Just Like the Other Girls(6)

‘I don’t want to discuss it.’ Elspeth’s tone is sharp. ‘Una will be my companion and that’s the end of it.’

Kathryn bites her lip in frustration. Fine, she thinks. But don’t expect me to fill in in the meantime. But she knows she won’t say it. Of course she won’t. She never does.

‘I think it’s best you go home,’ Elspeth says coldly. ‘Aggie is here to cook my supper. I’m sure she won’t mind helping me to bed tonight.’

You’re perfectly capable of getting yourself to bed, thinks Kathryn, her heart thumping in fury. She can’t trust herself to speak as she stalks out of the room, her low heels clattering on the tiles as she crosses the hallway to retrieve her bag from the cupboard.

‘Goodnight,’ Elspeth calls cheerfully, as Kathryn is half out the door. She slams it behind her.

That’s what annoys Kathryn most about her mother. She always has to have the last word, leaving Kathryn choking on hers, in case she says something she might regret.

It’s only a five-minute drive from her mother’s place to where Kathryn lives on the other side of the Downs, but due to the rush-hour traffic, and the snow and ice still covering parts of the smaller roads, it takes a lot longer tonight. Plus she’s still getting used to this huge car, which feels like a tank, even though she’s had it for five months.

She pulls the SUV carefully on to the driveway. Snow is still banked around the edges, even though Ed scattered grit this morning. She sits for a few minutes, just staring at the house she shares with him and the boys: a roomy 1930s semi, with a garage, but none of the charm and a fraction of the size of her mother’s elegant townhouse. Even though the curtains are closed, Kathryn knows Ed will be in the living room, slumped in front of the television, maybe even asleep, his mouth wide open, his hands resting on his belly. The boys, she expects (she hopes in Jacob’s case anyway), will be glued to some electronic device and neglecting their homework. She sighs, bracing herself for the battles ahead. She would love it if she didn’t have any responsibilities. No demanding, stubborn mother, no lazy husband or wayward kids. She could just come home, kick off her shoes, open a bottle of wine and relax in front of Netflix. Instantly she feels guilty. She loves her family, of course she does. She’d be lost without them.

And although her mother drives her mad, Kathryn knows how much she owes her.

The nasal voice of a football commentator and the cheers of the crowd in the background greet Kathryn as she lets herself into the hall. Is there a more annoying sound? Then she hears her kids fighting upstairs and Harry shouting, ‘Muuuuuuum!’ at the top of his lungs. Indeed, it seems there is. She tries relaxing her shoulders from where they’ve risen around her neck and swallows her irritation.

She smiles patiently as her eleven-year-old bounds down the stairs, his face furious. ‘Jacob keeps killing me on Minecraft,’ he wails.

Jacob, four years older, and already looking like a man at fifteen, appears at the top of the stairs. ‘I don’t want to play this crap game with you anyway. It’s babyish!’

‘It’s not babyish,’ shouts Harry, stamping his foot and sticking out his lower lip. ‘Is it, Mum? Just because he always wants to play some stupid shooting game.’

Kathryn folds her arms across her chest. ‘You shouldn’t be playing anything. Why haven’t you done your homework?’

At the mention of homework, Jacob disappears while Harry blushes and tugs the back of his thick, dark hair. ‘Um. Don’t have any. What’s for dinner?’

‘I don’t know yet. But it’ll be ready in the next hour. Where’s your …’ But Harry has raced back upstairs before she can finish her sentence.

Just as she’d predicted, Ed is in front of the TV, although he’s ignoring the football and seems transfixed by whatever he’s reading on his laptop. He looks up when she enters the room, a smile spreading across his face at the sight of her. ‘Oh, hello, love. You’re back early.’

‘It’s gone six thirty, Ed.’

He sits up straighter, clearly flustered. ‘Oh, right. I didn’t realize the time.’

‘The boys had their tea?’ She knows the answer but she wants to see what he says.

‘Er, actually, no, not yet. I didn’t know what to cook.’

‘There’s a lasagne in the freezer. I told you that this morning.’ She shakes her head. ‘Never mind, I’ll do it.’

He follows her into the kitchen and hovers behind her uncertainly. She scans the butcher-block worktops and white Ikea units with a critical eye. There’s a carton of milk left on the side, and two plates with the remains of toast that she knows the boys must have made when they got home from school. The fridge has been left ajar and is beeping, and there is a stain down one of the cabinets. She closes the fridge door and bustles about, clearing away the dirty dishes and wiping down the units. Ed stands in the doorway, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else. ‘How’s your mum?’ he asks eventually.

‘Her usual charming self,’ she replies, throwing the dishcloth into the sink and retrieving the lasagne from the freezer. She doesn’t know what she would do without Aggie’s meals. Her mother would disapprove if she found out that her cook makes extra for Kathryn and her family.

She switches the oven on and stands with her back to it to face her husband. He’s still in his work clothes, his tie askew and his shirt hanging out. Although he’s nearly fifty, something about Ed reminds Kathryn of an overgrown schoolboy. He still has all his golden brown hair, only a touch of grey at the sides, although it’s thinning on top a bit now. Does she still fancy him? She supposes she does but, God, he annoys her at times. Like now.