‘I must go,’ Laura said an hour later, forcing herself into a standing position. ‘I’ve got so much work to do it would make your eyes boggle.’
‘Boggle! Great word!’ Kitty chuckled, high on caffeine again.
Laura tramped to the front door reluctantly, dreading the three-hour journey back, and stared out at the unfamiliar landscape. Dolly was disappearing into the snow like a toddler’s welly in mud.
‘Oh no! How the hell did that happen?’ she cried, looking up at the snow tumbling down from the great black sky like feathers from a pillow fight. Several inches had fallen during her foray into Quinces Cottage and was shin-deep already.
‘Oh dear,’ Kitty murmured over her shoulder.
‘This is going to be a long drive home,’ Laura sighed. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a shovel?’
Kitty looked across at her in surprise. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to try to drive back in this?’
‘Well, of course.’
‘Laura! Look at the snow!’
‘It’s just a shower,’ Laura said uncertainly. ‘It’ll thaw in a bit. It never settles in this country.’
‘Didn’t you see the weather forecast?’
‘No. I’ve been staying at the studio since I got back. Working,’ she added hurriedly as Kitty frowned. ‘I don’t have a TV there.’
‘Heavy snowfall’s been forecast – up to a foot. This is earlier than they said it was coming, but you won’t get back tonight. You’d end up sleeping on the motorway. There’s no question of driving back.’
‘But . . . but . . .’
Kitty placed a hand on her shoulder and steered her back in. ‘Come on. In with you. You’re white as a sheet. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re coming down with something. Come on. We’ll run you a bath while I make up the spare room.’
‘Kitty, no, really, I’m—’
‘In! Joe will be back with the kids any second and then it’ll be all hands to the pump.’
‘I don’t want to be in the way,’ Laura moaned.
‘Trust me, you won’t be.’
‘Well, at least put me to use,’ Laura said as Kitty shut the door and trapped the honey-coloured light back inside the cottage.
‘Just relax and take some time out. You look so stressed.’ Kitty placed a concerned hand on her shoulder.
‘I’m not stressed,’ Laura said, shaking her head far too many times to be believable.
‘Well, I am. I need to get supper on the table and I don’t have an Aga.’ Kitty chewed a lip thoughtfully. ‘I’m tempted to give them plum cake.’
‘I could help you make . . . ’ Laura faltered. What could you cook if you didn’t have an oven? ‘Toast?’
‘Upstairs. You’ll only get me nattering again if you’re anywhere in earshot, and then we’ll never get the kids to bed. And you do not want to be around Joe if the kids are up past eight.’
Laura nodded politely. She did not want to be around Joe full stop. Oh, how had this happened? She had no clothes here, no toiletries . . .
Kitty bounded up the stairs and into the bathroom, expertly dodging a couple of potato guns and accompanying potatoes left lying on the steps. Laura followed, hearing the water pipes clatter into life one by one behind the walls as Kitty began running her bath.
She looked in on one of the bedrooms as she passed. Toy Story curtains threw a blue intergalactic light into the room, and a bunk bed was strewn with dressing-up costumes. A lava lamp had been left on on the desk, and the carpet was almost completely obscured by toys. How did they get to bed? Laura wondered. Hover over? Perhaps she could be defiantly helpful and colour-code the Lego?
‘You’re in here,’ Kitty called. Laura identified where she was from the creak of the floorboards and peered round the door, smiling, taking in a bald maroon carpet and a set of 1940s curtains printed with blowsy blackish-purple blooms. Very Agatha Christie. A vintage teal velvet dress was hanging from a wire hanger on the wardrobe.
‘It’s not Verbier, I’m afraid,’ Kitty said, blushing slightly and quickly making up the bed with an antique linen monogrammed sheet and padded comforter.
‘Thank God for that,’ Laura laughed. ‘I was all opulented-out by the end of the weekend. This looks fab.’
Kitty straightened up, beaming, as she looked around proudly. ‘Well, it’s home,’ she shrugged happily.
The slam of a door downstairs alerted them to the return of her brood. ‘Oh God! They’re back,’ Kitty said. ‘You’d better get in the bathroom quick before they start playing battleships with the shampoo and use up all the hot water.’ She shoved a clean lilac towel into Laura’s arms and pushed her into the bathroom. ‘Oh, and I apologize in advance for their behaviour.’
The smile slid off Laura’s face. ‘Why? What are they going to do?’
‘Who can say?’ Kitty shrugged helplessly. ‘But I’m sorry anyway.’
Even under water, she could hear Kitty’s little menagerie. The hum of shouty conversations and mischievous, teasing laughter vibrated through the floorboards and into the pristine white enamel beneath her bare bottom. Kitty’s voice threaded through it all like a loving kiss, alternately reproving – someone throwing carrots? – and soothing as another fell off a chair. Family life.
Feeling her eyes sting, Laura slid under the bubbles, still able to hear them practising carols. She wondered how long she had to stay up here for. What would be a polite absence? Reappearing after they’d all been put to bed? She looked around the bathroom as though trying to unearth its family’s secrets. The walls were mint green with white tongue-and-groove boarding on the lower half. A looped bath mat was clean and springy – clearly freshly washed – but the legion of towels hanging on pegs along the back of the door were rather more . . . limp. All the shampoos on the side of the bath were ‘no tears’ varieties except for a slim bottle of Head & Shoulders; there was a series of half-used emollient bath lotions, and a pot on the side of the basin was the place where toothbrushes clearly came to die. There must have been twelve in there, with three different types of toothpaste. A yellow plastic step was placed around the base of the basin pedestal, and a red potty had been pushed back against the wall.
It was the nitty-gritty of family life exposed, the bare bones of lives shared and lived together. Something of which she knew nothing. Her bathroom was like a spa by comparison, with limestone-replica tiles, fancy chrome waterfall taps and his ’n’ hers electric toothbrushes charging side by side. The bath gleamed so brightly she could practically put her makeup on by looking in it. Her bathroom was beautiful and ordered and hygienic. Or sterile, if you wanted to be bald about it.
She heard a creak and turned to the side. A little round face was peering at her and she instinctively covered herself with her hands, even though there was enough bubble cover in that bath to hide a submarine.
‘I need a poo,’ the child said.
‘Oh, okay,’ Laura replied, instantly flustered. ‘If you just give me a minute, I’ll get out of the way for you,’ she said, understanding that this was the moment to reappear to Kitty. She went to rise.
‘Or not,’ she said, sinking back down. The little girl just walked into the room, staring at the floor. She took the yellow stool from the base of the basin and put it in front of the loo. Then, pulling up her dress, she sat down.
Laura watched her colour change, with rising alarm, from tender blush pink to fuchsia to crimson to royal purple.
‘Uh . . . what’s your name?’ she asked, pretending to study the ceiling.
The little girl didn’t answer.
‘I’m . . . I’m Laura.’
Still nothing, just more straining. She shut up. The poor child clearly needed all her breath.
‘Oh, there you are!’ Kitty said, and Laura almost capsized as she turned in alarm and then tried to cover herself again. Kitty laughed. ‘Sorry, Laura! Please . . . pretend I’m not here,’ she said, coming further in and helping the little girl off the loo. ‘Come on, Martha. Let Mummy clean your bottom,’ she sighed, grabbing a wet wipe.
Martha! Martha! Laura repeated to herself. Must. Not. Forget.
Laura froze as Martha bent double, wondering how on earth it could be that she was lying in a bath in front of near strangers. Well, okay, not complete strangers. Laura had seen Kitty in a onesie – that automatically assumed a certain level of intimacy – but they were hardly friendly enough to be naked and wiping bottoms together!
‘Right, there you are, madam. All done. Now back to your bedroom and take your clothes off. It’s bathtime.’
Laura looked up in outright panic. They were all coming in here? All of them?
‘I’m just getting out, actually,’ Laura said, not making any move. It was one thing being naked in front of a five-year-old . . .
‘Great,’ Kitty beamed as the thunder rolling up the stairs suggested the rest of the herd was on its way. ‘Well, would you be a love and leave the water in?’
Laura waited for Kitty to leave, then jumped out of the water as if she’d been torpedoed and wrapped herself like a bandage in the fat lilac towel Kitty had given her. She was just securing the knot when the door burst open and the bathroom was flooded by little people looking up at her curiously.
‘Kids! This is Aunty Laura! She’s having a sleepover with us,’ Kitty hollered across from the airing cupboard on the landing. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with the prefix, Laura. It’s either “Aunty” or “So-and-So’s Mummy”.’ She staggered over beneath a pile of old towels and dumped them on the floor, then planted her hands on her hips and did a headcount to make sure all were present and correct, completely oblivious to the look of sheer terror on Laura’s face as the children swarmed around her. She clutched her towel tighter. ‘Anyway, just so you know – in descending order – Tom’s the oldest, he’s just turned eight,’ Kitty said, pointing to the highest-up head. ‘Then there’s Lucie, she’s seven; that’s Martha, she’s five; Finn’s four; and of course you remember Samuel.’
Laura nodded. How could she forget him? At least some of her trauma at the prospect of a child could be attributed to this little horror.
‘Nice to meet you all,’ she nodded.
‘Right, you lot. In!’ Kitty said, swiping all towels from the back of the door and replacing them with fresh ones.
The children charged for the bath and Laura gingerly tiptoed around the tangle of knees, elbows and bottoms, clutching tightly to her towel lest anyone should snatch it. She breathed a sigh of relief as her bare feet met bare carpet and she was back in the safety of the hall again. And there and then she swore a solemn oath that – come what may – she would never, ever own a bathroom with a latch door.