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VERONICA PUSHED HER front door open and, weighted down by Tesco bags, she kicked it shut with her foot. She thudded up the hallway nearly tripping over Scruffy-bum who howled his greeting. It was the best thing about having a cat, she often thought, there was always someone pleased to see you. This was especially essential when entering into the teenage parenting years.
It was a relief to be home because she’d had a wobble in the supermarket. It hadn’t happened for a while but she’d frozen statue-still in the baking goods aisle at the sight of a young woman, her hair falling across her face as she compared two boxes of ready-mix cakes. Veronica could feel the blood surging through her veins like a racing tide and her breath came in short gasps. She wanted to call out and speak to the girl but what would she say? And then she’d put one box back on the shelf and walked away from her with the other in hand. Veronica had watched her go and had only moved on when a woman said excuse me, jolting her back as she reached past her for a bottle of vanilla essence.
She’d finished her shop without incident and the bags she was carting into the kitchen were full of the necessary ingredients to whip up a spag bol, down a glass or two of red while doing so, provide milk for the morning’s cereal, bread for the lunches and to whip up a cake to take in for morning tea tomorrow. It was Tyrone’s birthday and he loved all things chocolate. She planned on making him her trusty chocolate cake, the go-to ‘best ever chocolate cake’ recipe was scrawled on a piece of paper having been noted down at a mother’s group many moons ago and was tucked between the pages of a recipe book with pages stuck together by her efforts over the years. She still made the cake for the boys each year and the thought of their faces as tots blowing out the candles made her smile.
She dumped the bags on the kitchen floor, retrieving the beef mince before Scruffy-bum had a chance to attack it. He had a food disorder that cat, no matter if he’d stuffed his face a moment earlier, he always had room for more. Mind you, the same could be said of her. ‘Did they feed you?’ He looked up at her with a baleful expression and the answering mewl would break your heart, she thought, already opening the cupboard to retrieve his biscuits without even glancing at his bowl. No wonder he was getting fat. He got fed on demand.
She added a small scoop to the remnants of his dinner which was evidence Haydn had done as she’d asked and fed him before heading off to footie practice. She held her breath and opened the dishwasher, the sight of it having been emptied had her victory punching the air. The trifecta would be if they’d brought the washing in. Her gaze swung to the kitchen table. Yes! The washing basket was sitting on top of it They’d done their jobs. This didn’t happen every day, in fact most days she had to cajole until she wound up shouting but she’d learned to take the small things like today’s efforts as big wins. Her mood picked up. They were good boys even if they always left the loo seat up and had difficulty with their aim.
She’d had a sod of a day at work with no bright spots such as a visit from Suit-man. She’d had to content herself with wondering what he’d make of her hair as she nibbled on her sandwich in the staff room at lunchtime. What puzzled her was why it mattered to her especially given his romantic status. Her day had picked up when her phone bleeped a text. It had been a timely distraction from going down that rabbit hole and to her surprise it was from Saskia. She hadn’t heard from her friend in ages and, she read with a smile, she wanted to catch up for a coffee. Perhaps there was trouble in paradise, she’d wondered, texting back that sounded great and she was free after work any night except Thursday if she’d rather make it wine. She’d sort something out for the boys; although technically they were old enough to stay home of an evening by themselves she still didn’t like the thought of them home alone past nine pm.
Saskia had texted back a minute later suggesting Harry’s Wine Bar on the high street and they’d arranged to meet on Friday outside the department store. Gosh it had been forever since she’d ventured anywhere other than straight home on a Friday evening and she’d found herself looking forward to it.
It had almost been enough to make her forget Heidi’s snippy comments first thing that morning. It had rankled being called in to her office as if she were a high school student being summoned to the head to explain what she’d been doing behind the bike sheds. ‘Is there a problem, Heidi?’ she’d asked, having a fairly strong inkling as to what it was. She’d seen the young woman’s look of horror as she’d stalked past her counter shortly after Blakeley’s had opened its doors for business. There’d been silence for a moment as Heidi finished jotting down whatever it was she was scribbling on that pad of hers. This was a deliberate power play on the younger woman’s part, Veronica was sure of it as she stood there having not been asked to take a seat, shifting from the sole of one hush puppy to the other. It was her way of telling her that her time was more important. Her finger had twitched with the urge to tell Heidi exactly what she thought of being kept waiting.
When the line manager had finally deigned to speak, she’d chosen her wording carefully. That was the thing with the younger generation Veronica thought, listening with a frown, they knew exactly how far they could go without getting rapped over the knuckles or slapped with a lawsuit. Heidi had managed to convey, without essentially coming right out and saying so, that blue hair was didn’t fit the image of a well-established, department store. She was sure it was discrimination of some sort.
Veronica had chewed her bottom lip, zoning her out as she’d mentally penned a letter of complaint about the line manager overstepping the mark to head office. She’d never do it though, because that would take energy and she didn’t have enough in reserve to take on the uppity miss. The patch of eczema in the crook of her arm that refused to go away had begun stinging as she’d waited until she’d been dismissed.
She’d hotfooted it through the department store scratching all the way, feeling curious eyes on her from fellow members of staff but it had been Tyrone she’d sought out. He loved her new look having gushed about it earlier that morning. She also knew he couldn’t stand Heidi or Heidi of Green Gables as he called her behind her back. Veronica hadn’t the heart to tell him he had his classic children’s literature confused. So, she’d leaned against his counter and relayed what had been said. He slapped her hand away from where she was worrying at her eczema and was gratifyingly aghast at the discrimination of it all. Together they’d plotted Heidi’s downfall both feeling better by the time customers had appeared to distract them.
It had been when she’d sprayed Marc Jacob’s Daisy on the wrist of a harried young mum as her toddler strained at the straps of the pushchair that her mood and hopefully the mum’s had lifted. It was the burst of daisy tree petals and sugar musk that did it. She played a game sometimes with her perfumes, trying to guess which would be Bel’s signature fragrance. She was old enough to be married or she could be single. She could be gay or bisexual. She could be transgender for all she knew. So, she’d create a made-up personality complete with idiosyncratic traits for her. Today, she’d decided Isabel would be the sort of woman who’d wear Mon Guerlain. The fragrance its designer said was inspired by the notes of a woman, created to reflect the choice, emotions and dreams that embody modern femininity. She liked to think Bel was independent and had the opportunity to make her own choices in life. Choices, with hindsight, she could see had been taken away from her.
The rest of the afternoon had passed with dusting, unpacking an order, serving customers, and engaging in a game of who could pull the silliest face with Tyrone during a quiet patch.
The house was silent apart from Scruffy-bum’s purring eating sounds. The boys wouldn’t be back for another half an hour or so when their dad dropped them back after practice. She’d have to make sure she had a red wine under her belt before she tackled Jason about the funds for the school trip and new school uniforms. She’d finish unpacking the groceries and pour herself a large one in a minute. A louder than necessary knocking at the door interrupted her train of thought and she hurried down the hallway. There was always a sense of unease when someone banged on the door and the boys weren’t home.
She pulled it open and her mouth dropped.
‘Abi! What are you doing here?’
‘I don’t know why you’re looking so surprised, I told you I needed a break. I’m a woman on the edge of a nervous breakdown and it’s nice to see you too.’ Her sister pushed past her dragging a wheeled case behind her. She took a hard right and deposited it in the living room.
She looked like she was about to go clubbing and not at all like a woman who was on the edge of a nervous breakdown, Veronica thought, taking in the apparition that was her sister. Her blonde shoulder-length hair hung like parted silk curtains either side of her pretty face, which was made up with a practiced hand. Veronica smoothed her own hair down which had been buffeted on the walk from car to front door. She definitely needed that wine and she stomped back to the kitchen her sister tip-tapping behind her in her heeled boots.
‘You might as well pour us a glass of that each.’ Veronica inclined her head to the bottle of red before opening the cupboards under the sink to retrieve the big pot she used for pasta. She set it to boil while Abi doled out two large glasses of the ruby liquid. She handed Veronica hers and sat down at the kitchen table retrieving her phone from the pocket of her clingy silk shirt glancing at it before tossing it down on the table.
‘You’d think he’d have called or at least texted when he got home and saw I’d gone.’
‘Maybe you should text him and tell him where you are?’
‘No, no way. I’m not a pushover. It’s up to him to apologise.’
Veronica swigged her drink, mentally willing Brandon to swallow his pride and grovel.
‘What are you cooking?’
‘Spaghetti Bolognaise.’
‘But I’m keto.’
‘Abi, I’m not catering for you. Sort yourself out if you don’t want what we’re having.’
‘I’ll have sauce no noodles then.’
Veronica lowered her hackles. She could feel Abi’s eyes on her hair.
‘What did they say about that at work?’ Abi picked up her glass and drank deeply. ‘Oh, I need this after the day I’ve had.’
‘Snap.’ Veronica decided there was no point being grumpy; it would go right over the top of her sister’s head anyway so after another sip she told Abi about her visit to the line manager’s office while chopping onions and crushing garlic.
‘God, she sounds a right mare.’
‘She is, but I’ve wasted enough energy on her today and there’s nothing she can do about this.’ She pulled at a handful of blue strands.
The front door banged and Veronica winced. The panes would shatter one of these days with the hammering they got.
‘Mum, I’m starving,’ Haydn announced, thundering up the hall, Hunter hot on his heels demanding to know what was for dinner.
‘Hi, Aunty Abi,’ both boys said seeing her at the table, no hint of surprise in either of their voices. Nothing fazed them.
‘Hello, boys.’ Abi’s eyes widened as she spied their father bringing up the rear. ‘Jason, I haven’t seen you in forever. How are you?’ Her face lit up with pleasure at the sight of her sister’s ex-husband.
Abi was a man’s woman and she’d always had a soft spot for Jason, Veronica thought, knowing her sister irrationally blamed her for their break-up. She also knew why his easy-smile and banter went down a treat with Abi. It was because he subconsciously reminded her of their dad just like he had her. ‘Boys, go and wash your hands,’ she ordered. ‘We’ll be eating in ten.’
‘Hey, Abi, long time no see.’ He leaned down and they had a quick hug as he kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’m doing good. I’m glad I decided to duck in and say hello. It’s good to see you. You’re looking great. The lads also said you were channelling Gwen Stefani from the nineties, Ronnie. I had to see it for myself.’ He appraised her for a moment as she stirred the tomato sauce, mince, garlic and onions brew. ‘I like it. It suits you. You always had a penchant for mad colours.’
Despite herself she was pleased by the compliment.
‘That smells so good. Bolognaise right? My favourite.’
Veronica raised the spoon to her lips taste testing it as if she’d made it from scratch rather than chucking a jar in. She felt his breath on her neck as he leaned over to inspect what was in the pot. Her ex-husband was the right amount of arrogant to think she’d made it on purpose knowing he’d be dropping their sons’ home. He was also not shy in coming forward.
‘There’s plenty there for one more by the looks of that.’
Veronica would’ve loved to flick the hot sauce at him.
‘You’ve made a mountain haven’t you, Ronnie, and I’m not having the pasta. Keto,’ she added for Jason’s benefit and this time it was her sister’s face she’d like to have flicked sauce at. She’d been put on the spot. Remembering she had to ask Jason to cough up the cash she needed for the boys, she decided it was in her best interest to play the hostess with the mostest.
‘Oh, go on then but you can set the table.’ She donned her oven gloves and hefted the pot of boiling water over to the sink, tipping the noodles into a colander while he did as he was told. He knew where everything was, automatically popping the plates in the oven she’d preheated on low, knowing how she hated serving a meal on cold plates.
It had taken her all her strength to move past her initial anger at him when he’d left but she had. She was only human though, and while they might be a couple attempting to do a Gwyneth and Chris for the sake of their boys, come Friday night she’d be bleating to Saskia how unsettled and resentful the familiarity with which he moved about her kitchen made her feel. It was at times like this she could almost believe the past four years had never happened. She knew Jason would happily park his shoes back under her bed if she gave him the opportunity. She also knew they’d only stay there for as long as it took for the next woman who need her circuit breaker fiddling with to bat her lashes at him.
Yes, it would be easy to slot back into the way things had been but you couldn’t go back and it wouldn’t be fair to the boys either. She had his number now. He wasn’t a bad man, he was a weak man but at least he’d stuck around for his sons which was more than her father had done.
She dished up and put the plates on the table as Abi chatted animatedly to Jason, informing him her boyfriend was a bastard She shot her a look of a disapproval at her description of Brandon. She didn’t like the boys hearing words like that but they were oblivious anyway as they sat down and began shovelling their pasta down like someone was about to snatch their plates away from them.
‘Any garlic bread, Mum?’ Haydn asked through a mouthful of masticated spaghetti.
She shook her head automatically saying, ‘Don’t talk with your mouth full.’
‘You sounded just like Mum then,’ Abi said grinning.
‘I wasn’t.’ Haydn pulled a face before carrying on with his slurping up of the noodles.
An hour later, and with the wine long gone, Jason loaded the last of the dishes into the dishwasher while she wiped the table down. Abi had taken herself off, claiming she was going to set up her bedroom, but the theme tune to Emmerdale had just drifted down the hall. The boys had shot upstairs, purporting they had homework and couldn’t possibly do it in Aunty Abi’s bedroom or in the kitchen with their mum and dad buzzing about. She’d let them go because now he had a full belly, Jason might be more amenable to blowing the cobwebs off that wallet of his.
‘Abi doesn’t change,’ Jason said, grinning lazily. ‘Always the first to disappear when anything needs doing.’
‘She’s never been any different.’ Veronica tossed the dish cloth in the sink. It was now or never. ‘Jason, the boys need new summer uniforms and money for school trips.’
‘Has the maintenance not gone through?’
At that moment she hated him. He knew full well everything was ticking over as it should be but he still had to drop that in. He should also know by now she wouldn’t ask unless it was necessary. He must have seen something in her eyes however because he backtracked. ‘How much do they need?’
She clenched everything as she told him she reckoned she needed about three hundred pounds.
He gave a low whistle through his bottom teeth and she only untensed when he said, ‘I’ll put it through to your account tomorrow.
That was easy, she thought, hanging the oven gloves on the back of the cooker door. She made a note to self to check the brand of bolognaise sauce. It must have been good to have him rolling over like so.
‘Thanks.’
He shrugged. ‘They’re half mine.’
Was this the same man she’d been married to? Whatever had gotten in to him, she’d run with it.
‘I suppose I should go.’ It was said almost as a question.
Now she could see what had gotten in to him. Well, he could tie a knot in it because that was not on the cards.
‘Yes, I’ve a cake to bake and the boys won’t be back down now so unless you want to sit through the soaps with Abi—’
‘Uh, no thanks, I’ll pass on that.’ He held up a hand, disappointment flickering over his handsome features.
You better run up and say goodbye to them. She indicated the rooms overhead, and make sure they’re not up to anything they shouldn’t be up to.’
‘Right-ho.’ He hovered for half a second longer than necessary but she’d turned her back in a clear signal and was pulling cocoa and flour from the cupboard. She relaxed as she heard him pad down the hall and take to the stairs. A pang passed through her as she rustled about gathering the ingredients for the chocolate cake. Things might have been so different if Jason had kept it in his pants. She shook the rogue feelings away. She was lonely, that was the problem, and getting under the covers with her ex-husband was not the answer. You couldn’t look back.
She was folding the dry ingredients through the wet when she heard him call out from the hall.
‘Thanks for dinner, Ronnie.’ It was followed by a ‘Catch you again, Abi. It was good to see you.’ Then the front door banged shut.
Veronica scraped the rich batter into the tin thinking about the boys and the hand life had dealt them with a father who came and went. Then she thought about her and Abi’s dad. She liked to think he would have gotten in touch with them both. Once the dust had settled he’d have knocked on their door like Jason did, to take them out for the day. She had to believe he would have because if he hadn’t then it would mean she’d never really known him at all.
She scraped the remaining mixture into the tin and then popped the wooden spoon in her mouth. Abi’s voice behind her made her jump. She swung round to see her leaning against the door frame, a knowing smirk on her face. ‘He still fancies you, Ronnie.’
‘Oh, sod off, Abi, that ship has sailed.’
‘Has it?’
‘Yes, it bloody well has.’
‘If you say so, and you’ve got chocolate on your nose and chin.’