Her appointment clashed with the end of the school day, but her sister Karen had offered to cash in a lieu day she was owed by the building society to collect the children for her. This was after Anita had lied and said the appointment was about getting a specialist referral for Cara – Karen was only too eager to help because hers was the loudest voice demanding that Cara’s emotional outbursts could not go unchecked for much longer.
There was a calendar hanging on the wall by the door of the waiting room and Anita felt her pulse quicken as the month of June loomed at her. It was Cara’s ninth birthday in two weeks and she had done nothing to plan for the party she had promised her other than issue the invitations. Cara wanted it Barbie themed, predominately to show off the Golden Dream Motor Home she’d been given for Christmas and which none of her friends had yet. Anita had tried to explain that bragging and one-upmanship were not attractive personality traits, but, as always, it fell on deaf ears. Not Cara’s – Paul’s. He wanted both children to have their hearts’ desires, because nothing made him happier than knowing his children were happy, even if that happiness was almost always bought. He wasn’t even going to be there for the party, as his boss had scheduled a trip away that clashed with it and Paul claimed it couldn’t be changed and nor could anyone else go in his place. Cara didn’t know yet and Anita was dreading telling her.
Maybe she could get away with icing the cake pink and chucking up a few pink balloons, she mused to herself. It wasn’t the branded decor Cara was demanding, but it might suffice.
Anita turned back to the magazines and flipped through the pile, looking for inspiration. She found it in another issue of Family Circle, in a feature entitled Easy Children’s Party Food. Anita waited until the elderly man was called for his appointment, then slipped the magazine into her handbag. The young mum opposite didn’t notice, she was as exhausted as her child was feverish, her eyelids half shut in a semi-doze.
Forty minutes later, after the woman and toddler were seen, Anita was called into Dr Stephens’ office. He didn’t look up as she entered and she slipped into the seat next to his desk without waiting to be offered it.
She had been a patient of Dr Stephens since birth. He knew everything there was to know about her, from a medical point of view, and also about Paul, Cara and Matty, because they too were his patients. His intimate knowledge of her family put an awkward spin on the conversation they were about to have, but at least Anita had the Hippocratic oath on her side.
Dr Stephens looked up and smiled. His wiry grey hair was particularly flyaway today, as were the bushy eyebrows growing up his forehead to meet it. His eyes were sharp, though, and bored into her as he asked what was the reason for today’s visit.
Anita cleared her throat. ‘I’d like to be referred for sterilisation, please.’
‘I see,’ he replied, the beginnings of a frown rippling his forehead.
‘I don’t want any more children, and nor do I want to rely on contraception for however many years until my menopause, which could be at least fifteen. I’ve given it a great deal of thought and I know this is the right course of action for me to take.’ The words she had rehearsed over and over in her mind sounded stilted as Anita said them aloud, but she did not pause or falter as she recounted them. ‘Sterilisation feels to me to be the most effective solution to my situation.’
‘Yours and your husband’s situation, you mean.’
Anita’s eyes narrowed. ‘No, this is up to me.’
‘Female sterilisation is a very invasive procedure, Mrs Belling, whereas a vasectomy, while painful in recovery, is far more straightforward,’ said the GP solemnly. ‘If you really don’t want any more children and there is no contraception you will consider using long-term, I suggest your husband comes and sees me about having the snip.’
Anita knew Paul would never agree to that in a million years – it was because of his insistence that they try for a third child that she wanted the operation. Yet it would be irresponsible to bring another child into a marriage she dreamt of escaping and if she were to fall pregnant accidentally, Paul would expect her to keep it. She could not take that risk.
‘This is about me, not Paul,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears. ‘At least refer me to a surgeon so I can find out the full implications of being sterilised. That’s all I’m asking.’
The GP regarded her for a moment, then nodded. ‘Fine. I shall put in for a referral.’
Anita quietly exhaled with relief. ‘Thank you.’
‘Do you wish to continue the pill in the meantime? I see your prescription is due.’
Anita nodded fervently. ‘I do.’
After a few more questions about her general health, the doctor took her blood pressure. She sat silently as he did so, not wishing to invite further discussion. A few minutes later, prescription in hand, she rose to her feet and thanked the doctor for his time.
‘My pleasure,’ he answered. ‘The hospital will contact you directly with an appointment time.’
She gave thanks again, then quickly left his consultation room. So eager was she to escape that she didn’t pay attention to the next patient hovering by the reception desk. It was only when the receptionist said ‘Mrs Lawler?’ to catch the woman’s attention that Anita realised she was being stared at. As her gaze met the woman’s, she quailed, but forced out a ‘Hello, how are you?’ for politeness.
Anita’s former employer, Nina Lawler, shook her head in disgust. ‘Don’t talk to me like we’re friends.’
The receptionist’s eyes widened as her gaze darted between them.
‘I – I … I should go,’ Anita mumbled, her cheeks flaming.
‘Yes, you should. And don’t you dare think about phoning me again for your last month’s pay,’ Nina spat. ‘You’re damn lucky I didn’t report you to the police for what you did.’
‘I didn’t do anything illegal,’ said Anita quietly.
‘You betrayed my trust!’
Nina’s face mottled as she spoke. A decade older than Anita, she was an impeccable dresser, as evidenced by the pure white, drop-waist linen dress and Chanel-logoed ballet flats she was wearing, but the anger coming off her in waves made her appear unkempt.
‘I let you into my home, put my trust in you, and you took advantage of that. Have you told your husband what I caught you doing?’ Anita flinched at the question. ‘No, I thought not. Well, unless you want him to find out, you stay far away from my family and me. If I catch you anywhere near my home, I will tell your husband what a nasty, conniving bitch you are.’
Anita knew it wasn’t an empty threat – this wasn’t even the angriest Nina had been with her. Their exchange when Nina had thrown Anita out of her house had been blisteringly ugly. Afterwards, Anita had told Paul she’d resigned from working for the Lawlers because she was being overloaded with duties beyond the job description of housekeeper and she wanted to look for a new position. Were he to find out the truth, he would almost certainly leave her and try to take the children and she simply could not allow that to happen. Their marriage might be flagging, but if it was to end, she wanted it to be on her terms.
‘I’ll stay away,’ she said. ‘I promise.’
Really she wanted to defend herself against the slur – that what Nina caught her doing wasn’t as bad as it appeared and definitely didn’t warrant the police being called and had Nina calmed down long enough to listen, she would’ve seen that – but she was fearful of inflaming the situation, not to mention the receptionist was still listening to their every word.
Nina’s eyes drilled into hers. ‘Good, because I don’t ever want to see you again.’
Chapter Forty-Three
Anita
When Anita let herself into Karen’s house through the back door, she could hear yelling coming from the front room – the kids squabbling over which television programme to watch by the sounds of it. The next second, she heard her sister’s voice rise above the yells.
‘Cara, what have I told you about hit
ting the boys? Give me the remote control now.’
An all-too familiar, high-pitched petulant whine echoed through the downstairs and Anita fought the urge to put her hands over her ears to block it out. It had taken her the entire walk home from town to finally stop trembling after her confrontation with Nina Lawler and she had no desire to enter into a new fray with her daughter.
She put her bag down on the side, making sure it was tightly zipped so the pill packets from the chemist were hidden, and filled the kettle with fresh water.
Karen appeared in the kitchen a moment later, looking harried.
‘Bloody kids,’ she said. ‘They bickered all the way home and they’re still at it. They were kept in at break time because of the rain and now they’re like caged animals.’
‘What was Cara doing?’
Karen grimaced. ‘The usual.’
‘I hope you made her say sorry.’
‘I did.’ A pause. ‘What did Dr Stephens say?’
Anita busied herself, taking two mugs off the wooden tree on the counter, then reached in the cupboard above her head for the teabags. She and Karen treated each other’s homes like their own and always helped themselves without asking.
‘Same as before – be patient, she’ll grow out of it.’ Anita could almost hear her sister frowning behind her and dared not turn round.
‘That’s not helpful. Her behaviour’s getting worse, not better.’
‘Maybe she needs to reach peak-Chucky before it starts improving,’ said Anita airily.
‘It’s not a joke, Neet.’
‘I know it’s not, but you were the one who let Lisa watch that film.’
‘She found it funny,’ said Karen defensively. ‘And stop changing the subject. You need to do something about Cara because it’s not only Matty she’s lashing out at. She just walloped Ryan on the head with the remote.’
Anita turned to face her sister. ‘I’m not trying to make light of it. I know it’s bad. But we’re trying our best with her.’
‘Can’t Dr Stephens give her something?’
‘She’s not sick and there’s nothing wrong with her,’ Anita replied, a tightness creeping into her tone. Their GP saying there was no obvious behavioural disorder or learning difficulties causing Cara to misbehave was a topic she and her sister had already covered many times.
‘These outbursts are happening too often to be normal, though.’
‘Dr Stephens said he thinks it’s a reaction to Paul being away so much. She’s playing up for attention.’ The GP had said that about Cara, just not during today’s appointment.
Karen nudged her sister to one side to take over making the tea.
‘There’s a big difference between playing up and being a right madam,’ she sniped.
Any other mum might feel compelled to defend their child from name-calling, but Anita was so worn down by Cara’s antics that she didn’t have the energy. And in this instance the cap fitted.
‘Is Lisa home yet?’ she asked. ‘I want to ask a favour.’
Karen glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. ‘She should be back in the next half-hour, unless she’s been kept behind for something.’
‘Detention?’
‘No, play rehearsals. Although she keeps threatening to pull out.’
‘Why? She loves performing. Aren’t they doing Blood Brothers?’
Karen gave a wry smile. ‘You know what she’s like at the moment. She’s decided it’s not cool.’
Lisa was nearly fourteen, the product of a disastrous relationship Karen had when she was only nineteen herself. It was the only time in the sisters’ lives where they weren’t close despite both still living at home: Anita, the older by eighteen months, couldn’t identify with Karen’s single-mum status and struggled to find common ground with the sleepless nights and endless feeds. It was only when she met Paul, and Karen met Gary, that they regained their pre-Lisa closeness.
‘She’s taken down all her PJ and Duncan posters,’ Karen confided.
‘Seriously?’ Anita laughed. ‘But she loves them.’
‘Not any more; it’s all Kurt and Courtney now.’
‘Who?’
Karen rolled her eyes. ‘Kurt Cobain. You know, that singer who shot himself a few months ago?’
Anita shrugged. She knew Nirvana’s music and had read about the suicide, but that was as far as her interest went.
‘Lisa’s become obsessed with him and his wife Courtney Love now he’s dead. She wants to throw away all her clothes and buy slip dresses to wear with Doc Martens.’
‘What’s Gary’s reaction to that?’
‘Guess. He still hasn’t got over her outgrowing My Little Pony.’
Anita laughed. She had always admired Gary for the way he had treated Lisa as his own from the moment he and Karen became a couple. Lisa was four at the time and her father a nonentity – a married man, he chose to stay with his own family and paid Karen a nominal amount each month for the daughter he never once met. Gary had slipped seamlessly into the role of father figure and Lisa quickly took to calling him Dad. Recently, however, friction had begun to build between stepfather and stepdaughter, and more than once Lisa had thrown in Gary’s face that he wasn’t her real father and couldn’t tell her what to do. Naturally, he was hurt, but his reaction had been to clamp down even harder with rules, making their household at times as fraught as Anita and Paul’s.
‘Anyhow, what do you want to ask her?’
‘I need a babysitter for Friday. I thought she might fancy the extra pocket money. If that’s okay with you?’
‘She already babysits Ryan, so she’s old enough. What about Daisy, though?’
‘She can’t make it.’
‘Can’t or won’t?’
Anita accepted the mug of tea her sister was handing her.
‘Won’t.’
‘Because of Matty breaking his wrist?’
Anita nodded as she blew on the surface of the scalding liquid. ‘We told her it was an accident and not her fault, but she still felt responsible and said it didn’t feel right to keep babysitting if she couldn’t keep the kids safe.’
‘Keep Matty safe,’ Karen corrected.
Anita was firm. ‘It was an accident.’
‘Well, I’m sure Lisa will be happy for the money. Where are you off out?’
‘Remember when I temped for a time at that office in Charlton Street? I bumped into one of the girls who worked there and we got chatting and she suggested meeting for a drink.’
Karen frowned. ‘That was ages ago you worked there.’
‘I know, but I was there for a year and always got on well with her. I don’t get to go out much, with Paul always away, so it’s nice to be asked.’
‘You don’t need to go out with some stranger. You could come out with us.’
Anita detected a hint of jealousy in her sister’s reply and was irritated by it. ‘Much as I enjoy a night at the Fleece with you and Gary, it’ll be nice to go somewhere else for a change.’
‘Where are you going?’
Anita named a newly opened wine bar on the other side of town.
‘Bit of a trek isn’t it? The cab’ll cost you.’
‘Paul’s paying. He feels bad he won’t be back until Saturday evening.’
‘Lucky you.’ Karen’s smile didn’t quite meet her eyes and Anita knew why. The disparity in their family incomes was a topic she and her sister studiously avoided. Gary was currently working as a warehouse operative, his third career in eight years. His inability to stick to one thing affected his earning potential and it meant Karen also needed to work full-time to keep their heads above water. Usually, it was Anita who collected Ryan from school and took him back to theirs; without her sister’s help with wraparound childcare, Karen would be limited to the part-time roles that Anita took on for pin money and they couldn’t survive if she did that.
‘Ryan could stay at ours too, if you were getting Lisa to mind him while you went out.’
�
��He’s already going to Gary’s mum’s for the night. Lisa doesn’t like going any more, she says it’s boooor-ing.’
Anita grinned at her sister’s mimicry, but the smile quickly slipped from her face when there was another yell from the front room, followed by the sound of one of the boys bursting into wracking sobs.
‘I’ll go,’ she said, setting down her mug.
She found Cara perched on the sofa, remote control tightly clutched in both hands, brown bobbed hair ruffled from the fight that had obviously just ended, a picture of feigned innocence. Ryan was sitting on the floor with his face buried in his palms as he cried, while Matty crouched next to him, patting him gently on the back.
‘What happened?’ Anita directed this at Matty, not Cara. She didn’t trust her daughter to be honest.
‘She hit Ryan because he wanted to turn over.’
Anita glared at Cara and held her hand out. ‘Give me the remote.’
‘No.’
‘Pass it here.’
‘No.’
‘Cara, I’m warning you. Give it to me now or I will take you home and you can go to bed without any tea.’
Reluctantly, Cara held the remote out. But just as Anita’s fingers reached to grab it, she let it fall to the laminate floor. The back burst open and the batteries toppled out like spent bullets.
‘For crying out loud––’
Her tirade was stunted by Matty tugging at her dress. ‘Mummy, Ryan’s hurt.’
She looked down at her nephew and let out a cry of shock. He had taken his hands away from his face and his palms were covered in blood, as were his nose and chin.
‘Christ, Cara, I think you’ve broken his nose!’
But Cara wasn’t listening. Her eyes were trained firmly on the television set, on the programme she wanted to watch.
Chapter Forty-Four
Shadow of a Doubt Page 18
