The Happy Family

by Jackie Kabler

  ‘Mum? Go on.’

  She gives a little sigh.

  ‘Well … she was in your ensuite bathroom, banging around in the cupboard you have on the wall. As if she was going through it, you know? I mean, it just seemed odd to me, Beth. You don’t ask her to clean inside cupboards do you, to go through your stuff? And it’s not the first time I’ve seen her behaving oddly in your room. I didn’t mention it, but, well …’

  Her voice tails off.

  ‘What? What do you mean? And are you sure she wasn’t just dusting the bathroom cabinet?’

  Mum’s shaking her head.

  ‘No, she was definitely going through it. And there’ve been other things. I heard her opening drawers in your room last week, on Monday before I’d even met the kids. I was going to tell you but, well … and then on Wednesday, the day we went out for pizza, I was passing your bedroom door and she was in there again, looking through the stuff on your chest of drawers. She didn’t even have her duster with her, so it struck me as strange, you know? To be in there and doing that when she wasn’t even cleaning?’

  I’m staring at her now. Wednesday? That was the night I noticed that my stuff in the bedroom had been moved, wasn’t it? I hadn’t even considered that it might have been Robin. I’d only thought of Barbara, looking for her missing glasses, or Eloise poking about. I frown.

  ‘That’s … that’s weird. Wednesday’s not her day to clean the bedrooms. I’m not sure why she would have been in there …’

  ‘Oh darling, I’m sorry.’ Mum shakes her head vigorously and rolls her eyes.

  ‘It’s probably just your stupid old mother being paranoid. I’m sure it’s all perfectly innocent. Ignore me, honestly. I just worry, you know? A single mother, busy working woman, it’s easy to imagine you being taken advantage of, that’s all. You probably wouldn’t even notice if the odd thing went missing, would you? Too much on your mind all the time. If you think Robin is trustworthy then I have absolute faith in your judgement. I shouldn’t even have mentioned it. Don’t worry at all.’

  But I am worried now. It does sound like odd behaviour, and after all, it’s not the first time, is it? And maybe Mum’s right. Maybe I wouldn’t notice if little things went missing here and there. I’m always so preoccupied, especially at the moment …

  ‘Mum, look, thanks for telling me. I’m sure everything is fine, but I’ll keep an eye on her, and on my things. I will.’

  She nods and smiles, and I take a deep breath.

  Now. I need to ask her now.

  ‘Mum, while we’re chatting, this is a bit random but, well, I was just wondering … did you … did you keep in touch with anyone from Bristol after you left? Anyone at all?’

  She looks surprised.

  ‘No. Nobody at all. I just wanted a clean break, I suppose. Why, love?’

  ‘I was just wondering if … well, if you ever tried to keep up with what I was doing, how I was …’

  There’s a lump in my throat suddenly and I swallow hard, not looking at her now, my eyes fixed on my hands which are clenched together so tightly the knuckles are white.

  ‘You know, how I was doing at school or … anything else. If you knew what … what I was up to, all those years …’

  There’s a little gasp and for a few seconds all I can hear is my own heartbeat, loud and frantic, and then I realise she’s speaking in a sort of strangled whisper.

  ‘Oh, Beth. I’m so, so sorry.’

  I look up and I see that she’s crying, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, making streaks in her foundation.

  ‘I didn’t. I wish I could tell you something different … I’m so sorry. So very, very sorry.’

  She’s shaking her head now and reaching for my hands, and I let her pull me into her arms. I can smell her light, floral perfume and I’m burying my face in the softness of her jumper and I’m crying too. I’m crying for all those lost years, for the little girl without a mother, for the mother who was so unhappy that she did the unthinkable and walked away and has never forgiven herself. But I’m crying with relief too, I realise, because she doesn’t know, does she? She doesn’t know about Lucy and what happened; she doesn’t know about what I did. She doesn’t know because she walked away and she didn’t look back. And for once, just this once, that’s a good thing. That’s a really, really good thing because now I can stop worrying and forget about it. She doesn’t know.

  We sit there, wrapped in each other, for a long time. Eventually we pull ourselves together and, for some strange reason, start to laugh. And that’s it … We spend the rest of the evening drinking wine and tittering about silly little things until we’re both worn out. At ten we head for bed, and I run a deep, hot bath, tipping in a generous dollop of lavender bath gel, and then peel my clothes off, dropping them carelessly on the bathroom floor, and groaning softly as I sink into the fragrant bubbles.

  I soap my body slowly, massaging my legs and stomach, arms and breasts, enjoying the sensation of the warm water on my skin and feeling more relaxed than I have in weeks. Finally, I lie back and close my eyes, breathing deeply. Bliss. I’m almost asleep when I remember what Mum said about Robin and my bathroom cabinet. I open my eyes again and squint up at it. It’s closed now, but I didn’t notice anything out of place when I took the bath gel out.

  I’m sure she was just dusting it. Robin wouldn’t steal from me, would she? And surely I’d notice if things were going missing? Mum’s just looking out for me, that’s all. Trying to make up for lost time. I rather like it. It’s kind of sweet.

  I smile and forget about it, then reluctantly clamber out of the bath and head for bed.

  Chapter 18

  It’s Saturday again, thank goodness. It’s been a funny old week, my days madly busy at work and my head all over the place. I misplaced my keys again on Wednesday, and had to get another cab to work. Mum called me at lunchtime to say she’d found them outside on the patio table which puzzled me because I had absolutely no recollection of going out into the garden, not that morning or the previous evening. I tried to put it out of my mind, vowing to put my keys in a safe place from now on, but it’s still worrying me now. I really need to get my head together, and being so tired isn’t helping; I seem to have lost the ability to sleep properly in recent days and now my nights are replete with dreams. I don’t remember the details, but despite that I know that most of them are about Lucy. I know just by looking at the sheets twisted around my legs and by the way I wake with my jaw clenched so tightly it hurts for hours.

  Nightmares, not dreams.

  But last night was, for the first time this week, OK. I’ve slept pretty well, and woken feeling alert and rested. I can hear chatter downstairs – they’re all up, already? It’s only eight o’clock – and when I come downstairs, hair still damp from the shower, the kids are bouncing around the kitchen with excitement.

  ‘Grandma says the trampoline’s arriving this morning!’ shrieks Finley, and flings himself at my right leg, wrapping his arms around it. He’s wearing his Spiderman pyjama top with a pair of jeans, his feet are bare, and his hair is a tousled mess.

  ‘Is it? Great!’ I say and bend down to give him a hug.

  Damn. I’d forgotten about that.

  Mum announced on Thursday that she’d ordered a trampoline for the back garden – ‘A little something for my grandchildren to remember me by when I eventually have to go home. You don’t mind, do you, love? It’ll be SO much fun!’ – and Finley and Eloise immediately went into such paroxysms of delight that I didn’t have the heart to say that actually, the garden wasn’t really big enough and that I quite liked the little lawn space that we had.

  Oh well. If it makes them happy.

  Mum’s sipping coffee, dressed in navy joggers and a blue cardigan embroidered with little red flowers. She smiles indulgently at Finley and then winks at me.

  ‘You’ll need to be properly dressed to jump on the trampoline, darling,’ she says. ‘Can’t be going out there in half your pyjamas, can you? Y
ou’ll need a jumper, socks, and trainers. And neatly brushed hair too. Think you can do that?’

  ‘YESSS!’ He lets go of my leg and tears from the room, and I grin at my mother.

  ‘Nice work,’ I say. ‘Eloise, are you excited too?’

  She’s sitting opposite Mum, a book propped up against the milk jug in front of her.

  ‘Yep,’ she says, through a mouthful of toast. She swallows and looks up at me.

  ‘I’ve been watching trampolining videos on YouTube. I’m going to learn tricks. Front flips, back flips, somersaults …’

  ‘OK, steady on! Just master jumping up and down safely first, please, before you start all the fancy stuff,’ I say, and she rolls her eyes and goes back to her book.

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ she mutters, but she’s smiling.

  I shake my head and exchange glances with Mum, who looks highly amused.

  ‘Anyway,’ I say, as I flick the kettle on. ‘Did you say it’ll need some assembly? I’ll try and get it done before I go and visit Dad at lunchtime. Eloise, you and Finley are coming with me today, OK? Just for an hour. The trampoline will still be here when you get back.’

  My daughter looks up with a frown, then her face clears and she nods.

  ‘OK. Poor Grandad. I’m glad he’s home now.’

  ‘Good girl. So am I.’

  The hospital discharged him on Thursday morning, and he’s back at Holly Tree, to my great relief. He looked so much better when I saw him yesterday. His speech is improving already and he has a little colour back in his cheeks.

  He’ll be back in the bar with Billy in no time, I think, as I pop a teabag in a mug. Bless him.

  ‘… only a bit of assembly,’ Mum’s saying. ‘A few screws here and there, I think. Don’t think it will take long. I can help, if you like?’

  ‘No, don’t worry,’ I say. ‘I quite like doing stuff like that. You can keep an eye on these two troublemakers while I sort it. At least the weather looks nice.’

  ‘Yes, I was just thinking that. It’s lovely. I might wander out for a quick walk in a bit, if you don’t mind?’

  ‘Go for it.’

  I smile. I love how she seems to be feeling so at home here now, how she’s slotted so effortlessly into our little family set up. The kids are with me until this evening, when Jacob and Crystal are planning to take them to the cinema and then to theirs until Monday, and although it’s going to be a busy day, I suddenly feel a rush of contentment. OK, so I’m still sad, hurt, and confused by Brenda and Barbara’s behaviour. But otherwise, everything’s pretty good, isn’t it? Dad being so much better, a weekend at home, the sun shining, no more sightings of bloody Mike – or no more imagined sightings, I should probably say … Even the sodding trampoline will probably turn out to be a great addition to the garden, in reality. It’ll be fun to see Finley and Eloise bouncing up and down out there, and much better for them than being glued to their screens, if I can manage to put it together without too much drama.

  When it arrives mid-morning though, it actually needs a little more assembly than I thought. By lunchtime, I’m only about halfway there; one of the legs is almost impossible to attach. I finally do it, but I break two nails in the process and swear so loudly that Mum, who’s popped out to drink a cup of tea in the garden after her walk, quickly ushers an impatiently hovering Finley indoors.

  ‘Sorry!’ I mouth, and she winks and waves a hand.

  When we come back from seeing Dad (looking even better today, and so delighted to see his grandchildren), I take a deep breath, leave the kids to watch a film with Mum, and head back out into the garden. It’s a beautiful afternoon. The daffodils along the fence are bobbing their golden heads in the gentle breeze and a bird is singing a sweet warbling tune somewhere nearby. I attack the damn trampoline with renewed gusto, but when I nip back into the house for a glass of water and a wee and then go back out again I can’t find the spring puller – the tool I’ve been using to attach the jump mat to the metal outer rings – anywhere.

  ‘Where the hell are you?’ I mutter, as I search the lawn, and then, in growing frustration, the entire garden – although I can’t imagine the stupid thing can have made its own way onto the patio or into one of the flowerbeds.

  Did I bring it inside with me then?

  I search the kitchen and the downstairs loo too, but no joy, so I go back out and scour the entire garden a second time.

  Come on, things don’t just disappear, I think. Unless … could a cat or a fox or something have taken it and run off with it while I was indoors?

  It doesn’t seem very likely but it’s absolutely nowhere to be seen and I can’t finish the job without it. Infuriated, I give up and, bracing myself, go and face the wrath of Finley and Eloise, who’ve been poking their heads out of the patio doors every ten minutes to check progress.

  ‘I’ll have to go and get another one at B&Q in the morning,’ I say. ‘I haven’t got the energy to go now and your dad will be here soon anyway to pick you up. I’m so sorry, guys.’

  The disappointment on their faces is piteous.

  ‘How on earth can it just disappear, Mum? That doesn’t even make sense,’ says Eloise.

  She’s right, it doesn’t.

  ‘I know, darling. Honestly, I don’t know what’s wrong with me at the moment. But I’ll get it finished tomorrow, I promise. It’ll be here waiting for you when you get in from school on Monday. Oh Finley, don’t cry, come here.’

  His little face has crumpled and I wrap my arms around him.

  ‘I was just soooooo looking forward to it today,’ he sobs, and I feel even worse. Mum, who’s been searching the kitchen again just in case, grimaces at me then comes over and squeezes Finley’s shoulders.

  ‘These things happen, sweetheart,’ she says soothingly. ‘And just think, it’ll be something to look forward to on Monday, won’t it? They can try it straight after school, can’t they, Beth? Even before homework?’

  I nod gratefully. How does she always seem to know exactly what to say?

  ‘Even before homework,’ I say, and Finley looks up at me, his cheeks tearstained but a little smile playing on his lips now.

  ‘But we always have to do homework first,’ he says.

  ‘Not on Monday,’ I say, and the smile broadens to a grin.

  ‘YAY!’ he shouts, and leaps from my arms. Eloise grins too.

  ‘Nice one, Mum,’ she says.

  Yes, nice one, Mum, I think, and give her a discreet thumbs-up. She returns the gesture and, calm and harmony restored, the rest of the afternoon passes uneventfully. After Jacob and Crystal have arrived and departed, kids on board, I tell Mum I’m going to have a bath and head upstairs. As I sink into the warm bubbles I find myself thinking, for some unknown reason, about Nadia. I popped over to see her again yesterday, with a cupcake from the box Lorraine had brought in to celebrate her birthday. We all met up in the staffroom at the end of morning surgery to toast her with tea and cake, although Deborah didn’t join us, saying she had too much to do. She’s definitely still acting oddly and I really need to find out why, but I’ve hardly seen her this week, apart from five minutes on Tuesday morning when I found her and Ruth chatting in the staffroom and finally told them what had happened with Brenda and Barbara.

  They were gratifyingly horrified. Ruth pulled me into a bear hug and told me that if that’s how they really feel, I’m better off without them.

  ‘I mean, I’m shocked because they’ve always been so lovely, you know? They always seemed so fond of you, and of the kids too, Beth. I don’t get it. But that’s a really nasty thing to say. Your mum being back “takes the pressure off them”? Sod them. We’d never treat you like that.’

  I felt better immediately and was about to ask Deborah if everything was OK with her when Ruth shrieked at us to ‘LOOK at the time!’ and they both ran from the room, Ruth to open the front door to let the patients in and Deborah to finish setting up her consulting room for the morning session. Since then, I’ve barely laid eyes
on her, and every time I’ve swung past reception Ruth’s either been talking to a patient or on the phone so I haven’t had a chance to ask her if she knows what’s going on either. As for Brenda and Barbara, I think they must be avoiding me; I haven’t laid eyes on either of them all week, not even from a distance.

  ‘A cupcake for you. They’re yummy,’ I said, as I crouched down to put the bag next to Nadia’s suitcase. She was bundled up in her big padded jacket as usual; she had on a different hat this time, dark green with a sparkly metallic thread running through it. Her long grey hair was tied back, an untidy ponytail protruding from under the hat and tucked into the collar of her jacket.

  ‘It’s salted caramel. Do you like that? Love your hat, by the way.’

  She nodded and smiled.

  ‘Thanks. And yes, any cake is fine by me. How are you, Beth? And …’

  She hesitated then coughed a dry hacking cough and I watched her anxiously.

  Is she ill? I hope not …

  ‘I met your mother the other day. Just briefly. She said she was meeting you for lunch.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course! She said she’d stopped to say hello. That’s nice,’ I said.

  She didn’t reply, just gave a small nod, so I kept chatting, telling her that my dad had been ill but was out of hospital now, and about how busy work had been, and about the trampoline Mum had bought for Eloise and Finley. She looked at me intently as I talked, her eyes looking greener than I remembered them being in the afternoon sunlight. I could see the sadness in them and my heart twisted.

  ‘How old are they? Your children?’ she asked, then raised a finger and rubbed at a little sore on her top lip. Her hand was shaking a little and for some reason I suddenly wanted to cry.

  ‘Eloise is ten and Finley’s seven,’ I said. ‘I split up with their dad a while back but it’s all good; we’re still friends.’

  She nodded slowly and I glanced at my watch. I needed to get back.

  ‘I have to go but I hope you enjoy the cake. And let me know if you need any more books when you’ve finished those, won’t you?’