sorry and that they were just so excited about the day Jacob has planned, you know what kids are like, and I’ll get them to call Liv tonight. I’ll speak to Jacob later and get him on the case. And then we go back into the kitchen and I lie to Liv too, and tell her the same story. Bless her, she brushes it off and says she totally understands because there’ll be plenty more times we can get together, won’t there, and I smile and agree, but inside I’m angry and devastated. My children have never left this house without kissing me goodbye. Eloise has never treated me with such … with such disdain, and it’s killing me.

  We sit in the kitchen for a while longer, the three of us. Somehow I manage to keep it together, manage to laugh and smile, and join in with the conversation. But then Mum and Liv decide to nip down to the local shop together so Mum can buy a newspaper, and when they come back Liv announces she’s decided to leave early. To leave now.

  ‘I was going to stay until this evening, but I’ve just been thinking about work tomorrow, you know? I have a really early start and if I don’t get home until late tonight I’m just going to be knackered. Do you mind? We’ll meet up again soon, I promise.’

  She hugs me, and even though I don’t believe her, even though I’m certain she’s leaving because of last night and the row with Eloise and the stupid central heating and everything else that’s happened, I hug her back and tell her that of course I understand, and that it’s fine and we’ll see each other soon.

  She kisses me on the cheek.

  ‘You’re the best, sis,’ she says, and skips off upstairs to pack her stuff, and for a moment I feel better.

  Sis. I have a sister, and surely that’s what’s most important right now, the fact that we’ve found each other? All the other stuff, well, it’s not ideal, but we can get past it, right?

  But then I make the mistake of going upstairs to see if she wants a coffee before she goes. I’m about to walk into the room when I hear low voices and realise Mum’s in there too. I hesitate for a moment, but I’ve already pushed the door open a little and the conversation stops abruptly.

  ‘Beth! I was just helping Liv pack …’

  Mum’s voice is bright and cheerful, but there’s an awkwardness about her and I suddenly wonder what they’ve just been talking about.

  ‘And I was telling her I’m not five anymore and I can pack by myself!’

  Liv, kneeling on the floor next to her open bag, rolls her eyes and laughs, but there’s definitely a strange atmosphere in the room and I’m certain, I know, that they were talking about me and are trying to pretend they weren’t. I laugh too (God, my little wannabe actress daughter would be proud of my Oscar-worthy performances today, if only she were speaking to me) and ask what I came up to ask and go back downstairs again. Somehow I get through the next hour and there are more hugs and more promises to meet again soon. And then she’s gone, and Mum and I stand at the door waving until the taxi goes out of sight.

  ‘Beth …’

  I’ve just closed the door and I turn to look at Mum. My heart skips as I see the serious expression on her face and the concern in her eyes.

  ‘Yes? Is everything OK?’

  ‘Beth, look … I just wanted to say something. I don’t want to nag – God knows, I have no right to do that. I’ve only been back in your life for such a short time, but, well …’

  She pauses, and I can feel a flutter of panic in my stomach.

  She’
s going to leave again, isn’t she? She’s finally got fed up with me, with everything that’s been going on. I don’t blame her, of course I don’t, but …

  ‘It’s just that, well, I’m worried about you, Beth,’ she says.

  ‘Wo-worried? Why?’

  She sighs.

  ‘You just seem … so stressed. Last night … well, you’re drinking a lot, aren’t you? And you seem so forgetful all the time – the stuff with the central heating, and seeing faces at the windows …’

  She hesitates, worried eyes searching my face, and I can feel my cheeks begin to burn with shame.

  It’s not my past that will drive her away, is it? Not what I did back then, not the fact that her daughter is a monster. She doesn’t even know about that. It’s how I’m behaving now that will make her leave …

  ‘Mum, I’m fine honestly. I’ve just had a lot on. You coming back … well, it’s amazing, wonderful … but it’s kind of a big life change, you know? And Dad being ill and everything …’

  I’m trying to sound upbeat and positive but she doesn’t look convinced. She’s still looking at me with those worried eyes, her brow creased in a frown.

  ‘You’re right. I need to watch the drinking though,’ I say. ‘I’ll cut down. I just get a bit carried away sometimes, but I’ll keep an eye on it, OK? And I’ll call the engineer again about the heating later and get to the bottom of what’s going on.’

  She nods, smiles, and looks relieved.

  ‘OK. Good girl. Come on, I’ll make us another cup of tea.’

  We head back into the kitchen and the conversation moves away from me and back to last night, but the good bits this time. We chat about Liv and how lovely it is that we’ve met now, how well we get on, how much we have in common, how she told Mum before she left how thrilled she was to meet me and how much she likes me. An hour later, I’ve begun to feel almost – almost – happy again.

  I’ll sort things out with Eloise, won’t I? Mothers and daughters row all the time. This is just a little blip and we’ll be absolutely fine once she calms down. And everything else … I’m just overtired, that’s all …