by Liz Davies
With a mutter and a frown, Brett threw himself on the sofa and buried his nose in the paper. Maybe all the cheating, lying, assaults and thefts in the news would cheer him up.
Huh!
Chapter 10
Monday didn’t start off particularly well, what with Kate having been awake half the night (this seemed to be becoming an issue – apparently it was the perimenopause), then, as a result, sleeping through the alarm. Which had Brett moaning that he was late for work because she hadn’t woken him up.
Since when had it become her responsibility to wake him up? He was a grown man, with an alarm on his phone, and opposable thumbs. Surely he was capable of ensuring he was awake in plenty of time to get ready for work without having to rely on her?
Clearly not.
She thrust a pack of hastily made and not-particularly-edible-looking sandwiches into his hand, and practically pushed him out of the door into the darkness of a late December morning.
It was supposed to be the longest night soon, Kate thought, as she began to get ready for work, although she had a sneaking suspicion that the following few days were going to feel twice as long as they actually were. Three times, as long, maybe.
She watched her husband unlock his car and get into it, wondering what had happened to the days when he’d give her a kiss before he left. He always used to, without fail. Until one day, he’d stopped doing it. She hadn’t noticed at first, and couldn’t honestly point to a day and say, “there, that was it – that was the day my husband stopped kissing me goodbye in the morning”; the kisses had simply trailed off. Maybe she’d been too busy sorting the children out, had been too preoccupied with the routine of chivvying her offspring into getting out of the door with food in their tummies, clothes on the their backs, and all the necessary bits and pieces to get them through their day, to notice that she hadn’t been kissed on a particular day. Then one day must have become two, and two had developed into three, until there came a point where Kate couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed her goodbye.
He was still the man she’d married. A little paunchier around the middle, but she could hardly talk. Three children and no time to oneself, didn’t encourage a pin-up body. Some days she was grateful to have brushed her hair. His was receding a little, but not so as you’d notice, and he’d collected a few lines around his eyes. Not classically handsome (no chiselled jaw or six-pack), Brett was quietly pleasant to look at. His face wouldn’t be the first man a woman would look at if she walked into a bar, but when she did see him, her eyes would be drawn to him again and again. At least, that’s what it had been like for Kate, some twenty-odd years ago. She wondered if it would be the same now, were she to meet him for the first time.
Damn, look at the time. She’d better get a move on, and not stand in the doorstep staring at the space where Brett’s car had sat a few moments ago. She couldn’t remember if she’d waved him off or not. She suspected she hadn’t.
Going back inside, she closed the door gently, not wanting to wake her slumbering offspring. The reason was purely selfish and had nothing to do with letting them have their beauty sleep. Although she hated leaving the kids alone every day during the holidays, she couldn’t face their combined whining, so a blissful non-school morning without it would be wonderful.
There was a time, and not all that long ago either, when she used to force them to get out of bed, made them eat breakfast, gathered everything they could possibly need or want for the day, and bundled them off to the childminders, despite Ellis’s vehement protests that she was old enough to take care of herself.
Then there came a period of allowing them to stay in the house, with supervision. Kate might only be in work for six hours, but children could get up to a considerable amount of mischief in that time, despite her employing a baby-sitter in the form of one of the young mums in the village who needed a bit of extra money. Kate often slipped home during her lunch break to make sure they hadn’t set fire to the house or had hung one of their number by their ankles from the bannister, because one day she’d caught the girls just about to string Sam up, and had rescued him in the nick of time. The mum had preferred spending time on Snapchat to watching the children, and Kate had very nearly given up work altogether at that point, to stay at home to look after them.
Rather unfairly, now that Ellis was seventeen and Kate worked slightly longer hours, Kate relied on her to keep the other two in check. She was only a few minutes’ drive away, and Mrs Pemberton, the middle-aged lady who lived next door along with seven cats and a husband no one ever saw and who Kate wasn’t entirely sure existed, popped in now and again to check on them.
Today Ellis was going into town to do some Christmas shopping, Portia was going riding and would be at the stables all day, and Sam was going ice-skating. One of his friend’s mothers was taking three of them plus her own to Telford ice-rink. All Kate hoped was that no one broke anything.
She stuck her head around each child’s bedroom door before she left and hoped that with the three of them out all day, the house might remain relatively clean and tidy. She wouldn’t get a chance to dash home before she picked her mother up from Worcester station, which entailed a drive into the centre of the city at the start of rush hour and back out again. She was having to leave work early as it was.
She thought she’d done well to get into work on time, and she was in the middle of congratulating herself when she tripped over a pair of legs jutting out of the shop doorway and fell flat on her face.
‘You alright, love?’ a gruff male voice asked.
Kate raised her head to see a pair of stained trousers with a soiled blanket tucked around them.
‘Ron. Hi.’
‘’Ello. Got any change?’
As a matter of fact, she didn’t, but she did have a hot cup of tea, and some cheese and chutney sandwiches she could give him. He looked like he could do with a new pair of trousers, too, and a fresh blanket.
She pushed herself to her knees and slowly got to her feet. Thankfully, it hadn’t rained last night, but her jeans were damp and there was dirt daubed down the length of them.
‘You really shouldn’t be lying there,’ she said to him
‘Sorry. Did you hurt yourself?’
‘I’m fine. I’m not saying you can’t use this doorway, because you can. Doris doesn’t mind. What I’m saying is, you should have gone to the shelter. It’s too cold for you to be outside this time of year.’
Ron gave her a blank look. Kate had lost count of the number of times she’d suggested him going to the shelter, but as far as she knew he’d never done so.
Hang on, why was he sprawled out in the shop doorway at this time in the morning, anyway? The charity shop should have opened half an hour ago.
‘Where’s Doris?’ Kate asked, aiming the question at no one in particular.
‘Don’t know.’
Feeling a little uneasy, Kate fished her keys out of her bag and unlocked the door. ‘Wait there for a moment,’ she said to Ron, and she stepped inside hurrying to the rear to flick the lights on.
No sign of Doris.
Kate got her phone out.
Ah, Doris had sent her a message; she was sorry, but she thought she was coming down with the flu, and could Kate man the fort?
Kate groaned. Not today, please not today. Bang went her hope of getting away early. She’d have to call her mother and tell her she’d have to take a taxi. But first, there was Ron to see to. Not only did she feel immensely sorry for him, but he was no good for business. People didn’t like having to step around a homeless person to buy a pack of charity Christmas cards, and although Kate herself didn’t mind him being there, Head Office did.
She invited him in to choose a pair of trousers, while she put the kettle on to boil and dug out a clean blanket to give him. When he was done and she’d sent him on his way with a mug of tea and her lunch, she aired the shop out (bless him, he couldn’t help it, but he did whiff a bit), then she spent the next hour o
r so putting fresh stock on the rails while serving customers.
Later, she texted Doris to say she hoped she felt better soon, phoned each of her children to make sure they were out of bed and doing whatever it was they were supposed to be doing today, and tried to call her mother. No answer. Kate wasn’t surprised.
Despite Beverley and Helen being roughly the same age, Helen had a far greater grasp on technology than Beverley. Helen used Facebook, had an email address, and thought internet shopping was a new sport. Beverley turned her mobile off to save the battery and complained bitterly when no one called her as a result.
Which is exactly what her mother would do later, when Kate failed to show up at the station.
She’d turn her phone on then, quick enough.
Kate shuddered. She wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.
Chapter 11
‘Kate? Kate? Where are you? I’ve been waiting for ages, and Pepe, the little love, is shivering.’
‘Mum?’ Kate whispered into the phone because she had a shop full of customers and she didn’t want them all to overhear her conversation.
‘Who else would it be? Where are you? It’s seven minutes past four.’
‘I’m stuck in work. I did try to call but your phone wasn’t switched on. Can you get a taxi?’
‘No, I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘I can’t carry my cases that far.’
Cases? As in, plural? How many had the woman brought with her? ‘I’m sure there are railway staff around who you can ask to help take them to the taxi rank.’
‘I can’t see anyone, except for a boy who looks like a cow.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Chewing the cud. Nasty habit. If I see him spit his gum out on the ground, I’m going to go over there and give him a piece of my mind.’
‘Please don’t.’
‘Are you coming to fetch me?’ The belligerent tone had become wheedling and rather pathetic. ‘I don’t like it here on my own. I don’t feel safe.’
Oh, for God’s sake! ‘Mum, I’m in work. I can’t leave for another half an hour.’ At the earliest, and even then she’d be closing the shop before the designated time.
‘That’s right, put your job before your family,’ her mother said, abruptly becoming quarrelsome. ‘Like you always do.’ Then she added, sharply, ‘I’ll wait here for you, but don’t blame me if I come down with a cold. Or worse.’ And with that, her mother hung up.
Kate quietly seethed while trying to call Ellis.
No joy.
Portia?
Nope.
She didn’t bother phoning Sam. He wouldn’t be home for ages yet, and anyway, he wouldn’t have a clue how to turn the oven on, take the casserole she’d prepared earlier out of the fridge, and then put it into the aforementioned oven. It would be beyond him; yet he was perfectly capable of taking his TV apart and putting it back together again, with no ill effects except for the loss of Channel 5, which, in reality, was hardly any loss at all.
Supper would simply have to be late. There was nothing Kate could do about it.
As soon as she feasibly could, Kate locked the shop and hurried to her car, pulling her hood over her head against the misty drizzle. Mizzle was it called, or drist? She hoped her mother had found refuge in the waiting room and wasn’t standing on the platform, getting drenched, just to make a point.
But when she got to the station, her mother was nowhere to be seen.
Worcester Foregate Street railway station had only two platforms. Two. So how could Kate not find her mother? She checked in the waiting room, but there was no sign of her.
She went back into the ticket area. Beverley wasn’t there, either.
She hurried outside, just in case her mother had been hovering on the pavement and Kate had walked right past her without seeing her.
Still no sign.
Beginning to get anxious, Kate asked one of the staff, ‘Have you seen a plumpish lady in her seventies, with lots of luggage, and a poodle?’
‘No, sorry, love. Have you tried the waiting room?’
Kate smiled her thanks. Now she really was starting to worry. Maybe her mother had decided to get a taxi, after all? She tried her mother’s mobile, but it wasn’t switched on. Of course, not – why would it be? Then she dialled the landline hopefully, only to realise that even if her mum had taken a taxi, she wouldn’t have been able to get into the house because no one was home yet.
Kate tried Ellis and Portia again. Both calls went straight to voicemail. Then she tried Sam on the off chance, but he didn’t pick up. Neither did Brett.
‘Oh, shut up,’ she muttered, to the annoyingly chirpy Wizzard as the song blasted out of the loudspeaker system. Kate, for one, was immensely glad it wasn’t “Christmas every day”. In fact, once a year was proving to be too frequent. If she heard one more carol or one more Christmas song about peace and goodwill, she thought she might scream.
There was nothing for it, but to go home and hope her mother was on the doorstep.
When Kate got there she saw that Beverley wasn’t – but Helen was.
Or rather, her mother-in-law was sitting in her car outside the house, with the engine running, tapping her manicured nails impatiently on the steering wheel.
‘About time,’ Helen announced, when Kate pulled up behind her on the drive and got out of her car.
‘Have you seen my mother?’ Kate asked.
‘Hello, to you, too.’ Helen’s voice dripped sarcasm. ‘No, I haven’t seen your mother, thank God,’ she added, then peered at her. ‘Should I have?’
‘I was hoping she’d be here. I went to fetch her from the station, but she wasn’t there.’ Kate glanced around the close, as if she expected her mother to be hiding behind a bush, or something.
Hang on, why was Helen here? ‘I thought you weren’t arriving until Wednesday?’
Helen waved a hand in the air. ‘Oh, you know...’ she said. ‘Are you going to let me in? I’m desperate for the little girl’s room.’
‘Um, yes, OK.’ Kate unlocked the front door and pushed it open. ‘Look, I’m going back to the station, to see if I can find her. You know where the kitchen is; make yourself at home.’
Helen glanced at the slim, gold watch on her wrist. ‘It’s getting late. Where is everyone?’
‘Brett’s still in work, Sam is on his way back from Telford – he’s been ice skating – Portia’s been to the stables, but she should have been back by now, and I’ve no clue where Ellis is.’
‘What time will you be back?’
‘When I’ve found my mother,’ was Kate’s grim reply.
Helen stared past her and into the road. ‘I don’t think you need bother. If I’m not mistaken, that’s Beverley in a taxi.’ Helen’s tinkling laugh set Kate’s already frayed nerves on edge. ‘I thought she’d turn up like a bad penny.’
Kate shot her mother-in-law a pleading look. Please, please don’t let the whole week be like this...
Helen mistook it. ‘I know, dear, I’m not too happy she’s here for Christmas, either. Right, I’m off to powder my nose. Bring my case in, would you?’
Powder my nose – who said things like that anymore? And, bring my case in – did Kate look like a servant? Then she instantly felt contrite. The woman was nearly twenty-five years older than Kate; of course Helen shouldn’t be expected to carry her own luggage.
Plastering a welcoming smile on her face, Kate hurried towards the taxi, whose driver was making no attempt to help her mother with her luggage.
‘I’ll get it,’ Kate said, hauling the first case out of the boot and eyeing the other two with dismay. Why her mother had to bring all this with her, Kate had no idea.
Her mother, after waiting in vain for the driver to get out and open the car door for her, eventually clambered out with much huffing and puffing, and a great deal of indignity, as her skirt rode up her legs.
It didn’t help that she was trying to hold Pepe under one arm and her
voluminous handbag in another. She was also clutching Pepe’s blanket, another bag with an umbrella sticking out of it, and a small paper bag which looked ominously soggy.
‘Here,’ her mother said, thrusting the paper bag at Kate.
Kate took it. It was dripping slightly, and she wondered what it contained.
‘Pepe was sick,’ Beverley announced. ‘I tried my best to clean it up, but I ran out of tissues.’
Kate closed her eyes slowly and counted to five, before opening them again.
‘He’s probably caught a chill.’ Her mother straightened her skirt as best she could without having any spare hands. ‘If you hadn’t abandoned us at the station, none of this would have happened. Pay the man, and mind you don’t give him a tip. He doesn’t deserve it.’
Kate watched her mother totter up the drive, and then turned back to the taxi, catching the driver’s eye. The poor man deserved a medal, not a tip.
‘Hang on, let me get the rest of the cases out, then I’ll get my purse,’ she said to him.
She put the nasty paper bag on the ground, hauled the other two cases out, and fetched her handbag from the car. Giving the taxi driver almost double the cost of the fare (there was a faint whiff of vomit emanating from the car’s interior), she watched the poor man leave, wishing he’d taken her with him, dog-sick smell or no dog-sick smell.
Sighing, she turned to grasp the handle of the nearest case and stepped straight onto the paper bag.
