I See You(43)

Ever since then we’ve alternated between Melissa’s and Neil’s long glossy table, and my mahogany diner, bought at Bermondsey Market for next to nothing because one of the legs was wobbly. I used to sit the kids there to do homework, and at one end you can still see the marks Justin carved with a biro in protest.

Today it’s my turn to host Sunday lunch, and I send Simon out for wine, while I make a start on the veg. Katie nicks a piece of raw carrot and I slap her hand away. ‘Will you clear the table?’

‘It’s Justin’s turn.’

‘Oh, you two, you’re as bad as each other. You can both do it.’ I yell for Justin, hearing a muffled reply I can’t understand, shouted from his bedroom. ‘Lay the table,’ I shout. He comes downstairs, still in his pyjama bottoms, his chest bare. ‘It’s gone midday, Justin, don’t tell me you’ve been asleep all morning?’

‘Give me a break, Mum, I’ve been working all week.’

I soften. Melissa’s got him working long hours at the café, but he seems to be thriving on it. That’s what a bit of responsibility does for you; although I suspect the cash backhanders might have sweetened the deal a bit.

My dining room isn’t really a room at all, but an area separated from the lounge by an archway. Lots of our neighbours have knocked through from the kitchen, or added an extension like Melissa and Neil, but we still have to carry food from the kitchen into the hall and through the lounge; a fact to which the carpet bears testimony. The big Sunday lunch every other month is the only time it’s worth it, and nowadays the only time the table gets cleared.

‘Be careful with those files,’ I tell Justin, as I walk through with a bundle of cutlery and see him dump a stack of paperwork on the sideboard. Although the dining table looks a mess I’m careful to keep everything in separate piles. There are Melissa’s two sets of accounts, each with a stack of receipts and invoices; and the books for Hallow & Reed, with Graham’s endless chits for lunches and taxi fares. ‘You’ll need the extra chair from Simon’s room,’ I remind him. He stops what he’s doing and looks at me.

‘It’s “Simon’s room” now, is it?’

Before Simon moved in we’d talked about Justin having the attic room as a sitting room. Somewhere he could have his PlayStation; maybe a sofa-bed. He was getting too old to have his friends sitting on his single bed when they came round; he needed a more grown-up space.

‘From the attic, then. You know what I mean.’

I hadn’t meant to give Simon the attic. Justin hadn’t said much when I’d told the kids I wanted Simon to live with us, and naively I’d taken his silence as acceptance. It was only after Simon moved in that the arguments started. He didn’t bring much furniture with him, but what he did have was good quality, and it seemed unfair to tell him there wasn’t space for it. We stashed it in the attic while we worked out what to do with it. It occurred to me that giving Simon a space of his own would be a good thing; it would put some distance between him and Justin, and enable me and the kids to watch telly on our own from time to time.

‘Just get the extra chair,’ I tell him.

Last night, after I’d staggered home from the shops with enough food to feed an army, Katie informed me that she wouldn’t be here for lunch.

‘But it’s roast day!’

She’d never missed one. Neither had Justin, not even when the PlayStation and his mates held more appeal than family.

‘I’m seeing Isaac.’

It’s happening, I thought. She’s leaving us. ‘So invite him here.’

‘For a family meal?’ Katie snorted. ‘No thanks, Mum.’

‘It won’t be like that. Not with Melissa and Neil here. It’ll be nice.’ She didn’t look convinced. ‘I won’t interrogate him, I promise.’

‘Fine,’ she said, picking up her mobile. ‘Although he won’t want to come.’

‘Delicious beef, Mrs Walker.’

‘Call me Zoe, please,’ I say, for the third time. You’re closer to my age than my daughter’s, I want to point out. Isaac is sitting between Katie and Melissa.

‘A thorn between two roses,’ he said, when they sat down, and I wanted to stick two fingers in my throat and make gagging noises, like a fourteen-year-old. Surely Katie isn’t taken in by this smarm? But she’s gazing at him like he’s just stepped off a catwalk.

‘How are rehearsals going?’ Melissa asks. I shoot her a grateful look. The presence of someone new has made the atmosphere stilted and artificial, and there are only so many times I can ask if everyone likes the gravy.

‘Really well. I’m amazed at how well Katie’s fitted in, and how quickly she’s got up to speed, given how late she joined us. We’ve got a dress rehearsal next Saturday, you should all come.’ He waves a fork around the table. ‘It’s really useful to have a real audience.’

‘We’d love that,’ Simon says.

‘Dad, too?’ Katie asks Isaac. I sense, rather than see, Simon stiffen beside me.

‘The more the merrier. Although you have to all promise not to heckle.’ He grins and everyone laughs politely. I’m dying for the meal to be over, and for Katie and Isaac to leave, so I can ask Melissa what she thinks of him. She’s looking at him with a glint of amusement in her eyes, but I can’t read her expression.