by Liz Davies
To be honest, the only thing preventing him from telling The Abyss that he didn’t feel very well and leaving work for the day, was the knowledge that the kids were all off school and the two mothers were in residence. He’d not get a scrap of peace, and he could really do with some right now.
Seventy-three emails to clear, two meetings to attend, a presentation to prepare, and now his mother was texting him some rubbish about Beverley thinking she’d broken the toaster, when she hadn’t, but was too daft to realise it wasn’t plugged in, and asking what time would he be home because she intended to cook the evening meal.
Brett hoped to God that his mother had OK’d it with Kate first, because he knew his wife had planned the meals for the week and for all over Christmas as well. She always did. If you looked up “organised” in the dictionary, Kate’s name would be under it. His wife wouldn’t be too pleased with having her meal plan wrecked. That she could swap it around wouldn’t occur to her; spontaneity wasn’t a word he’d use if asked to describe Kate.
Have you checked this with Kate? He pressed send then returned to his inbox. If he could delete a few of the emails that didn’t concern him, he’d be able to see the wood from the trees.
Ping. He glanced at his mobile.
I thought it would be a surprise. It would be that, all right, he thought. We can eat at a more reasonable time, she’d added. Then, Did you sleep well?
Not really
You shouldn’t have given up your bed for Beverley.
Brett knew that, but he also had no idea what had happened last night. One minute he’d been sitting on the sofa minding his own business and trying to ignore all the squabbling, and the next Kate had informed him that her mother was having their room for the night and they were to sleep in the living room on the blow-up bed.
He should learn to be a bit firmer and say no, but he had enough on his plate at the moment without silly little domestic dramas. There was always a crisis of one sort or another in his house, and if he reacted to even a fraction of them, he’d have been a basket-case by now.
Thank God Christmas only lasted a couple of days – any longer and he’d be on the first flight out of the country he could get. Outer Mongolia sounded nice. Or maybe not “nice”, but distant. He’d dearly like distant right now, especially if that meant putting several thousand miles between him and Clara The Abyss Jenkins, then that would be just fine with him.
Speaking of which, like a genie who could be conjured merely by thinking about it, his boss appeared in front of him.
‘Have you spoken with anyone from The Dragonfly Corporation yet? I thought you were going to set up a meeting this side of Christmas but there’s nothing in my diary. And the new warehouse is having picking problems. I’d go over there myself and sort it out, although it should be your job, but I’m going to be tied up with—’
Yep, tied up – that’s exactly what he’d like to do to his boss. Tie her up somewhere, pop a gag in her mouth, and leave her there for a few days. Not too long – he wasn’t a sadist – but just long enough to clear the backlog of work that was sent his way, without giving her the opportunity of throwing yet more at him.
He knew the company was struggling, he knew The Abyss was under pressure from above and that she was filtering it down to the staff she managed, but if any more stuff was piled on him, he had a feeling he’d be squashed flat by it. It wasn’t just him either. Everyone in the company was feeling the pressure, and they were all close to cracking.
Clara flounced out of his office, shaking her head at his lukewarm response, and he knew she’d see it as a lack of commitment on his part, or accuse him of not taking the situation seriously, but for God’s sake he was doing his best. They all were. Aside from working twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week (and the thought had occurred to him that maybe she’d like that), there was nothing more he could do. His department needed more staff, but with a hold on recruitment he wasn’t going to get more anytime soon. This put added pressure on everyone else when someone was on holiday. The Abyss frowned on that too; he hadn’t told Kate, not wanting to worry her, but last summer Clara had hinted most strongly that he shouldn’t take the two weeks annual leave he’d booked (the family was off to Menorca) and that he was needed in the office instead. Of course, he hadn’t complied, and she’d been on his case ever since.
It didn’t help that the pressure she was putting on staff, was starting to lead to burn out, and one or two key people had already either resigned (not to be replaced, obviously) or had gone off sick with stress.
If she wasn’t careful, Brett would be joining them.
His phone buzzed and he glanced at it. It was his mother. Again. He could do without this right now, but he knew from experience that if he didn’t answer, her next step would be to phone him.
There aren’t any Christmas decorations up, he read.
I know
Why not?
Kate hasn’t bought the tree yet.
I see. Shall I buy one?
Do you mind? He didn’t want his mother to feel as though he was putting on her, but it would be an immense help. She didn’t come to visit in order to clean the bathroom (he’d once come home from work to find her balancing on a stool and trying to tackle the cobwebs on the bathroom ceiling), or to cook (she often pitched in to give Kate a hand, and she was quite a good cook). She was here to enjoy some family time, and to have a rest.
Of course I don’t. I can see Kate is busy. It’s a shame that the rest of the family has to suffer. It doesn’t look at all Christmassy she replied.
That would be great, thanks.
At least that was one less job Kate would nag him about.
The decorations are in a box in the garage he added. He didn’t want his mother to go and buy new ones when they already had a boxful. Some of them were rather old and shabby, he had to admit, but they’d do for this year.
There was another reason for him agreeing to let his mother loose on putting the decorations up – it would give her something to do and keep her occupied. If she was busy, she’d be less lightly to cause ructions with Kate’s mum.
There we go, he thought, feeling satisfied with himself. Two birds with one stone. His mother would feel useful, and Kate had one less job to do. Result!
Chapter 15
It was with a sense of dread that Kate left the house that morning. Three stroppy teenagers (OK, two and a half), two grannies, and one disgusting dog weren’t going to make for a very happy household. Brett had buggered off at the crack of dawn, leaving her to it. Kate, taking the coward’s way out, had left shortly afterwards, having been awake for hours because the half-blown-up bed had stubbornly refused to stay half-blown-up and had gradually deflated throughout the course of the night, until she’d resorted to stealing the cushions off the armchairs and lying awkwardly on those instead.
Brett, on the other hand, seemed to have had a very good sleep indeed, thank you very much. She knew, because he’d snored throughout most of it. Typical though, she’d just about managed to drop off, and half an hour later Brett had got up for work, making enough noise to wake the dead. Stubbornly, Kate had pretended to be asleep, not wanting to have him chew her ear off at seven in the morning.
She, herself, had crept out of the house shortly afterwards, having taken the quickest, quietest shower in the world, and not bothering with breakfast or even a coffee. The sooner she was out of the house, the better. If she’d had to speak to either of the nans, she mightn’t have been responsible for her actions. And as for her daughters... Grrr.
The cafe opposite the shop wasn’t open yet, and Kate checked the time.
Crikey, she really was early.
‘You’re early,’ Ron confirmed.
He was huddled in the shop doorway, underneath several blankets and inside an artic grade sleeping bag. She knew it was good to -20 degrees Celsius, because she’d bought it for him. Having such a good sleeping bag didn’t mean it was a good idea for Ron, or for anyone el
se for that matter, to spend the night outside, though. Far from it – the temperature was hovering at around freezing.
‘Come inside,’ she suggested. ‘I’ll put the heaters on and make us both a nice, hot drink.’ Then, as soon as the café opposite opened, she’d buy them a bacon sandwich each.
‘Why are you so early?’ he asked, unravelling himself from his cocoon and clambering stiffly to his feet. ‘Doris never arrives before half-past eight.’
While Kate set about making tea, she said, ‘It’s a long story.’
‘I’ve got time to listen.’
He wasn’t wrong there, Kate thought, so she offloaded, big time, letting it all out in a cathartic release of frustration.
At first, Ron listened with a sympathetic expression on his face, but as the story unfolded and she got to the part where Brett stole her sofa and made her sleep on the floor, Kate could see that he was having difficulty holding back a grin.
‘It’s not funny,’ she protested, a smile threatening to escape.
‘Yes, it is,’ Ron insisted. ‘The two grans sound a right laugh.’
‘You try living with them,’ she retorted, then realised what she’d said. ‘Sorry.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s OK. I like my life just the way it is.’
‘What do you like about it?’ she wanted to know, genuinely curious. The thought of having little or no responsibility was appealing, but the thought of living rough most definitely wasn’t.
‘No walls. No worries about finding enough money for the rent, or paying the bills. No one to answer to...’ He trailed off.
‘If someone offered you somewhere to live, would you take it?’
‘Probably. Not many people want to be homeless.’
Kate suddenly felt very guilty. She had a spare room (or she would have after Christmas and the mothers had gone home) – the least she could do would be to offer it to Ron. God knows what her kids would make of it. Or Brett. She’d better talk it over with him first.
‘Sometimes, I wish I could run away from it all,’ she said, abruptly. ‘Not permanently, never that, but just for a few days or a week or two, and let them get on with it.’
‘Why don’t you?’
Kate gave a self-conscious laugh. ‘Oh, you know...’
‘No, I don’t.’ He took a grubby hankie out of his pocket and carefully wiped his mouth, paying attention to his overly-long whiskers.
Kate wondered what he’d look like without them. She didn’t think he was all that old – somewhere in his late forties, perhaps. It was difficult to tell under the straggly beard and the grime.
‘I’ve never had a mother-in-law or kids, teenage or otherwise,’ he continued. ‘It must be... interesting.’
‘That’s one way of putting it. Look, I’m sorry to dump all this on you.’ Ron didn’t need to hear her moaning about her insubstantial problems, when he didn’t even have a roof over his head. The differences in their situations seemed to put her ridiculous complaining into perspective.
‘It’s OK. That’s what friends are for,’ he replied, and Kate felt ridiculously pleased that he thought of her as a friend.
‘What are you doing on Christmas Day?’ she asked, impulsively. Surely neither Brett nor the children could object to having another person at the table?
He sent her a quizzical look. ‘The same thing I do every day.’
‘Why don’t you come to us for lunch?’
His smile was rueful. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea, do you?’
Kate bristled. Brett, the nanas, and the kids would just have to suck it up. If she wanted to invite someone to lunch, then she damn well would.
‘I think it would be an excellent idea,’ she retorted. ‘You need a meal and we’ve got plenty of food.’
‘I mean, I don’t do houses or happy families. But thank you for the offer. Bring me some turkey sandwiches instead, the next time you’re in work.’
He got up to leave, the warmth of the heater having loosened his joints and muscles, his movements more fluid.
What was his story, she wondered, for the umpteenth time. What series of events had led to him living on the streets?
He seemed a reasonably intelligent guy, had always been pleasant to her, and he didn’t appear to have an alcohol or a drug problem. She wondered if she should ask. Would he think it nice of her to take an interest, or would he think she was just being nosey?
‘I’m going to grab a bacon sandwich,’ she said, seeing the café was now open. ‘Let me get you one.’
Ron didn’t object; he never turned down the offer of food and waited patiently in the warm until she returned with a sandwich and a cappuccino.
‘Where would you go?’ he asked, around a mouthful of bread and bacon.
‘Pardon?’
‘If you were to run away, where would you go?’
‘I dunno, I’ve never thought that deeply about it. The coast, maybe.’
‘Which one?’
‘The south? Cornwall? Devon?’ she shrugged. The idea of getting in her car and simply disappearing was an inviting one; where she’d go, and what she’d do once she got there, was another thing entirely.
‘Brixham’s nice.’
‘It is? Isn’t is near Torquay?’
Ron nodded. ‘It’s not as far as Cornwall, easier to get to. Straight down the M5 to the end, then turn right. More or less.’
‘Where else have you been?’ she asked, curiously. This was the first time Ron had spoken about himself.
‘All over England and Wales. Haven’t made it up as far as Scotland yet. It’s on my to-do list.’
Kate smiled. Who’d have thought Ron would have a to-do list?
‘I’m going to try to get up there this summer,’ he added.
Now she came to think about it, she didn’t see Ron around hardly as much in the summer as she did in the winter. ‘Do you always come back to the Worcester area?’ she asked.
‘It’s my home,’ he said. ‘I was born not far from here. I like travelling, but this is where I belong. Right, thanks for the food; I’d better get off before you open up.’
Kate watched him go, wondering what he’d be doing for the rest of the day, and she hoped he’d find somewhere warm.
She was just about to unlock the door and let the first customers in (no Doris again today), when her phone rang.
It was her mother. ‘I can’t get your toaster to work. It’s broken.’
‘It was fine yesterday,’ Kate said.
‘It’s not fine today,’ Beverley snapped. ‘What am I supposed to have for breakfast?’
‘There’s cereal in the cupboard, or you could make yourself an omelette—’
‘I always have toast. Besides, I don’t like your cooker. It’s too complicated.’
‘You only have to turn the knob.’ Kate’s nerves began to fray slightly; nothing significant, just a little unravelling around the edges. ‘Never mind, why don’t you ask one of the kids to have a look at it?’
Her mother snorted. ‘They’re not up yet. None of them. Only Brett’s mother and I’d prefer not to speak to her.’
OK, Kate thought, that wasn’t so surprising when it came to her children still being in bed, considering they were teenagers and had no school to get up for. ‘One of them will be up soon,’ she said. ‘Give it half an hour.’ She crossed her fingers. It was only just nine o’clock. Beverley would be lucky if she saw them before eleven.
‘I suppose I’ll have to go without,’ her mother said. ‘Oh, and just to let you know, Pepe had a little accident.’
‘What sort of accident?’
‘He did a whoopsie in your bedroom. I’ve cleaned it up, but it’s left a bit of a stain.’
Marvellous, sodding marvellous. Her bedroom carpet was cream; neither the smell nor the stain would be easy to get rid of.
‘It wasn’t his fault,’ Beverley was saying. ‘We ate so late last night, it gave me heartburn, so I was awake half the night, which meant I slept la
te this morning, and Pepe couldn’t hold it.’
Kate heard the unspoken accusation that Pepe’s little accident was Kate’s fault.
‘I’ll spray some vinegar and bicarbonate of soda on it when I get home,’ she said. ‘That’s supposed to be good for urine smells.’
‘It wasn’t urine,’ her mother said. ‘He did a Number Two.’
When she hung up, Kate resisted the urge to hold her head in her hands and howl.
It was only nine a.m. on day one. There were another six days to go before the mothers departed. Kate didn’t know how she’d get through it without having a breakdown.
At this rate, she wasn’t sure she’d make it to lunchtime.
Chapter 16
‘Where is everyone?’ Kate asked, throwing her coat over the bannister, dropping her bag next to it, and hearing a remarkable lack of noise. There was also a strong smell of roasting meat; lamb if she wasn’t mistaken. She guessed it was the lamb she’d planned for Wednesday, the day she’d originally thought Helen would be arriving.
The living room contained her mother, who was knitting furiously, Pepe, who was curled up on the sofa and sleeping peacefully, and no one else.
‘There you are,’ Beverley said, looking up from her needles. ‘About time, too. I’ve been on my own all day, with no one to talk to. It’s worse than being at home.’
Kate glanced over her shoulder at the clock in the hall; it said five thirty-three, her usual time for getting home. Then she looked back into the living room. Something wasn’t quite right...
‘Who put the tree up, and what’s it doing there?’ she asked.
‘Hello, dear,’ Helen said, sailing in from the kitchen wearing an apron, a full face of make-up, and a satisfied expression. ‘Do you like it? I hope you don’t mind, but I threw out those hideous decorations and bought a few new ones. There’s a lovely little shop in the village that stocks the most delightful things.’
Kate didn’t know where to start.
The most obvious place to begin was that the tree on which those new decorations were hanging, wasn’t a proper tree; it was silver and artificial. Kate always had a real tree. It was one of the family’s traditions that they went to the garden centre as a family and picked one out. OK, they hadn’t done it last year, because Ellis had been on some sort of eco-warrior high horse and had objected to the cutting down of trees purely for the entertainment of the masses. Portia had appeared to have lost interest in all things Christmas, except for telling Kate what presents she would like, the details of which changed on a daily basis, until Kate had no idea what to buy the child. Sam was the only one who’d gone with her, and together they’d chosen a lovely little tree, not too big so that it overpowered the room, yet full enough and tall enough to make a statement.
