Kathryn suppresses a sigh. Two years ago her mother had slipped coming down the stairs. She insists she knocked herself out and was lying at the bottom of the stairs for hours until Aggie found her. Aggie had called an ambulance but, apart from a sprained wrist, she had been fine. After that Elspeth suddenly got it into her head that she needed a companion, as though she was one of those aristocratic ladies from the late 1800s, and it seemed only a young blonde girl would do. Within weeks of her fall she had employed the first of them, an attractive bubbly girl called Matilde, without even talking to Kathryn about it.
‘You know I’d give up my job if you’re worried about being alone and falling again. Surely it would be better for you to be looked after by family rather than some – some stranger.’
‘And who would run your father’s gallery?’ Elspeth asked, without looking up from the book she’s pretending to read. She hasn’t turned one page.
‘I could do it around the gallery. Daisy can cope without me … she’s very capable and –’
‘No. I need someone with me full time. And I pay you more at the gallery than you would earn as my companion.’
‘You’re my mother! You know I’d do it for free!’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You couldn’t afford to do it for free. Not on what your husband earns.’ And there it is. The little dig she always makes whenever Ed is mentioned: that Kathryn married for love rather than money is a personal affront to Elspeth. Her mother snaps the book closed and places it back on the side table. She scrutinizes Kathryn, with her bright, penetrating gaze. Kathryn has to concentrate on not rolling her eyes. She knows Elspeth has never approved of Ed because he isn’t some fancy lawyer or surgeon from a well-bred family. Instead he has a normal job in IT and went to a state school. But what her mother has never bothered to find out was that she fell head over heels for Ed because he made her feel safe. He made her feel that he’d never leave her, or hurt her. When they met, at university, he was the first person with whom she’d felt she could be her true self.
‘But we’re doing okay,’ she lies. ‘The mortgage is nearly paid off …’ She doesn’t reveal that they’ve borrowed more because she hopes she’ll inherit enough from her mother in the future to pay it off.
‘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.