by Sue Nicholls
Millie, with Lucas clamped to a nipple, looks across at Fee, who is fiddling with the clasp on her bag.’
‘You OK, Fee?’
‘Not bad.’ She appraises Millie and Twitch, then says, ‘I’ve made a decision. ‘I’m leaving Paul.’
‘Oh Fee.’ Millie moves her body, thinking to hug Fee, which is impossible with Lucas sucking.
Twitch is near to tears. ‘I didn’t realise.’
‘Well, I’ve been moving towards it for a while. Since Kitty arrived, I suppose. Mummy’s death brought home how short life is. She,’ Fee hesitates, ‘had an unpleasant marriage. ‘
‘Where will you go?’ Twitch shuffles her chair closer to Fee. The children are now drawing chalky faces on the ground, turning it into a horizontal graffiti wall.
‘I’ll rent to start with. Mummy bequeathed me enough money for a deposit and furniture.’
Without thinking Millie blurts out,
‘Well, make sure there’s a spare room. I might need refuge too.’
‘Me too,’ pipes Twitch, and they stare at each other, then Millie bursts out laughing.
‘What a hoot. Three women and five children under one roof.’
‘It would be difficult,’ Fee smiles at the ridiculous idea. ‘I plan to have an extra bedroom though. In case of guests.’
‘Let us know if you need help when the time comes.’ Millie fastens her blouse and rises to joggle Lucas.
Twitch turns her head and studies the beach hut. ‘I think I’ll move in here. It’s so peaceful. I could paint the sea in all its moods.’
‘I don’t suppose the children would think much of that.’ Fee nudges her, and she sighs.
‘In another life.’ Twitch stands up. ‘Come on. We’ll get those ice creams.’
Chapter 10
Fee stands on the suburban pavement before a large, Georgian, semi-detached house with a generous frontage. The threatening sky is markedly different from the wild, blue and white one of that lovely day at Tankerton. She turns up the collar of her coat and bends her left arm to check her watch. The tiny hands show a quarter to one, he should be here in five minutes.
The tree-lined street is bordered by a haphazard diversity of old and new houses. Over the road the tops of swings and slides peep above a line of grey, swaying bushes. A park could be noisy but what a lovely place to bring Kitty.
A red saloon pulls up next to her own, and a fresh-faced estate agent springs out, teeming with energy and salesmanship.
‘Mrs Thomas?’ Fee nods.
‘Darren Cooper.’ He gives her hand a confident shake then squints up at the slate grey clouds. ‘We need to take cover.’
Fee trips after him as he strides up the path through a generous, well established garden.
‘Did I mention that this property is vacant?’ He calls back. ‘The owners have emigrated.’ He stops in the porch and pats his pockets. ‘Somewhere warm if they have any sense.’ He grins and his shiny black shoes squeak on dull red tiles as he inserts the key. A wide staircase faces them, and along the hall Fee glimpses a room with windows looking out onto a back garden.
The agent begins his spiel.
‘The main reception room is through there. He indicates a closed door to the right. Down at the end is a separate dining-room-stroke-morning-room, and this is the kitchen’
As she follows him round the deserted house, Fee becomes increasingly excited. It is too large, but she adores the high ceilings and original features. The shabby walls only need a lick of emulsion. Upstairs: three bedrooms. There is only one bathroom but that should not be a problem. If guests stay, someone can use the little cloakroom off the hall, downstairs. She walks to the window of the largest bedroom and stares at a long, narrow plot. According to Darren there is a vegetable patch at the bottom. Selions of neighbouring gardens stretch to left and right. Next door a trampoline slopes on undulating scrub.
The agent leaves her to wander round the house alone, and she walks from room to room imagining pieces of furniture from home and deciding what else might be needed. By the time she clops back down the stairs she has made up her mind, but she says goodbye to Darren without giving him any hint.
As they leave the house, dark blemishes of rain pepper the path, but before diving into her motor, Fee peeps through the gate of the house next door. The front is overgrown but not neglected, and there is a car in the driveway, shabby like the grass.
***
Streetlamps highlight golden rain spilling onto the pavement. Fee dashes up the path and into the shadowy shelter of the porch. She applies her thumb to the circular button and hears a faint shrill, deep inside.
Above her head a bulb glimmers to life, bringing into relief a blistered ceiling. The door opens a crack, then further, and a woman of about Fee’s age stands inside, one hand cupped and glistening with soapsuds.
‘Oh,’ Fee takes in the dripping fingers, ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I came to introduce myself. I’m thinking of renting the house next door.’
A broad smile transforms the woman’s plump face. ‘Come in.’ She opens the chipped front door with an elbow. ‘Excuse the mess. If you’re going to live there,’ she nods towards the other house, ‘you’ll get used to my chaos.’
The layout is a reverse of the adjoining property, but where next door there is space, here clutter sprawls across carpets and clambers up corners. From the lounge a television bellows over the arguing voices of children.
Fee follows the dumpy figure into the kitchen and waits as she unloads a pile of papers from a chair. ‘Have a seat.’ She wipes her hands on a tea towel and offers Fee a drink.
The kitchen is like a production line. Potatoes, peeled and partly sliced, are growing orange-brown on a chopping board, and beside them lie several carrots and a head of broccoli. A saucepan fizzes on a glowing electric ring. At the end of the table where Fee sits, an open laptop is half swamped under a heap of drab, red exercise books. ‘No, really, I won’t stay. I can see you’re busy.’
‘It’s not a problem.’ The girl beams and catches hold of the kettle. ‘As I say, it’s always like this. No husband to help. Three kids and a full-time career.’ She flips the switch on the kettle and turns off the cooker. ‘I’m Nicola, by the way.’ Her hand in Fee’s is damp.
The noise from the front room reaches a crescendo and Nicola makes a droll face. ‘Sorry about this.’ She shouts through the door, ‘Charlie, it’s Finn’s turn to choose what to watch today. Now be quiet. I’m trying to talk.’
She plonks onto a chair, and a boy, presumably Charlie, flounces from the room opposite and up the stairs.
‘Please, don’t stop cooking for me,’ says Fee.
‘Oh, they can wait a few minutes. I’ve just picked them up from the child minder. They need time to unwind.’
‘How old are they?’ Fee releases herself from her coat as the steamy kitchen warms her face.
‘Charlie’s nine, Finn’s seven and Annie’s five.’
‘Oh, that’s lovely. My daughter Kitty’s five.’
‘Annie will be pleased. She’s always complaining there are no girls to play with. I expect the boys will be glad to get shot of her once in a while. When are you planning to move in?’
Fee answers vaguely.
The kettle boils and clicks off, and Nicola stands to shovel granules of cheap instant coffee into mugs. She hands one to Fee. It is emblazoned with the instructions KEEP CALM I’M A TEACHING ASSISTANT.
‘Is this your job?’
‘It was. I’m a teacher now. As soon as I qualified, Steve got ill. He died a couple of years ago.’ The smile does not mask her sadness.
Fee takes a tentative sip of the brown liquid. ‘I’m so sorry. What a good thing you managed to qualify, though.’
‘I suppose so, but teaching is heavy going with these three, and marking and preparation.’
Fee puts down her unfinished drink and rises. ‘I must go.’
Oh. I didn’t mean…’
&
nbsp; She shakes her head. ‘I know that, but I also work full time and have things to do.’ She fastens her coat. ‘It’s been lovely. I hope we see each other again.’
‘Me too. And I’ll tell Annie about Kitty.’
As she dashes across Nicola’s pock marked drive, rain slops into the sides of Fee’s court shoes. If her mother’s advice is to be believed, and girlfriends are to be desired as support, then a good relationship with Nicola, a fellow singleton, could benefit them both.
Chapter 11
Something is jamming the door. Fee pushes harder on the glossy surface of the lounge door and reaches in to feel a soft doll’s head pleated beneath the wood. She drags it out and the door swings free. Hugging the toy, she surveys the room. Several gummy circles, a half-eaten biscuit and a cup of orange juice decorate the coffee table in a scatter of crumbs. The sofa is a tumble of cushions, and on the muted television a rabble of cartoon mice bounce on a distressed cat. Silence informs her that she is alone in the house.
She cocks her foot over two more naked dolls and turns off the TV, then begins to restore order. Later, in the kitchen, she wipes a final smear and hears the back-gate clink. Kitty flings open the door and flies in, followed by an ebullient Paul. Folding up the dishcloth Fee bends nylon clad knees to hug her child.
‘Hello Poppet, have you been having fun?’
‘We bought fireworks,’ pipes Kitty. ‘Daddy says we can have them tonight, and a bonfire, and sausages, and Emily is coming round, and her mummy and daddy.’
Fee wills her body and face to remain motionless.
‘That’s nice, and has Daddy bought the sausages?’ She lifts her eyes to her husband.
‘Course I haven’t, not my department. Why keep a dog and bark yourself?’
Fee gives Kitty a squeeze, then aims a chilly look at Paul as she rises. ‘I’ll see to it later.’
‘Come along Kitty, you’re going to need warm clothes.’ She stretches out a hand and starts for the hall, and Kitty, after a moment’s hesitation, runs to take it.
While her daughter describes the different fireworks she and Paul have chosen, Fee’s mind is on an approaching conversation with her husband. His whistling rises from the kitchen as he makes barbecue preparations, and at the back of her mind lurks the irritating knowledge that the tiles will be muddy again.
Leaving Kitty to struggle into tights and trousers. Fee marches off in search of rudimentary food. She is fishing frozen chicken from the freezer when the side gate bangs for a second time, and she looks up into three faces, beaming at her in the doorway. Her face bends into a welcoming look.
Soon, with a beer in his hand, Paul applies his lighter to the taper of a rocket that stands in a jam-jar on the lawn. The rest watch and wait. Kitty hangs onto Fee’s hand and Fee can feel her quivering. The rocket shoots into the night sky with a loud shriek and bursts into a crackling flower. With terrified wails, Emily and Kitty dive inside. Fee follows them and drags toys from the sideboard for them to play with, amongst them the doll with the pleated head. Back in the garden the adults knock back beers, a bottle of wine and set off the remaining fireworks.
***
At the end of the evening, with the kitchen cleared and the floor mopped, Fee watches her husband head for the fridge, humming.
‘That was good fun.’ Paul lights a cigarette, and holding it between his lips, flips the cap from his beer, His eyes are like slits behind the smoke.
She does not reply. Her hands are fixed to the back of a chair. There is only one matter on her mind, and she takes a breath. ‘Paul, I’m leaving you.’ Her hands cling to the slick metal as though her life hinges on it.
Paul’s head shoots up, his eyes searing like a roman candle. The beer bottle in his fist slams onto the work top with a crack, and Fee flinches.
‘Leaving?’
She nods her head to avoid his eyes and fixes her eyes on his bottle. ‘We’re going - Kitty and I. I’ve found a house.’
His eyes drill into her, and in the threatening silence she turns, a pulse throbbing in her shoulder, and forces both feet to tread calmly from the room and mount the stairs. In the spare bedroom, she wedges a waiting chair under the door handle and lies, fully clothed on the bed, straining for sounds. Across the landing Kitty curls puppy-like beneath the covers. Paul has never used violence towards Fee but in the past, she has sensed his suppressed anger. Kitty’s sleeping presence should control his behaviour tonight.
After a few minutes, the back-door slams and the house shakes, then she hears the groaning of the garage door and Paul’s motorbike roars into life. Furious engine notes crescendo then fade into the distance and Fee’s taut body subsides into the mattress. Tomorrow she will have to tell Kitty that her world has collapsed. Her thoughts whirl in a disorganised vortex until sleep engulfs them.
***
He should not be driving - too many beers. Paul opens the throttle, not knowing where he is going, not caring. He needs to think, no, to stop thinking. He increases his speed until fear gives him no choice but to focus on survival. Tarmac looms in his headlight, and corners whip into view. No time to take in signposts, he flies between hedgerows, seeing but at the same time blind.
Without warning headlights are rushing towards him - a juggernaut, too wide for this narrow lane. Air brakes hiss. Paul throttles back and skitters between the monstrous vehicle and the bare hedge. Branches whip his goggles and cheeks and the bike bounces over the uneven verge.
The lorry drives on, honking its horn. Paul judders to a stop and dismounts, the heavy motorcycle in danger of falling from his shaking hands. He raises his face to the sky and vents his anguish into the night.
By the time his heart has slowed, and sobs abated, his hands and arms ache with the exertion of supporting his bike. He lifts a weary leg across the saddle and points the machine towards what he hopes is home. The implications of Fee’s revelation begin to dawn on him, and he pictures his future, without Kitty, without his perfect garage, without his pink bedroom and his impromptu barbecues. A black tar of anger begins to drip into his breast.
At a little after three the garage is silent. He leaves the bike cooling amid his ranks of tools, and lets himself in. He wants to rush straight upstairs and confront Fee but instead, squirts water into the kettle and switches it on, barely aware of its crescendo. While it boils, he goes to the cloakroom to pee. Bladder emptied, he considers the lifted seat and decides to leave it vertical. His face in the mirror is slashed with red wheals from the whipping branches. He splashes them with cold water and dabs them dry with toilet paper. They sting. He drops the paper into the toilet bowl and returns to the kitchen. With a steaming mug of coffee and a lit cigarette, he sits in the deserted kitchen to wait.
***
Six o’clock. Sounds of movement. Fee is showering while Kitty sleeps on. It is, what day? Saturday. No work for Fee, but some activity for Kitty.
Fee enters, and halts in the middle of the floor looking calm and immaculate. The chair grinds against the flooring as Paul rises.
‘So, are we going to talk?’ His accusing face and aggressive stance contradict his implied negotiation.
‘We need to,’ Fee sits down at the other end of the table. ‘I’ll leave you our address and telephone number. You can see Kitty whenever you want, within reason. She has a right to that.’
‘She has a right! What about my fucking rights, have you thought of those?’ He glares over at her - it would be so easy to punch that frosty face.
‘I have thought of you although I don’t expect you to believe me. You are Kitty’s dad and that will never change, but Paul, you can’t think that you have made me happy.’ She avoids his face. ‘Do you think I enjoyed waiting on you, taking Kitty to all her activities, doing all the housework, cooking all the meals, paying all the bills?’
‘You could have asked for help.’
‘You mean like on Saturday morning when I asked you to clear the breakfast dishes?’
‘Well, you should have be
en more insistent!’ Paul’s voice rises.
‘That’s right Paul, it’s my fault. I should have begged you to help then stood over you to make sure you did. Is that what you’re saying?’ Fee’s eyes pierce her husband’s, but her tone remains irritatingly level. Paul’s anger is driven higher. He takes a breath to make some explosive retort, but there is movement by the door and Kitty, bleary eyed and dishevelled, totters in.
‘Why are you shouting? Don’t Daddy. I don’t like it.’
Paul’s body deflates and he sits, his anger transmuting to despair as he reaches out for Kitty. The little girl patters to him on bare feet, and he draws her sleep-warm body onto his knee. Tiny toes dangle from his thigh and the sight lacerates his heart. In a moment of panic, he considers grabbing Kitty and making a run for it but rejects the impulse. He may be angry but he is not mad. Oh, but he hurts.
‘Fee’s eyes fix on Kitty and her mouth opens. Paul watches this final scene play out.
‘Kitty, darling, Daddy and I are shouting because we are unhappy. It’s nothing to do with you, we both love you very much but,’ she glances at Paul, ‘We don’t love each other anymore.’
On his lap, Kitty starts to tremble, and Paul hugs her to him. She digs her fingers into his arm, her face, like his, fixed on Fee’s.
‘Mummy, are you getting a divorce? Jack’s mummy and daddy got a divorce and it made him cry. Mrs Pryce asked me to look after him, but he wouldn’t talk to me. He wouldn’t talk to anybody.’
And so it goes on, reassurances, inducements, explanations, all is planned, nothing will stop them.
Chapter 12
Erect on the landing Twitch regards her reflection with little interest. She is wearing a soft green evening dress, and her hair is caught up in a gold clasp. Escaped strands tumble at her temples. She practises smiling and each muscle strains with the effort as if her cheeks have been painted with rubber.
Maurice emerges from his bedroom and stands at her back. He puts his hands on her waist and pulls her to him. ‘You look lovely.’
