by Lilac Mills
‘You’re a big boy now; you can feed yourself.’
‘But I want you to do it. I’m not a big boy.’ Morgan thrust his bottom lip out and scowled.
‘You’re going to have to be. Mummy is busy and Daddy’s going for a shower.’
‘Read me a story before bed?’
Henry saw a way in. ‘Only if you feed yourself, and you eat it all,’ he said.
‘I want The Very Hungry Caterpillar.’
‘I bet the very hungry caterpillar would have eaten all his tea by now,’ Henry pointed out. ‘Finish your food, then perhaps Mummy will put some cartoons on TV for you while Mummy and Daddy eat theirs.’
‘Yay, cartoons!’
* * *
When Henry returned to the kitchen after having had a quick shower, he noticed that between the promise of watching TV and his father reading a story to him later, Morgan had discovered that he was in fact a big boy and could feed himself.
Henry always washed off the farmyard grime before he sat down to eat, and although he’d been nowhere near a farmyard today, he didn’t want to risk Lottie asking questions. He’d never been very good at pulling the wool over her eyes – he thought back to her surprise thirtieth birthday party, which hadn’t been any kind of surprise at all – so he’d have to be ultra-careful if he wanted to appear to be his usual self. Bloody hell, this is worse than being in MI5, he thought. And today’s only day one of trying to pretend everything’s normal.
Sabrina finished her meal, pushed her chair back and leapt to her feet. ‘I’ve got homework,’ she announced. ‘Spellings.’ She didn’t look pleased about it. Henry didn’t think he would be, either – spelling wasn’t his strong point. ‘And chunking,’ she added.
Henry shot Lottie a confused look and mouthed, ‘What’s chunking?’
Lottie sighed. ‘Maths, apparently. Excuse me, young lady, you know the rules. Rinse your plate off and put it in the dishwasher before you go upstairs.’
‘Mu-u-um.’ Sabrina did the eye-roll thing again. ‘I’ve got homework.’
‘Yes, we heard you the first time, but it’ll only take a few seconds to carry your plate from the table to the sink, rinse it, and put it in the dishwasher.’
‘Do I have to do everything around here?’ was their daughter’s muttered response.
Robin finished his meal shortly afterwards too, and took his plate to the sink without being asked. ‘If Morgan is allowed to watch cartoons, can I?’
Henry heard the unspoken subtext of how it wouldn’t be fair if Morgan was allowed to watch TV after tea, and Robin wasn’t. The kids were very quick to spot the slightest unintentional preferential treatment of one over the other.
‘Only if you let Morgan watch something he wants to watch,’ Lottie said. ‘Have you got any homework?’
Robin shook his head vigorously and Henry guessed he was fibbing.
He sat down in Robin’s newly vacated chair and put his elbows on the table, resting his head in his hands.
‘I’ve finished, Mummy,’ Morgan declared, his bowl of food only half eaten.
‘Good boy.’ Lottie lifted him down off the chair and sent him into the living room with a pat on his bottom.
‘I told him he had to eat it all,’ Henry objected, lifting his head and looking at his wife.
‘I know you did, but he’s eaten enough. He’s never had much of an appetite, and I always give him too much in the hope he’ll eat more. Are you hungry?’
Henry most definitely wasn’t, but he knew it would look odd if he said no so he nodded and Lottie reheated the pasta and the sauce, and retrieved some rather dry-looking garlic bread from the oven.
With the plates on the table, she slid into her seat opposite and picked up her fork. ‘Did you want some wine to go with this?’ she asked.
‘Are you having some?’ It was unusual for her to have a drink on a week night.
‘It’s been one of those days,’ Lottie said.
‘Why’s that?’
Before she could tell him, there was a loud bang from upstairs and Lottie froze, a forkful of spaghetti halfway to her mouth. An ominous silence followed.
Lottie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘I’d better go and see what’s happened.’
She leapt up and was out of the room before he could move, so Henry used the opportunity to empty half of the spaghetti into the bin, thinking he could probably manage to eat the resulting portion.
His wife came back into the kitchen, shaking her head, with Sabrina and Robin hot on her heels.
‘He did it on purpose, Dad,’ Sabrina said. She looked smug.
‘I didn’t!’ Robin’s face was red and he seemed close to tears.
‘What’s happened?’ Henry asked, not sure if he really wanted to know.
Lottie told him, ‘Robin has managed to break his bed. He was jumping up and down on it, apparently.’
‘I wasn’t.’ Robin now looked sullen, his little cheeks puffed out in a pout, his eyes narrowed. He folded his arms across his chest.
‘Beds don’t just collapse by themselves,’ Lottie pointed out. ‘Somebody must have been doing something.’ She sat down and picked up her fork again, eating a mouthful of the rapidly cooling spaghetti and grimacing. She chewed, swallowed, then pushed her plate away. Henry felt like doing the same – he’d only taken a couple of bites of his and it had felt like eating straw.
‘It’s because he wants a new one,’ said Sabrina.
Instead of denying it, as Henry would have expected, Robin was strangely silent, and he guessed his daughter had hit the nail on the head. ‘Can you fix it?’ he asked Lottie, praying she’d say yes. He didn’t want to shell out for a new one.
‘There are a couple of slats broken, but I’ve got some wood in the shed that should do the trick,’ she said.
Henry smiled to himself when he saw Robin’s face darken further. ‘Did you break it on purpose?’ he asked his son.
Robin shook his head, but refused to meet his father’s eyes.
‘Beds don’t grow on trees,’ Henry said, aware the child was fibbing, but unable to prove he’d broken it deliberately. ‘They cost money, and if Mummy can’t fix it you won’t have a bed at all.’
‘I can mend it,’ Lottie said, with a sigh. ‘Let’s just hope Father Christmas doesn’t get to hear about it.’
Robin glared at Lottie, turned smartly on his heel and stomped out of the kitchen, Sabrina following closely behind.
Henry heard the sounds of his daughter taunting his middle child as they galloped up the stairs, and he waited for the noise to subside before he asked, ‘What was all that about?’
‘This is why I need that glass of wine,’ she said, going to the fridge and taking out a bottle. She grabbed some glasses from the cupboard and poured them both a measure. ‘Callum, one of his friends in school, told him he’s got a new bed in the shape of a fire engine.’
‘And now Robin wants one?’ Henry tried not to guzzle his wine too quickly.
‘It seems so, and he probably could do with a new one, but I can’t justify the expense if I can repair the one he’s got,’ his wife said.
Henry agreed with her; not because he was a particular advocate of Lottie’s mantra of not buying anything new unless it was strictly needed, but because he didn’t want to spend the money. How much did new beds cost? Especially ones in the shape of fire engines?
Even if they could afford it, Henry knew that if he suggested treating Robin to a bedroom makeover, Lottie would probably refuse on the grounds there was nothing wrong with their son’s room the way it was. She’d always been thrifty and preferred to mend or repurpose what they already had, rather than buy new, but Henry was filled with such guilt that he couldn’t do something as simple as make his little boy’s bedroom into a magical place for him to retreat to, that for the second time that day he wanted to cry.
Something must have shown in his face, because Lottie said, ‘There’s nothing wrong with the bed Robin has got; nothing that
a few planks of wood and some screws can’t fix. I know we’re saving every penny we’ve got towards the extension and there’s Christmas coming up, but I’m sure I can think of something to brighten up his bedroom. I could maybe paint a mural on the wall, and I’ve got some plywood somewhere that I could cut into some kind of a shape. Possibly not enough to make a fire engine, but I could certainly do something. His room is rather babyish, isn’t it?’
Henry bit his lip when she mentioned the extension. If he wasn’t able to walk from one job into another straight away, their timeline would be pushed back and he knew how much Lottie had set her heart on having a bit more space. It was almost laughable that a four-bedroomed house could seem so small, but it did. The rooms themselves were snug, and with five people, it felt as though they were living on top of one another, and the acoustics were dreadful. He used to joke that if a spider broke wind in the living room, it would be heard all over the house.
It had got to the point that romantic encounters with his wife had been few and far between since Morgan’s birth. His room was right next to theirs and Henry suspected the master bedroom and Morgan’s room had once been one larger room. Whoever had split them in two should have used some decent soundproofing. Not only that, Morgan was a light sleeper at the best of times, so the slightest noise would wake him up and have him calling for his mummy.
Henry couldn’t remember the last time he and Lottie had made love, and he knew they desperately needed some space and some time to themselves. The new bedroom in the extension promised to give them that – if it ever got built.
Chapter 2
Lottie
Pins to Elephants was one of Lottie’s favourite places. The shop sold an eclectic mix of household stuff, such as vacuum cleaner bags and pepper pots, items for the garden, electrical goods, and – Lottie’s weakness – DIY things. Where other women became gooey-eyed over shoes and handbags, Lottie had her head turned by glue guns and ceramic tiles.
She recognised this wasn’t usual behaviour for a woman in her thirties but she didn’t care. With a whopping mortgage, three kids and a husband whose salary fluctuated like the weather, she felt she had little choice. Making do and mending was a part of her life, and if it meant she’d become a dab hand at fixing things, then so be it.
Today she was on the hunt for L-shaped brackets to repair Robin’s bed. She had no doubt that her middle child had jumped up and down on it in the hope it would break and she’d be forced to buy him a new one. One part of his wish had come true; the other part, not so much.
After selling their souls to buy the house in Applewell over a decade ago, money had been very tight indeed for her and Henry and she’d quickly taught herself how to do a variety of things. Repairing furniture had been one of them.
For the first couple of years, Henry had accompanied her to boot sales and they’d had fun picking up bargains, especially when they became pregnant with Sabrina, and the cost of bringing up first one child, and then a second, had sent all thoughts of furnishing their home with expensive and stylish items out of the window. But for Henry, the novelty of buying other people’s unwanted items had worn off.
Sometimes she felt Henry resented her ability to make do and mend. It might save them a small fortune, but she got the impression that he hated they had to do it in the first place.
Lottie handed over a ten-pound note to Tony behind the counter and popped the brackets in her bag, exchanging a few words with him as she did so. She had the feeling she might be the man’s favourite customer: she spent more time in Pins to Elephants than she did in any other shop, except for the charity shop down the road. Which reminded her, Sabrina needed new school shoes soon.
Lamenting that she had to buy those new – she religiously had the children’s feet measured and fitted whenever they needed their footwear replacing – she called in to the charity shop anyway. She often did, on the off-chance she’d find something that would come in useful. At this time of year she was especially on the lookout for toys and other gifts, although it was becoming harder to buy second-hand things for Sabrina. Robin and Morgan were easier – last Christmas she’d bought Robin a bicycle which looked almost as good as new, and a couple of years before that she’d bought a doll’s house for Sabrina, and had spent ages doing it up in the shed after the kids had gone to bed. It still had pride of place on top of Sabrina’s chest of drawers, although Lottie didn’t think her daughter had played with it for a long time.
‘Morning,’ Catrin trilled, chirpily. She was the manager of this particular branch of UnderCover, which was a charity for the homeless and had shops in various locations throughout Wales. Catrin ran her shop with the help of a couple of volunteers and copious amounts of good cheer. Lottie didn’t think she’d ever seen the woman with a frown on her face. ‘We’ve just had an old gramophone player in – would you be interested?’
‘I don’t think so, as lovely as it is,’ Lottie replied, gazing at the machine and seeing a stack of records next to it. She picked one up. Vinyl was supposed to be coming back into fashion, but despite liking anything vintage, Lottie knew her kids would look at it with horror. She couldn’t justify the expense, either.
‘How’s things?’ Catrin asked, folding a Welsh blanket and adding it to a pile of similar ones.
Lottie eyed it with longing – she loved those traditional woollen blankets and had a couple which she wrapped herself up in on those evenings when it wasn’t quite chilly enough to warrant lighting their wood-burning stove.
‘Robin broke his bed yesterday, so I’ve been buying some brackets,’ she said. ‘I swear to God he did it on purpose. He was only just telling me that one of his friends has a new bed in the shape of a fire engine.’
Lottie was the first to admit that her son’s bed wasn’t exciting, but at least he had one. Think of all those poor children in the world who don’t have a bed, she’d felt like telling him, but had held back, knowing he would neither appreciate nor understand. At six, he was more interested in what his friends had than what some abstract kids who he’d never met didn’t have.
‘I used to want a four-poster when I was young,’ Catrin said. ‘I never got one and it didn’t do me any harm, so stop beating yourself up over it.’
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘Yes. Just because kids want something, it doesn’t mean to say they should automatically have it.’
‘That’s true. Although, to be fair, my children often ask for things and don’t get them.’
‘Are they healthy and happy?’ Catrin asked.
‘I suppose so.’
‘Well, then, you’re doing your job. Fancy a cuppa? I’ve got biscuits…’ She waggled her eyebrows and Lottie giggled.
‘Go on, but I can’t be long. I’ve got some planks of wood to saw.’
‘And I’ve got three black bags of donated goods to sort out. We lead such exciting lives.’
* * *
After a welcome cup of tea and a custard cream, Lottie was on her way back home. Her mind kept drifting to the contents of her shed.
She called the large outbuilding hers because Henry rarely ventured inside and hadn’t done for years, and he didn’t have a clue what was in there. Lottie, however, did, and right then she was thinking about two four-inch by four-inch posts she knew were in there. The finish on them was crude because they were meant for outside use, but maybe she could sand them down and paint them, or cover them in fabric… Catrin mentioning a four-poster had started her thinking that Sabrina might like to have her bed updated – after Lottie had managed to do something with Robin’s, of course. Lottie had an image of a fairy-tale princess concoction for one brief nostalgic moment, before she realised Sabrina would consider it too babyish.
She’d have to have a think and, while she was at it, she needed to root through some of the stuff in the shed and see if she could find something with which to magically transform Robin’s bed.
Lottie and Henry had always been careful with money but since thei
r little scare last year when Henry had been made redundant, she’d been even more conscious of their precarious financial situation. Thankfully he’d found another job more or less straight away, so they’d put his modest redundancy payment into a savings account until they had enough funds to start the extension. She wasn’t looking forward to all the upheaval, but she was sure it would be worth it in the end, although Henry seemed to want it more than she did.
She could tell he was cross about Robin breaking his bed yesterday evening and guessed it wasn’t solely because it would have to be repaired or replaced. He was irked because they didn’t have any spare cash to throw around and, like any parent, he wanted to be able to give his children nice things. Just as she did. But Catrin was right, kids didn’t need everything they wanted, and Robin didn’t need a fire engine bed.
She could see the end in sight, though. They were being sensible and not taking out a loan to fund the extension. They wouldn’t begin building it until they had enough savings to pay for it, and they were almost there. Henry’s brother-in-law would be doing the build (on the side), so it wasn’t going to be nearly as expensive as it might have otherwise been.
Lottie wasn’t looking forward to her house being a building site, with all the disruption that went with it, including having to move Morgan in with Robin for the duration. He’d have Robin awake at stupid o’clock, which meant she’d have a tired and grumpy six-year-old on her hands for what could be months.
It was OK for Henry – he didn’t have to deal with the chaos of mornings in the Hargreaves’ house. Getting three children dressed and out of the door in time for school – nursery in Morgan’s case – wasn’t easy. And neither was it any easier after they came home. Making sure the two eldest did their homework was a feat in itself; then there were the after-school clubs and activities, which had to be walked to because there weren’t enough funds for her to have a car of her own, which sometimes meant bundling up two children and trekking back to the school gates – where she’d already stood outside once that day – to collect the third.
