Nick worked frantically in the hours they were out of the house, getting up to shove loads of laundry into the washing-machine, and far more, once they were in bed.
He felt he failed all the time. At work, he dropped balls. People were still being kind as they tried to catch them, but just a tiny bit less so, and the irritation in their voices was less well disguised when it happened. At home, he was racked constantly by guilt. Had he spent enough time with them? Had he cuddled them for long enough? Had he read enough? Was he enough?
He knew Ed and Maureen were right when they said it was unsustainable. He needed proper help. He needed a substitute mother. A stand-in wife. At least, that was how it felt when he tried to think about it.
The last time they’d come down, they’d tried to open a conversation about getting some full-time, live-in help, about him going back to work properly. He’d tried to listen, and be reasonable, but he’d ended up shouting at them that they had no idea how he felt, and that it was none of their business how he chose to make this new, awful, life work, and the visit had ended badly, although Maureen had held him briefly when she left, and Ed had had tears in his eyes when he’d shaken Nick’s hand.
He’d felt dreadful immediately they’d gone. They’d lost their daughter. He knew they only wanted to help him. Worst of all, he knew they were right.
‘Now, Nick. Please don’t get angry. We’re sorry about the way we handled things, when we were with you.’
‘Maureen …’
‘No, I need to say this, love. You need to know that we’re only ever trying to help you.’
‘I do know, Maureen.’
‘Carrie would be furious if we fell out.’
‘We’re not going to fall out, Maureen.’
‘No, we’re bloody not.’
He laughed at the defiance in her voice, so typical of her. She laughed too, and it broke the tension. They’d always been friends. An easy, warm relationship had existed between them since he’d first got to know them as a young man. It had been part of the charm of a life with Carrie – that understanding. It had deepened, with marriage, and then again, wonderfully, as he and Carrie became parents themselves, and made Ed and Maureen grandparents. Layers of love. He’d always been proud of it. His mates moaned over pints at the pub about domineering fathers-in-law and manipulative mothers-in-law, and he never had shocking anecdotes to share. Maureen even got on with Daphne, for God’s sake.
‘We wanted to tell you we think you’ve done a brilliant job, since – since she went. We’re very proud of how you’ve handled yourself. She would have been too. You know that, right?’
God, he hoped so. ‘Thank you, Maureen.’
‘But it’s okay to accept help. You know that too, right? You don’t have to do it all on your own.’
‘It’s hard.’
‘We know.’ Her voice broke. ‘We do know. It’s hard for all of us.’
‘Maureen …’ He heard her sniff, pull herself together. ‘I will think about it, about getting some more regular help. Something permanent. At home. I promise. Okay?’
‘If you mean it, and aren’t just saying it.’
‘I mean it.’
‘That’s good enough for us, then.’ She was obviously relieved. ‘For you and for them.’
Nick wanted to change the subject before she demanded details and a timeframe. ‘Ed says the lambing went well.’
Maureen admitted defeat, and let herself be led away from the childcare issue. ‘Very well. The weather’s been kind too. Unusually mild. The kids would have loved it. I’ll never forget Bea’s face last time, bless her. Just like Carrie used to look. When d’you think you might be able to bring them up, for a proper stay? You could leave them for a few days. Ed would come down and get them.’
He knew how sincerely the offer was made. He just couldn’t imagine leaving them. Not yet. ‘I was thinking maybe Easter? We could come up for two or three nights?’
‘Three nights?’ Granny-hearing, rounding up. ‘That’d be grand. Good Friday to Easter Monday?’
He let himself be swept along. ‘That sounds great. If you’re sure.’
‘Don’t be daft. Course we are.’ She sounded excited, and he felt guilt, his usual companion, that he hadn’t been up for ages. ‘We’d love it. I can do an Easter egg hunt.’
8
Stepping out of the car into the chilly day, Laura forced her shoulders down from their habitual hunch by her ears, pushed her shoulders back and took deep, deep breaths of the fresh air. She stretched out her arms, parallel to the ground, then raised them slowly, her palms touching in prayer above her head.
‘What are you doing?’
Her friend Mel – her very best friend – had been bent over on the other side of the car, tying the laces of her walking boots. She straightened and looked at Laura with amusement.
‘Being mindful.’
‘Oh, Jeez. Not you as well. Everyone’s at it.’
‘At what?’
‘Mindfulness. They’ve just introduced an after-school club in it.’
‘And?’
‘And!’ Mel scoffed in reply. She was a semi-professional scoffer, often indignant about something, but there was never spite or malice in it.
‘Well, peace, sister, to you too.’ Laura smirked.
‘It’s not the stretching I object to. It’s the new name for it. Mindfulness. What the heck? If you tell me you’ve discovered the calming power of colouring in, this walk is not going to go well.’
Laura laughed. That was why she was here. The mindless or mindful yomp, the fresh air, and the cake with tea that would certainly follow were just fringe benefits. She was here because Mel made her laugh. She always had.
They’d been friends since they’d met in their local NCT class. They’d waddled into a community centre in Tooting one dark, drizzly evening all those years ago, six and a half months pregnant with Ethan and Mel’s son Jack, and within the first hour had recognized in each other a kindred, irreverent spirit. The other expectant parents had been a serious and sober lot, taking careful notes and asking detailed questions, Mel and Laura the only gigglers in the room, the only ones, apparently, attuned to the silliness of a room full of pregnant women and anxious men. And the only ones without husbands in tow on that first occasion. It had been fairly obvious, even before they sloped off to the pub next door, while the others enjoyed a cup of tea and a biscuit in the centre’s foyer, that they would be friends. And so it was.
Mel’s husband, Rick, had been in the army, on a posting. Alex had been at work. He’d had the NCT class in his diary for ages, but when he’d phoned Laura half an hour before it was due to start, saying he was stuck in a client meeting, she wasn’t surprised. She loved him. But even then he’d been hopeless at the practical stuff. Ethan was ‘planned’, in the sense that they’d talked about trying to fall pregnant, and she’d stopped taking the pill and started taking folic acid, but Alex had seemed bewildered and sometimes even overwhelmed by the whole experience. She wasn’t convinced he was going to be all that helpful.