The Family Trap

by Joanne Phillips

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I take a deep breath and walk right on in.

  ‘Stella!’ Dad spots me first and jumps up, taking my bags out of my hand and pulling over an extra chair. ‘It’s so good to see you,’ he says, beaming.

  He’s glad to see me, but my mother is harder to read. ‘Mum,’ I say with a nod. She smiles, but her lips are thin. Dad asks what I want to drink, then speeds up to the counter, leaving my mother and me sitting in an uneasy silence.

  ‘How are you?’ I ask, at the exact same moment she says, ‘We were talking about Billy.’

  ‘Oh, right. Billy.’ The golden boy. ‘Is he going to make it back for the blessing?’

  The blessing that I’ve managed to push out of my mind completely, but it’s only a couple of months away. Not long until the day I’ll have to sit in church and listen to my mum and dad eulogise about each other. Yuk. It would be great if my brother could be there to suffer along with me.

  She mumbles something about the cost of air travel and I lose interest. If Billy wants to come back he’ll be there; if he doesn’t, he won’t. Billy always does whatever he likes, no responsibilities, not a care in the world.

  I’m not jealous. Much.

  Dad returns with my coffee and a pile of chocolate muffins, which lifts the atmosphere somewhat.

  ‘What did Billy’s text say?’ I ask him through a mouthful of muffin.

  Dad looks at me blankly.

  ‘You were just talking about him with Mum. And I saw you looking at your phone. What did he say?’

  My parents look at each other and something unspoken passes between them. They remind me of Edie and Franklin, but with fewer wrinkles. Funny how it’s sweet in a pair of octogenarians, but in one’s own parents it’s really irritating.

  ‘What?’ I say, putting down my cup. ‘What’s going on?’

  Mum is the first to jump in with an answer. ‘Nothing,’ she laughs, reaching out to pat my arm. ‘You’re in a funny old mood today, Stella.’ But her tone is too upbeat, considering how annoyed she’s been with me lately, and her other hand is twirling furiously at her hair. She’d be a rubbish poker player. My father is looking pointedly out of the window, humming.

  What are they up to? Whatever it is, it doesn’t look like I’m going to get it out of them without the thumbscrews, so I give up and return to the muffins. I’m just tucking in to my third when my dad, who obviously thinks the coast is now clear, speaks up.

  ‘Actually, Stella, there is something we wanted to talk to you about.’

  I nod and raise my eyebrows. Can’t talk. Eating.

  ‘Your mother and I, we were wondering about what’s going to happen when the baby comes along.’ They look at my bump as if half expecting to see the baby’s little head poking out. I give my stomach a reassuring pat and smile radiantly.

  ‘Well, I think what usually happens is, the mother goes into labour, and the baby makes its way down the birth canal, finally exiting via an opening which is located between her–’

  ‘See,’ says my mother, interrupting with a sour look on her face. ‘I told you she couldn’t have a serious conversation about it.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Did I offend your sensibilities?’ I grin at my dad. ‘Bet I didn’t offend yours.’

  He shakes his head, not rising to it. If we were alone now he’d be laughing his stripy socks off.

  ‘What we meant was,’ my dad says, ploughing on regardless, ‘where you will live when the baby comes along. You and the baby can’t live in that bedsit, and you can’t very well share your house with Lipsy and Robert and their baby too. And you won’t be able to work, will you? So, your mum and I, we’ve come up with a plan.’

  I sit back and absorb this. Really, I should tell them to butt out. It’s my business, after all. But I figure I might as well hear them out.

  ‘Go on then,’ I say. ‘What’s your plan?’

  ‘Well, we figured that the best way forward is for us to convert our garage and family room into a self-contained flat for you and the baby. I’ve drawn up some plans, look.’ He pulls a sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolds it and slides it across the table. ‘We’d use the existing utility for the kitchen – your mum doesn’t mind at all, do you, Maggie?’ He looks up at her and she smiles. Reluctantly benign. ‘And here is where I’d put in a little bathroom – proper full size bath for the baby – and you’d be able to fit two small bedrooms in here and a living room. Also,’ he adds, his voice rising with excitement, ‘we would partition off part of the garden here, so you’d even have your own outside space. Really, you’ll be completely self-contained. Don’t you think it’s a great idea?’

  I love my dad. I really do. So I keep my feelings to myself for a moment and smile encouragingly.

  ‘Wow, Dad. You’ve gone to a lot of trouble drawing all this up. You should have been an architect, never mind a builder. It looks amazing.’ This is true. If I were seventeen, and if I could bear to live within a mile of my parents, this would be the perfect pad. But I’m not, am I?

  ‘What do you think of it, Mum?’ I keep my voice light. She shrugs, and I see my dad’s expression tighten.

  ‘She thinks it’s a great idea too, Stella. But she also thinks you won’t go for it.’ He looks at her, a little nervously in my opinion, as if unsure of how much to share. ‘I think it would be good for us,’ he adds. ‘As a family.’

  The bonding effect of close proximity in extended family relationships, as written by my dad, Howard Hill. Marks out of ten: two and a half for effort.

  ‘It’d cost a fortune, though,’ I offer.

  ‘We could borrow on the house. Interest rates are low, we still have a lot of equity, and this will only add value. Granny annexes are all the rage right now. Just think, in years to come, we could move in there ourselves and you could have the main house.’

  I nod my head slowly. I’m trying to imagine that scenario without breaking out into a cold sweat.

  ‘At least,’ he says, jumping in before I can speak, ‘at least say you’ll think about it. OK? Just think about it. Please?’

  ‘OK,’ I tell him, avoiding my mother’s eyes. ‘I’ll think about it. And thank you. Really. It’s a lovely idea, and very, very generous. It really is.’

  He rewards me with a wide grin and an awkward hug. As he reaches for me his hand brushes his phone and the screen lights up. Over his shoulder I can see his text messages, and my eyes scan for Billy’s name. Nothing. But right at the top and highlighted is a text from my daughter. I’m pretty sure this was the message they were reading when I walked in. But why lie about it? I crane my neck to try and read some of the message, but my mother follows my gaze and snatches the phone off the table. She throws it into her handbag, then her hand emerges holding a white and gold card. She scoots the card across the table, an unreadable look in her eye.

  ‘Stella,’ she says, ‘could you just sign this birthday card for Sarah?’

  ‘Sarah?’ I rack my brain but come up empty. Dad moves away and clears his throat.

  ‘You know!’ She wafts at the air impatiently. ‘Your great aunt Alice’s daughter’s cousin. It’s her fiftieth birthday next week and we’re all signing her card.’

  I shrug and reach for the pen. Mum’s hand obscures most of the writing, but I can make out a tacky gold embossed script. I write Love from Stella and add a couple of kisses for good measure. Mum pulls the card away and slips it back into her bag.

  Is it my imagination or is her smile just a tiny bit triumphant?

  Chapter 19

  Three weeks later a new resident moves into Twilight. Her name is Maude, and she is the very epitome of graceful old age. White hair coiled up into a bun with a few wisps curling around her neck; clothes courtesy of Country Casuals: tweed and expensive wool with just the right amount of silk and lace to keep her looking feminine. The staff gathers together in reception whenever we get a newbie, and none of us can take our eyes off her as she strolls in ahead of her possessions, followed
by a hint of Chanel No.5 and three young men carrying designer suitcases. In her arms she carries a furry handbag, and I wonder what make it is. Something expensive, no doubt. While the others whisper and stare, I find myself feeling sorry for Maude. She’s clearly used to better things. While there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with the Twilight Residential Home – we care for our residents incredibly well, in my opinion – it isn’t what you’d call five star luxury. If Maude is used to lunching at Woburn Sands or staying overnight at the Dorchester, she’ll be sorely disappointed with Twilight’s offerings.

  Still, best to make her feel welcome from the outset, soften the blow a little.

  ‘Hi, I’m Stella. You must be Mrs Beresford. Pleased to meet you.’

  She smiles warmly and holds out one hand. ‘Call me Maude,’ she says. Her voice is cultured and soft; her hand is encased in a long grey glove despite the bright May sunshine. The furry bag tucked under her other arm suddenly begins to move. I step back in alarm as the bag unfurls itself and jumps to the floor.

  It’s not a bag. It’s a cat.

  ‘And that,’ says Maude, not missing a beat, ‘is Jackson.’ She turns to her entourage and begins to issue directions. The one nearest me, a blonde guy in his early thirties with wide shoulders and a cheeky smile, pulls a face behind her back. I grin. Then I see Velma eyeballing me, so I hotfoot it back behind the reception desk.

  ‘Stella,’ Velma hisses, ‘that women had a cat.’

  ‘Mmm. She did.’

  ‘How did that happen?’ she demands, glaring at me, then at Jean, then Martha, then back to me again.

  ‘I guess someone forgot to explain the no pets policy to her,’ I say innocently. Velma is the only person allowed to induct new residents; she would have been the first point of contact with Maude Beresford. Therefore it’s her fault entirely, and I enjoy watching her squirm.

  Oh, how we pay for the smallest moments of fun in our working lives.

  ‘Stella,’ she snaps, ‘perhaps you’d like to go and inform Mrs Beresford that she must dispose of her pet this instant. And while you’re at it, I need you to do a full fire safety check. Log each room for extinguishers and fire blankets, then report back to me by lunchtime.’

  She knows this is impossible. There’s no way I can check every room in three hours and carry out all my regular duties. The residents come first with me – and she knows it – so she’s set me up to fail. Again. Never mind giving me the onerous task of upsetting Maude on her first day.

  Velma smiles victoriously; Jean and Martha look on in sympathy. I head off towards the stairs. Might as well get on with it. Besides, I might get another look at the cute guy if I head up to Maude’s room right now. My hormones are all over the place, and I’d quite like to indulge in a bit of harmless flirting with a good-looking guy.

  ‘Stella,’ Velma calls out just as I reach the bottom step. I stop and turn around. She’s leaning on the reception desk with an evil glint in her eye. What now?

  ‘We need to have a meeting later about your appearance,’ she practically shouts across the wide open space of the reception area. ‘You are looking decidedly scruffy lately, and if you don’t mind me saying so, very out of shape. I’ve seen you huffing and puffing all the time. If you’re too unfit to do your job we need to have a chat about it, OK?’ She finishes with a sickly smile and a rueful nod at someone standing behind me. I swing around and come face to face with the cute guy. Great. Time for a cutting comment, something to show her she can’t mess with me, win back a shred of my dignity.

  Time for something clever to pop into my mind … Something … Anything ...

  Velma smiles again and disappears into her office. The guy with the shoulders gives me a troubled glance, then edges around me as though I’m contagious and heads for the exit. My shoulders sink and all the fight ebbs from my body. There was a time when I would have wiped the floor with the Velmas of this world. I think back to Loretta, my arch rival at Smart Homes, and the numerous times we crossed swords. I was a force to be reckoned with back then, with Paul behind me every step of the way.

  Not anymore.

  Seems like I’ve lost more than the love of my life. I’ve lost my ability to stand up for myself too. No more feisty Stella, no more wisecracks. Whenever I crack a joke these days, or try to be clever, I just end up offending someone. There was a time when people thought I was great; a bit flaky maybe, but generally a good person. Now, I’m not so sure. My mum and dad are keeping secrets from me, Lipsy is guarded about something too, and Bonnie and Billy are too far away to really care. And Paul? What does he think of me?

  I’d honestly expected to hear from him by now. Has Sharon told him about the baby? I’d expected a phone call, or at least another angry letter. The Paul I know wouldn’t sit back and do nothing. He’d demand answers, an explanation. He’d want to sort things out. Even if what he wanted to sort out didn’t include getting back together – how could it, after all? – it would be important to him that he made arrangements for the baby’s future. Especially after missing out on Hannah all those years …

  Maybe that’s it. Maybe he is so angry with me for not telling him myself that he can’t bring himself to get in touch.

  I reach the top of the stairs and lean my hand on the rail to catch my breath. Velma’s right about me being out of shape, even if she doesn’t realise the real reason for it. Underneath this extra large tabard my tummy is getting pretty big, and I’m struggling to keep up with the work here. Looking after Phoenix between shifts isn’t getting any easier either, but I’ve put off telling Lipsy she’ll need to find a proper childminder soon. Whenever I hint that I’m finding it a struggle she just laughs and says it’s good practice for me. Which is true, I guess. It’s also true that I may be so worn out by the time my own baby comes along I’ll have to hire in help myself.

  As if in response to this sacrilegious thought, Bump gives me a hefty kick, and I can’t help but smile and place my other hand on my stomach. But then I snatch it away and look around warily. No one in sight. Edie and Franklin seem to think I can keep it to myself for ages yet, but I’m not so sure. And right now, I do not think I could face Velma’s reaction to the news that I’m pregnant. I don’t think I could face it at all.

  Nor can I face telling an old lady who has just moved into her final dwelling place that she must ‘dispose’ of her beloved cat. It was Velma’s mistake, so Velma will just have to deal with it. Besides, if I can’t stand up to the woman face to face, the least I can do is cause a bit of trouble behind her back. I give Bump a surreptitious pat and try to suppress a grin. Then I head off in the direction of the kitchen for a saucer of milk and a tin of tuna.

  This must be Jackson’s lucky day.

  *

  Jackson, it turned out, was perfectly happy to curl up in Maude’s wardrobe on top of a rolled up blanket and spend most of his time in hiding. Sally, who manages the kitchens, agreed to supply Maude with cat food and a litter tray, eager to be part of my plan to hoodwink Velma. Seems I’m not the only member of staff with a low opinion of our esteemed boss.

  After I’d explained Twilight’s no pets rule to Maude, along with my cunning plan to circumvent it, I brought Franklin and Edie in on the secret.

  I could tell instantly that I’d made a mistake. Maude had Franklin under her spell in no time, and Edie was left out in the cold.

  ‘It’s just Franklin’s way,’ I tell Edie as we sit in the TV lounge watching Maude gush to a crowd of admirers. Franklin is acting as introducer and all-round charmer. He hasn’t so much as looked at Edie since we entered the room.

  My shift ended an hour ago, but I decided to stay on a while. After all, what do I have to go home to? Better to stay here amongst friends, cadge a free dinner from Sally, and try to prop up Edie’s rapidly deteriorating facade of unconcern.

  ‘Oh, I’m not bothered about all that,’ she says bravely. ‘Why, Franklin and I are just friends, after all. And Maude seems simply lovely.’

  An
d therein lies the problem. Maude is lovely in every way. Kind, generous, cultured without being condescending. She’s already tamed Violet, and that was no mean feat. Even Bernie has given up his favourite chair for Maude.

  ‘You know, Edie,’ I say, searching for a topic that will draw her attention away, ‘even though I’ve been working here for almost a year, I don’t know very much about you at all. Is it true you worked at Bletchley Park during the war?’

  The old manor house that had been converted into a code breakers’ haven during the Second World War was just down the road, and many of Bletchley’s older residents had worked there years ago, quietly and secretly plugging away to crack the Enigma code. It was Jean who told me about Edie’s past; she also said the older woman refused to talk about it to anyone. I’m curious to see if that reticence extends to me. Edie and I have become quite close, after all. She is like an honorary grandmother to me, and I’ve told her so more than once.

  A ghost of a smile crosses Edie’s face. She takes her time in answering. ‘You know, Stella, I’ve known couples who were married for over thirty years and didn’t know that they both worked at Bletchley Park during the war. It wasn’t until the government declassified wartime information in the seventies that people would talk about it at all. Even then, we still felt bound to the secrets we’d promised to keep.’

  I watch Edie watching Franklin and think about secrets. A secret baby, and now a secret cat. Not really on a par with the importance of Edie’s former career. ‘What did you do there, Edie? Can you tell me about it?’

  She shakes her head. ‘Not really. The thing is, Stella, you keep a secret for too long, it becomes part of yourself. Part of your identity. For years I had no one to tell, no one would have been interested anyway. And now …’ She tails off and looks down at her hands. They are twisted up with arthritis, her knuckles all lumpy and bulbous. I think about Maude’s graceful, bejewelled hands and feel a little hitch in my heart.

  ‘And now?’ I prompt.

  ‘Well, what’s the point in going over it all?’ she says gaily, the twinkle suddenly back in her eye. ‘It’s all water under the bridge, as my mother used to say. I was useful, that’s all that matters. I made a difference. How many people can say that at my age, Stella? It’s important, don’t you think?’