The McCabe Girls Complete Collection

by Freya North

  ‘Chocolate makes you feel good,’ Pip mused, ‘but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s good for you.’

  ‘Did you know that those loved-up hormones I was talking about are the same as those released during high-risk sports and eating chocolate?’ Cat revealed. ‘That’s why it’s all so addictive.’

  ‘Cat,’ Pip digressed, ‘how do you know all this stuff?’

  ‘My husband is a doctor,’ Cat said. She grinned. ‘And I have subscriptions to Marie-Claire and Cosmo!’

  ‘You know how you can feel like a fat lump after a chocolate binge?’ Fen said. ‘Well, after Al, I felt like a stupid old slag.’ She looked miserable. ‘You could say I’ve totally gone off chocolate.’ She still looked miserable. ‘You could say, I’ve learnt my lesson. I’ve had my fill.’ She glanced at her sisters for approval. ‘I have learnt my lesson, you know.’

  ‘Why don’t you go back to work?’ Cat suggested brightly. ‘It gives you a buzz and you love it. It’s your world and you’re brilliant at it.’

  ‘But what sort of mother will that make me?’ Fen protested, defensive and distressed.

  ‘A working mum?’ Pip said. Fen shook her head vehemently. ‘Cosima is a credit to you,’ Pip said kindly. ‘That baby is a sweet, easygoing, gorgeous and secure little person. She’s not going to feel abandoned.’

  ‘In fact, she’ll probably love being socialized,’ Cat said. ‘She won’t notice that you’ve gone.’ But Fen’s glare said that, at 40,000 feet, this was the wrong thing to say to a woman who hadn’t seen her child for four days and five nights.

  ‘Maybe I just need to learn to fall in love with Matt again,’ Fen said sadly, ‘but it seems very contrived. And I’m not sure how to go about it.’

  ‘He’s just a little older, a little more squidgy than when you first met,’ said Cat, ‘but that’s all. It’s not just Shakespeare who got it wrong, Ali McGraw was full of crap too – all that love means never having to say you’re sorry bullshit,’ Cat said, echoing her mother’s sentiments about that film, not that she was remotely aware of this fact. ‘It’s a prerequisite of love that we do humble ourselves when we’re wrong, when we’ve been mean; that we say sorry to those we love – because often it’s those we love most who are the easiest for us to hurt. Bizarrely.’

  The sisters sat and thought. ‘I tell you something,’ Fen said, ‘and I can’t believe I feel this – but I actually envy our mother a little.’ Cat and Pip looked unsettled. ‘No! Not that she buggered off and abandoned her children,’ Fen hastened. ‘I envy her the scale of the love she had. It was omnipotent. Call me a daft romantic or a deluded fantasist or whatever, but I wish I could have that.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Cat said quietly. ‘I want to detest her but I have to admit, hers is an awesome and tragic love story. And I can’t believe I can say I feel for her – but I do.’

  ‘She has no happy ever after,’ Pip said pensively. ‘Love is nothing without honesty,’ she continued, ‘and she never told Bob about us. Fucking hell – can you believe that? I’m still reeling from that one. She was hardly who even he thought she was. God, we all have little secrets from our partners, elements of our privacy we don’t want to reveal. But not telling him about three daughters is slightly more shameful, more loathsome, than going to base three with some studenty type.’

  Fen looked at Pip with gratitude for making light of her transgression, for placing it far down the scale of iniquity in comparison to their mother. ‘You didn’t buy anything for Tom, did you?’ she changed the subject.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ said Pip.

  ‘Buy something from the airline mag,’ said Cat, leafing through it.

  ‘No,’ said Pip, ‘no – I mean I don’t know what to do. With Zac.’

  Cat looked horrified and Fen looked dumbstruck. Their sister looked distraught.

  ‘We’re at the most almighty impasse,’ she told them, ‘and to be honest I’m starting to worry that we won’t get through it.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Cat gasped.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Fen asked Pip tenderly, her hand on her sister’s arm.

  ‘He doesn’t want children – and I do,’ Pip shrugged.

  ‘You want children? Since when?’ Fen asked, stunned.

  ‘A few months,’ Pip said. ‘It surprised me too. I don’t know if it’s the tock of my biological clock, or a surge of hormones, but yes, absolutely, I want a child.’ She paused. ‘But Zac just laughs at me and says, No you don’t.’

  Fen was astonished. ‘Zac?’

  ‘Oh, and I found out, on Friday, that June has had the baby.’

  ‘While we were here – there?’ Cat asked. ‘Why didn’t you say? Wow that’s wonderful!’

  ‘In theory, yes,’ said Pip, ‘but it’s killing me.’

  ‘What did she have?’ asked Fen.

  ‘A boy,’ Pip said, ‘seven pounds something. Nathan. A baby brother for lucky, lucky Tom. And yet I feel hollow – hungry – all I can think is it should have been me.’ She stopped. ‘I want a family. I’m in my mid-thirties. I have to ask myself, why does Zac not want one with me?’

  ‘Why doesn’t he?’ Cat asked. ‘What does he say?’

  ‘Say?’ said Pip.

  ‘About not wanting to have a family with you?’ Fen asked.

  ‘When I say I want a baby he just laughs and says no I don’t,’ Pip said.

  ‘But when you’ve asked him, specifically, why he doesn’t want a family with you,’ Cat paraphrased, ‘what on earth are his reasons?’

  Pip stopped. ‘I haven’t exactly asked him that – in so many words, precisely.’

  Fen and Cat looked at each other. ‘Why not?’

  Pip thought about it. ‘He’ll just laugh it off.’

  ‘That’s what you think,’ Cat said, glancing from one sister to the other. ‘Bloody hell you two, after a lifetime of taking your advice and respecting your pretty astute theories, can I now just tell you both to practise what you bloody preach? You have an aversion to confrontation, Pip – that’s why you always immerse yourself in being the Great Looker-Afterer – because if you busy yourself helping others with their problems, you needn’t consider your own. But you have to confront Zac – he’s your husband after all. It’s your duty.’

  It felt odd yet strangely comforting to Pip to be told what to do, especially by her little sister. ‘I’m worried he’ll say no,’ Pip admitted, ‘and then I’ll be stuck, with no options. Because I do want children.’

  ‘With Zac?’ Fen asked.

  ‘Ideally,’ said Pip.

  ‘Breakfast!’ the air hostess announced.

  ‘Breakfast?’ the girls were disorientated.

  ‘We’ll be landing in an hour and a half,’ the hostess said helpfully. ‘Lovely tail wind.’

  ‘I can’t believe we’ve talked this entire flight,’ Fen bemoaned, wondering how a bread roll could be so cold without actually being frozen. ‘I ought to have slept. I’ll be useless in a few hours.’

  ‘Well, we have Bob Ericsson’s Melatonin, remember,’ Pip said, unable to spread the pebble-hard pat of butter. ‘It’s in my hand luggage.’

  ‘What did you get from the USA?’ Cat jested, putting on an accent. ‘Oh just some jet-lag pills from my absentee mother’s late husband.’

  ‘She doesn’t have a happy-ever-after,’ Fen said. ‘Amor did not vincit omnia for Penny.’

  ‘So let’s make sure it does for us,’ said Cat, with a nudge.

  The reality was that the sisters didn’t actually know or remember the grown-ups as they were thirty years ago. The muddle was of their making and ultimately one of them had run away, two had died and one had kept huge secrets because he thought it was the right thing to do for the girls themselves.

  The cabin lights are on, the window blinds are up, the day blazes outside the jet windows. It is morning, unmistakably. Britain will be off to work. Their mother will be sound asleep. Django will be making porridge. Matt will be kissing Cosima and
rushing out the door. Zac will be telling Tom to get a move on. Ben will be oversleeping because there is no alarm clock as good as Cat.

  They are back on terra firma, on home ground, in the here and now, and they must go their separate ways.

  ‘Everyone will want to know everything,’ Cat rues, ‘but I don’t really feel like revealing much. It feels private.’ She turns to Pip. ‘But what if Django asks?’

  ‘Direct question, direct answer,’ Pip shrugs, ‘but it may be prudent to be economical with details.’

  ‘I wonder if his results are through,’ Fen says. ‘No one’s said anything to us on the phone.’

  ‘It’s been a mad, extraordinary time, of late,’ says Cat.

  ‘It’s been life-changing,’ Fen qualifies.

  ‘Everything will be fine,’ Pip tells them.

  And they believe her.

  ‘Everything will be fine,’ Pip says again.

  ‘Will it?’ Fen asks her. ‘Will I?’

  ‘Django too?’ asked Cat. ‘And you?’

  The McCabe line-up is back on its more usual footing.

  ‘Everything,’ said Pip. ‘We’ll all be fine.’

  RETURN OF THE NATIVES

  Fen adored Matt’s mother, Susan Holden; a sparky yet maternal woman, energetic and independent but also warm and calm, who had been widowed before Fen met her. She was perhaps the only person from whom Fen was happy to take advice on child-rearing; but Susan also seemed only ever charmed by Fen’s zealous love of Cosima. Fen never had any criticism of Susan’s techniques – they were as good as her own. Almost. Susan instinctively unfurled the frill from the elasticated legs of the disposable nappies and Fen felt no need to double-check this, as she still did when anyone else changed her baby. Susan knew exactly how long to immerse a bottle in a Pyrex jug of boiling water and though the temperature of the milk was always spot on, still she verified it with a dab to her wrist. She wouldn’t dream of saying, Why don’t you get a microwave, it takes six seconds to warm a bottle. Susan never said ‘Shh!’ to the baby – a sound Fen herself could not abide – but used the more soothing hush and coo to far greater and more expedient effect. And if she watched her son, sweetly cack-handed, feed the baby yoghurt with the wrong kind of spoon and no wipes to hand, she’d throw Fen a conniving look which said Men! Aren’t they useless, the silly sods! She was unstinting in her praise for Fen. But there again, Susan had always longed for a daughter. Now she had a granddaughter too. She felt that, between her and Django, Cosima would have a colourful yet balanced experience of grandparenting. And she liked the way that Fen ensured every weekend in Derbyshire was balanced with a weekend in Gloucestershire with her. Susan thus appreciated how important it was that Fen’s homecoming was just right. The house was spotless and so was Cosima and when Fen came in, Susan diplomatically disappeared to boil the kettle, allowing Fen and Cosima to reunite in utter privacy.

  ‘She missed you,’ Susan stressed to Fen, who had eventually appeared in the kitchen clinging to her baby almost as much as the infant snuggled against her. ‘She missed you very much. You could tell. She didn’t pine – she was happy enough – but look how happy she is to have you home.’

  Fen’s eyes were wet and her heart swelled. ‘Has everything been OK? Did she eat OK? Sleep through? Nappies nice and regular? Afternoon naps?’

  ‘Everything like clockwork,’ Susan assured her. ‘Look, I jotted down a little résumé of each day so you can catch up on all the intricacies.’

  ‘You are a brick, Susan,’ Fen said sincerely.

  ‘Now there’s a term I haven’t heard for a while,’ Susan laughed.

  ‘It’s a Django-ism,’ Fen said. ‘Is there any news, do you know? Results?’

  ‘Not as far as I’m aware,’ said Susan.

  ‘Any day now,’ said Fen solemnly.

  ‘Well, you’re all going to Derbyshire this weekend, aren’t you?’ said Susan.

  ‘Cosima’s first birthday,’ Fen smiled. ‘Are you sure you can’t change your Ladies’ Guild thing and be with us?’

  ‘I can’t, my dear,’ Susan apologized. ‘Normally I wouldn’t think twice – only it’s our annual dinner and it is for charity. And I can’t be doing with being the butt of consternation or gossip – not at my age, and not in a village as small as mine.’

  ‘OK,’ said Fen. ‘Perhaps we’ll come to you the following weekend, then?’

  ‘Lovely. I think all women should be entitled to prolong their birthday celebrations – I’m glad to see you’re priming Cosima already,’ Susan said.

  Suddenly Fen realized she had no idea when her mother’s birthday was. Nor was she sure of her precise age. And she felt she’d really quite like to know the day, that she ought to know the day – not to send cards, but just so that she could acknowledge, at some point, Today is my mother’s birthday. Just so she’d be able to say with authority, My mother is fifty-something.

  ‘And how was Cosima’s other grandmother?’ Susan was asking, astutely casual.

  Momentarily, Fen was confused. But Susan was quite right; on paper Cosima had two grandmothers, on paper Penny was a mother and a grandmother. ‘She was –’ Fen paused. What was she exactly, this Penny Ericsson? ‘She was – there,’ Fen said thoughtfully and Susan sensed this was information enough at this juncture.

  ‘Matt missed you,’ Susan told her.

  Fen felt her face being scanned for a response. ‘He probably didn’t notice me gone,’ she said and she was surprised to hear by her tone that she alluded more to her own inconsequence, than any derogation towards Matt.

  ‘Oh, he did,’ Susan assured her. ‘I think it did him good.’

  Fen pressed her lips against Cosima’s fat cheeks. ‘I missed him,’ she said quietly. ‘It did me good too. I can’t wait to see him.’

  ‘If you can stay awake,’ Susan remarked. ‘Go and have a power nap – just an hour or two of restorative oblivion. Cosima can take me to feed the ducks.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Fen asked.

  ‘Of course I’m sure,’ Susan said. ‘She’s no trouble at all. She’s an absolute pleasure to look after.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Fen.

  ‘Say, See you later, Mummy. Say, Sweet dreams,’ Susan cooed on Cosima’s behalf.

  ‘See you later, little baby,’ Fen said, with a little wave. Then she turned and went upstairs to bed with her share of the Melatonin.

  Pip felt slightly insulted by Tom’s clothes, strewn around her home in the most unlikely of places. She wondered if she’d been deluded or just unreasonable to hope that her husband and her stepson might at least have tidied the place for her return, even if a bunch of flowers or just a welcome-home note were beyond their imagination. She loaded the washing machine, checked the fridge and wrote a shopping list, made the bed and tidied wet towels from the bathroom floor. If she went to Sainsbury’s now, the washing would be ready to hang out by the time she was home. She could then put another load in and take a quick nap before collecting Tom from school. Was Tom staying over that night too? Was June back home now? She could phone Zac and enquire. There again, she could phone June. Or she could just ask Tom when she saw him. But Pip’s mind was too befuddled by travel and tiredness to make a decision. And anyway, she didn’t need to know just yet.

  In the supermarket, perusing the aisles a little absent-mindedly, a peculiar selection of items in her trolley, Pip stopped and stared. It struck her that there was an almost charming paradox about condoms being placed next to home ovulation kits, pregnancy tests sharing shelf space with tampons, KY jelly and cracked-nipple balm tube by tube. It brought to Pip’s mind those adverts for pregnancy tests – they never showed the result on the dipstick that was causing the beautiful couple to hug each other in such joy. Were they pleased it was a false alarm after an unprotected shag? Or were they celebrating the outcome of careful planning for a family? She picked up the ovulation kit and wondered, very privately, about buying it, about getting to know her biorhythms and her hormonal peaks and tr
oughs. But she put the pack back hurriedly and rushed away from the section, as if her not lingering a moment longer could somehow banish the thought of tricking Zac and absolve her of momentary, improper intent.

  As June lived in Swiss Cottage, just a stone’s throw from Sainsbury’s at the 02 Centre, and as Pip didn’t feel quite so tired any more, she decided that she might as well take a circuitous route home.

  June’s mother answered the door. ‘Pip – how lovely. Is Tom with you?’

  ‘No – he’s still at school,’ Pip told her, suddenly wondering if her timing was off kilter. She checked her watch. Almost 2 o’clock proper time, as Cat would say. ‘I’ve just been to Sainsbury’s. Just thought I’d pop by. Just got off the plane, actually.’

  June’s mother smiled benevolently. ‘They’re sleeping,’ she apologized. ‘I don’t want to wake them – but June will be so sorry to have missed you. You will come in later, won’t you, when you bring Tom back?’

  ‘Of course,’ Pip said, not quite knowing if she was disappointed not to be having Tom at her place that night, or whether she was apprehensive about having Zac to herself. ‘Can’t wait.’

  ‘He’s absolutely gorgeous, the little mite,’ June’s mother said proudly.

  Pip drove back with tears streaming down her face. ‘It’s just jet lag,’ she berated herself.

  She hadn’t seen the note but once she sat down with a cup of tea having put away the shopping, hung out the washing and put the next load in, she found it pride of place on the coffee table.

  Welcome home, Mrs.

  Would you mind doing the school run – and taking Tom back to June & Rob’s?

  See you later. Sainsbury’s delivering 5–7pm.

  I’ll cook.

  Missed you.

  Z xx

  Pip sipped her tea and traced the marks of Zac’s kisses. And then suddenly she was waking with a start and thinking Christ almighty, I zonked out for two hours and I’m going to be late for Tom.

  ‘He blows bubbles, my baby brother,’ Tom tells her.

  ‘Is he gorgeous?’