Nathan puts down his wine glass and takes the receipts. My heart starts to flutter. I notice that though the table has been cleared of plates, its surface is scattered with crumbs of food. I walk to the sink and run a cloth beneath the tap, wring it out, and return to the table.
‘The cash?’
‘Sorry?’ I lift a glass and wipe beneath it, moving the cloth in steady, rhythmic circles.
‘The withdrawal? Why did you need the cash?’
I place the glass back on the table. ‘I forgot something at the supermarket, but the queues were horrific. I was worried I’d miss the bus, so rather than go back, I took some money out at the garage cashpoint and bought what I’d forgotten at the Co-op.’ The words run out of me in a nervous torrent.
‘What did you forget?’
I glance at Alex. He is staring intently at his hands, which are clasped on the table in front of him, as his mouth moves silently.
‘Sanitary towels.’
Nathan nods and puts the receipts down. ‘Why didn’t you pay for them with a card?’
‘It was only three pounds ninety and they have a minimum spend in the Co-op – five pounds – and, well, we didn’t need anything else because I’d just done the shopping at the supermarket.’
This seems to satisfy Nathan. I pick up the wine glasses and bottle and walk back towards the sink.
‘And the receipt for the sanitary towels?’
My face reignites. I turn to face him, wrinkling my brow as I gesture at the receipts. ‘You’ve got it.’
Nathan holds up the pieces of paper, one in each hand, as if doing semaphore with tiny white flags. ‘Only two. The supermarket shop and the cash withdrawal.’
I feign confusion as I open my purse and make a show of looking for it despite knowing it doesn’t exist. ‘That’s odd,’ I say. ‘It’s not here. Are you sure you haven’t got it?’
He tips his head to one side and smiles as if I’ve said something amusing. ‘Yes, Hannah. I’m sure.’
‘I don’t understand—’
‘Get the towels.’
‘Sorry?’
Alex swears quietly.
Nathan glares at him whilst talking to me. ‘Hannah, please could you get the sanitary towels you bought today?’
‘Do you have to do this?’ Alex’s words catch in his throat.
‘I’ve told you before, Alex.’ Nathan’s voice has turned calm and flat like a patch of mirrored sea in the eye of a storm. ‘It’s important to take care of the finances, watch the pennies as well as the pounds, keep a careful record of what’s coming in and what’s going out.’
He’ll mention his father any moment now. Nathan’s nothing if not predictable.
‘I know what it’s like to live with someone irresponsible—’
Ah, yes, here it is. Right on schedule.
‘—and I’ve seen the devastation that goes with it. Believe you me, if you’d seen a person you love with a ruddy great hole where their face should be because they couldn’t manage money, you’d understand.’
‘I just… I just think you should take Mum’s word for it. Why would she lie?’
My son’s words make me ache. I want to run to him and hold him tightly. I want to tell him not to worry, that I’m fine, and don’t need protecting.
‘Alex,’ I say. ‘This is how it works for us. I look after the house, you and Cass, and your father works and takes care of the money.’
‘But it’s only sanitary towels, Mum.’ The pleading in his whispered voice breaks my heart.
‘You know what, Alex?’ Nathan’s anger is building as Alex taking my side so overtly stokes the flames. ‘I am the one earning all the money. I am the one paying all the bills. I am the one who buys your football kit, pays for school trips, puts food on your plate. When your mother gets a job, she can take care of her own money or chuck it about like confetti, but while I’m the one bringing it in, I’ll be the one keeping track of it.’
It’s all I can do to stop myself bursting into hysterical laughter. A job? Ha! No CV. No references. No car. I’m not far off forty with four crappy GCSEs, an unfinished NVQ from Cambourne Tech, and fifteen years out of the workplace. The chances of me getting a job are next to nothing.
‘Now, Hannah,’ he says, addressing me again. ‘Fetch the damn towels.’
Upstairs, in my bathroom, I retrieve the two unopened packets of sanitary towels from the cabinet. Then I undo the small zipped pocket inside of my handbag and fish out the change. I lied to Nathan, of course. I bought the sanitary towels from the pound store. One pound for each pack. In the Co-op they are one pound ninety-five. The exact same brand. A saving for many people, for me it’s a strategy. I’m not as bad with money as Nathan thinks I am. I buy brands in the pound store and pretend they’re from supermarkets or corner shops. I buy things and show him the receipt, then return them, buy the same thing from the pound shop, and pocket the change. I keep pennies I find down the sofa or in the car. I lose receipts. I play dumb. With the one pound ninety I’d saved today – plus ten pence from my pitiful stash – I bought a replacement lighter for me and a cartridge for the plug-in air freshener in Mum’s room at the care home. I tore up the receipt and put it in the bin beside the bus stop. Just in case.
‘Here.’ I place the towels and a tower of coins on the table in front of him. ‘And six pounds ten in change.’
He regards the sanitary towels for a moment or two then nods before reaching for the coins and closing his fist around them. Then he looks at me and smiles.
‘Thank you for supper, Hannah.’
As he heads out of the kitchen, I let out a sigh. But it’s premature.
‘Why do you treat her like this?’ My son’s voice is flat and level, as if he’s just asked Nathan what his favourite colour is. Both Nathan and I open our mouths to speak but he continues. ‘You don’t let her do anything.’
Again Nathan tries to speak but Alex talks over him.
‘She does everything for us. For you. And you treat her like a prisoner.’
‘Stop.’ Nathan slams his hand down hard on the table. Cass slinks out of her bed and crawls beneath the chair where she curls up tightly. ‘What are you talking about? A prisoner?’
‘Yes. A prisoner.’
‘Jesus. You’re delusional. A prisoner? Are the doors bolted? Is she chained up? Do I feed her watered-down gruel?’
I reach for Alex’s hand, but he yanks it out of my grip and approaches Nathan. ‘Why won’t you let her go away with Vicky?’
‘It’s not like that—’
But Alex doesn’t let me finish. ‘I heard you asking him, Mum.’ Alex doesn’t lift his stare off Nathan. ‘I heard him say no. He used me as an excuse. He said you can’t leave me. But that’s not true. You can leave me. I’m fifteen and he’s an adult. We’d be fine. You do everything for us and you should be able to have a night away to celebrate your best friend’s birthday.’ Alex shakes his head and makes a soft scoffing noise. ‘I mean, what do you think she’s going to do? Run away?’
I swallow and shift uncomfortably. That is exactly what Nathan is worried about. It’s why he keeps my passport locked in a safe in his study and why I don’t have a bank account in my name. It’s why he goes through each receipt with a fine-tooth comb because without money – without a driving licence, without proof of address, with a mobile phone registered to him and not me – I can’t go anywhere.