The Family Next Door(28)
“How are you feeling, by the way?” Essie asked.
“Fine,” her mum said. “Just a bit snuffly. I needed an early night.”
Essie leaned against the counter while her mum filled the kettle, got out mugs, and put out mini muffins, raspberry and white chocolate. She put it all on her neat round kitchen table, next to a vase of frangipanis.
“So,” she said as they sat down. “What did you do?”
“I’ve lied about something,” Essie said, feeling immediately better. There were few things more cathartic, she decided, than confessing something to your mother. “And I’ve involved you.”
Barbara paused, the milk jug hovering in midair, above her mug. “I assume you’re going to provide details.”
“Well, I planned to go to the neighborhood watch meeting last night. I meant to go. Ben came home early from work and I was on my way over there when I saw Isabelle’s light on. I went over there to tell her to come to the meeting. Instead, I ended up staying there for dinner.”
“And you don’t want Ange to know because she will think you’ve chosen Isabelle over her?” She finished pouring the milk and took a gulp of her tea.
Essie was ashamed at how girlish this sounded. “Partly. But I also lied to Ben. I told them both I was here last night, looking after you.”
Her mum choked. She coughed a couple of times, then said: “But why?”
“I don’t know! Ben was half-asleep when I got home and he asked how the meeting was so I just said fine. Then this morning Ange confronted me while Ben was there, and I was trapped, so I said I’d come here to look after you.”
Her mum put her tea down again. Neither one of them had touched the muffins. “So I suppose you want me to back up your story?”
“Well … not necessarily. It probably won’t come up again. You know Ben, he’s hardly suspicious.”
Her mum looked appalled. Essie had thought a visit to her mum was just what the doctor ordered, but she seemed to have taken a misstep. She should have expected it. Her mum prided herself on her good character, her honesty, her distaste for gossip and lies. Now Essie felt horribly guilty—as though she was a schoolgirl rather than a thirty-two-year-old mother of two.
Polly squawked on the floor. “Oh, I meant to ask,” Essie said. “Is there any chance you could look after Polly for me for an hour this afternoon? Mia is having a playdate with Rosie and I thought I might go to the farmer’s market with Isabelle. I just bumped into her outside. What?”
“Nothing,” her mum said, though it was clear she was thinking something. “Of course you can leave Polly with me.” She was quiet a moment. “I do have to ask though … is everything all right?”
“Everything is fine. I just thought it would be nice to go to the market with Isabelle. It’s no big deal.”
Her mum watched her, her eyebrows arched skeptically. “You seem quite taken with Isabelle, Essie.”
“She’s a friend,” Essie liked the way that sounded. “You know I don’t have a lot of friends.”
“Not everyone needs a lot of friends.,” her mum said. “It’s a silly myth they push in American teen movies to fill people with insecurities.”
“But there’s nothing wrong with striving to have a few more, is there?”
Her mum’s expression didn’t change. Her gaze dropped back to her tea. “I just worry about you, Essie.”
Essie smiled. She reached over the table and patted her mum’s forearm. “Well, you’re my mum. That’s your job, isn’t it?”
“The only one I ever wanted,” she replied, and she managed to smile back. A little.
18
ANGE
Ange sat on the couch flicking through Instagram and Facebook, getting irritated with people’s posts. Don’t write open letters to your children/husband/parents about how much you love them, she wanted to cry. It’s vomit inducing! Don’t post about how many kilometers you’ve run today, it’s boring, not to mention braggy. Don’t rant about the traffic conditions on the way home—people don’t give two hoots about your commute!
She tossed her phone. It was getting dark outside and Ange was tired. Why did no one get it? As far as she was concerned, social media was a place for witty, satirical comments; stylistic food pics; photos of beautiful homes and children; and birth announcements. (Who didn’t love a good birth announcement?) It was a place to scroll through to get an idea of where you fared in the world, and figure out whether you were winning or losing at life. Sometimes it felt like she was the only one who understood this.
With a huge sigh, she sank back against the cushions. Lucas was pottering around somewhere and the boys were asleep—she’d checked on them half an hour ago and been treated to her all-time favorite sound: their snores. Thank goodness. Ollie had been complaining about a sore stomach all day, which had Ange worried. Ollie was a champion vomiter (the kid could actually vomit on demand—no finger down the throat, nothing) and she’d pictured herself spending the long night ahead washing sheets and rubbing his tummy. Instead she found herself at an unexpected loose end. Normally she loved nothing more than an evening on the couch with her phone, but tonight she just felt agitated.