When Charlie finally got home later that evening he found Tasha sitting on the sofa watching One Born Every Minute.
‘Hi,’ he said, bending down to give her a kiss. She kept her eyes fixed on the television, cradling a large glass of red wine close to her chest. She tried to suppress the disproportionate anger that raged in her chest.
‘Hi,’ she replied, keeping her voice flat and her tone curt, trying to communicate just how unimpressed she was.
‘Sorry about this evening,’ Charlie said.
She glanced at him. The sight of his dishevelled brown hair, his kind blue eyes crinkled and apologetic, almost softened her resolve but she couldn’t help herself. Instead of telling him not to worry about it, that it wasn’t his fault that he had got stuck in a meeting, she shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s OK,’ she said.
Charlie knew her well enough after eleven years of marriage to realise that there wasn’t an awful lot of point in talking to her when she had gone into quiet mode. She would answer him with as few syllables as possible. If he forced the matter things would undoubtedly escalate into a full-blown argument, which he was clearly keen to avoid. Knowing that it was better to leave her in peace, he went upstairs to have a shower.
Tasha remained on the sofa, simmering quietly. She didn’t know at what point she had stopped feeling as though she could talk to Charlie about her emotions. There would have been a time where she would have tackled her disappointment straight away, talking it out, arguing even, but then making peace and laughing it off, possibly even ending up in bed to kiss and make up. The worst thing was that she wasn’t even sure if Charlie noticed. Was he upstairs worrying that she was annoyed with him? She doubted it.
Charlie had always been the most happy-go-lucky of guys. In fact, it was that particular character trait that had attracted her to him in the first place, fourteen years ago at the tender age of twenty-three. She remembered the first second she had seen him, across a crowded party. Tall, dark and good-looking, with those huge, warm blue eyes. She had thought he looked perfect and had repositioned herself next to him to place her order at the bar, striking up conversation as she’d waited for her drinks. It had turned out he had been single for several years, not even looking for a girlfriend until he met Tasha. He had sworn off women completely following a nasty breakup. But when he had met Tasha it had been love at first sight. She had helped him move on from his heartbreak and they had never looked back. She still loved him to the end of the earth, and she knew how much he loved her, but somewhere along the way, amidst the sleepless nights, the school runs, the endless piles of laundry and the humdrum of daily life, it was safe to say their relationship had lost some of its initial spark. The all-consuming lust she had felt for him in the beginning had dissipated. She supposed most marriages were the same… well, at least she hoped theirs wasn’t unusual in that respect; it seemed inevitable really.
*
Friday morning dawned bright and breezy. Tasha felt a lot better as she stepped from the open-plan kitchen into the garden and took in a deep breath of fresh air. She sipped her coffee, admiring an intricate cobweb that had appeared overnight, spun silver in the morning light. The grass was heavy with dew. Fat droplets of water clung to glossy leaves and dangled from branches like miniature crystal baubles. It was her morning ritual, a moment’s peace to herself before she got the children up and ready for school. Charlie had already left at some ungodly hour to go to work leaving Tasha to relish this time alone at the start of each day before chaos inevitably broke out. Having finished her coffee, she tipped some porridge oats into a pan and poured milk over the top, setting it to simmer while she went to rouse the children.
Once they were all up, dressed and full of breakfast Tasha helped them gather their bookbags, homework diaries and coats, ruing the fact that she had yet again failed to ensure each child’s bags were ready to go the night before. It had been her over-optimistic new year’s resolution, picturing the calm morning routine that her excellent organisational skills could create with a bit of forward planning. Tasha accompanied the children to school before setting about her household chores, fighting the overwhelming sense of boredom that had grown steadily heavier over the years. As she loaded yet another wash into the machine she received a text from Charlie to remind her that he wouldn’t be home for dinner. He was meant to be going out for drinks with a few of his friends from university. She had known this was in the diary so had arranged for a friend to come over for a catch-up dinner, she was grateful that she had made plans so she wouldn’t be spending yet another evening drinking alone in front of the television.
While she cooked moussaka for dinner her thoughts returned to the previous night. Irritation and resentment simmered away in the pit of her stomach. They had gone to sleep after reading their books side by side in virtual silence. In a way she wished Charlie had taken her passive-aggressive bait and that things had escalated into a full-blown argument. At least then she could have aired her grievances. Anything was better than the current lack of communication that seemed to be building a gulf between them that at times felt insurmountable. It occurred to Tasha that last night’s disappointment would never have happened the other way around. Charlie would never miss a night out due to childcare arrangements. He was always out already so he never needed to cancel his plans last minute because she couldn’t get home in time. It was so unfair.
At half past three Tasha was waiting at the school gates as first Max and then Bella came barrelling out of the door and into the playground in a flurry of grins, school bags and blazers. She scooped up as many belongings as she could, taking one grubby hand in each of hers to walk home. Flora, who was playing hockey, was being dropped off by another mum later on. Tasha couldn’t help but laugh as they chattered all the way home, full of energy and ready for the weekend. She tried to muster matching levels of enthusiasm when, really, all she longed for was a weekend of peace and quiet, to read a book uninterrupted, or something equally unheard of.
‘Are we still going to Richmond Park tomorrow, Mum?’ Bella asked.
‘That’s the plan,’ Tasha replied. ‘I’m hoping it’ll stay dry so we can have a nice picnic.’
‘Yum!’ cried Max. ‘Can we make sausage rolls?’
‘And take tomato ketchup?’ Bella asked.
‘We’ll see what we can do!’ Tasha laughed.
They continued to plan their picnic all the way home. They were clearly children after her own heart: food was often their favourite topic of conversation.
As they entered the kitchen Tasha screeched in dismay. ‘Oh, sh…ugar!’
‘What’s happened, Mum?’
‘Why is there water everywhere?’
‘It’s the machine,’ Tasha said. ‘It must have flooded.’
‘Oh, no!’ the children gasped, enjoying the drama.
‘Right! You go into the sitting room while I try and clean this mess up…’ Cursing under her breath, she took off her shoes and socks, rolled up her jeans and waded through the water to locate the mop. Bloody typical, she thought. All their appliances were conking out; some were as ancient as the house itself and in desperate need of replacing. This was going to be another expensive purchase if she couldn’t figure out a way to repair it herself.
At eight o’clock the doorbell rang. Tasha opened the door and threw her arms around Rosie, one of her oldest friends.
‘It’s been too long!’ she said as she hugged her, taking the bottle of wine Rosie proffered and leading her into the kitchen. ‘Excuse my bedraggled appearance, I haven’t had time to change. The sodding washing machine broke…’
‘Oh, God! Any idea why?’
‘There was a blockage. After unscrewing the plug and draining it I found three of Charlie’s cufflinks, a hair tie and a safety pin… fingers crossed that’s all that was wrong and we won’t have to buy a new one.’
‘What a nightmare! But well done for fixing it. And how are my favourite little angels?’ Rosie asked, peering up the stairs.
‘Asleep, thankfully,’ replied Tasha, crossing her fingers.
‘What, even my goddaughter?’
‘She’s reading – I told her you’d go up and say goodnight.’ Rosie disappeared upstairs to have a chat with Flora while Tasha opened a bottle of wine and poured them both large glasses. Rosie had proved to be the most wonderful godmother. She was single and had no children of her own so was free to give due time and attention to Flora and her numerous other godchildren.
Sometimes Tasha envied Rosie her freedom. She was a long-term singleton, by choice rather than through circumstance. She was a journalist who wrote a very successful blog about her single lifestyle in her free time: an extremely entertaining read, which had won her thousands upon thousands of followers and some lucrative advertising contracts. Tasha suspected her popularity was also partly down to her huge doe eyes and pouting lips – she looked as if she had had collagen implants but it was all annoyingly natural.
‘Flora seems well,’ Rosie said as she joined Tasha in the kitchen. ‘Is she still acting like a moody teenager?’ She took off her jacket and slung it on the back of one of the mismatched wooden chairs. Tasha’s furniture collection mainly consisted of hand-me-downs from both her and Charlie’s parents, as well as an assortment of junk-shop pieces and freebies she had picked up from Freecycle or even, in the case of their chest of drawers, the side of the road. Having spent every penny they owned on the house, they had never had much spare cash for its interior design.
‘Is she ever! She can be a serious handful. You wouldn’t believe the attitude! Especially at the moment. She’s a bit stressed about maths and she really struggled with her homework last night. I think I might ring her teacher and see what we can do to help…’
‘Poor Flora.’ Rosie frowned, taking the glass of wine Tasha offered her. ‘I always hated maths.’
‘So did I, so I’m not much use. Charlie was meant to help but he didn’t get home in time.’
Tasha told Rosie about her cancelled plans the night before, knowing she would get a sympathetic response from her old friend. She had known Rosie since the age of eight, when her parents had moved into the farm down the road in Surrey and Rosie’s mum had shown up on the doorstep with a big shepherd’s pie. Tasha and Rosie had been heartbroken when Rosie’s family moved away a few years later, but they had remained the closest of friends through lengthy phone calls and regular visits during their school holidays.
‘How annoying. Why didn’t you just book a babysitter?’
‘It was too late at the last minute.’
‘Well, next time you should to avoid disappointment.’
‘That’s exactly what I promised myself last night. There aren’t many opportunities for me to go out and have fun so when they come up I need to make sure I am not relying on Charlie. It was actually the fact that he didn’t ring me earlier and give me time to sort something out that made me most cross.’
‘Why didn’t he?’
‘He said he was stuck in a meeting – but surely he could have slipped out for a minute or two?’
‘Mmmm, I’m sure he could have found a way. But he’s not an arsehole, Tash, you know he wouldn’t have done it on purpose.’
‘I know,’ Tasha said as she topped up their glasses. ‘I’m just feeling a bit frustrated at the moment...’ ‘Did you discuss it when he got home?’ Rosie asked.
‘No. I wasn’t in the mood.’
‘You know, you probably should have tackled it then and there.’
‘You’re right. I definitely feel worse having bottled it up. I’d almost rather have had a row with him to clear the air.’
‘It might not have ended up in an argument. And isn’t it always best to explain why you are annoyed so he can prevent the same thing happening again?’
‘I do know that. It sounds childish but I guess I want him to know without me having to explain it. He should realise how important these evenings with my friends are to me, to have a much-needed break. He should have had the foresight to realise he was going to get stuck and call me with enough notice.’
‘Men aren’t exactly renowned for their intuition.’
‘Sadly. Anyway, enough about me and Charlie, tell me everything about you.’
‘Let me just pop to the loo and then I’ll tell you all about the new features editor – he is so divine!’ Rosie sighed as she disappeared into the downstairs bathroom.
Tasha laughed. She thought about Rosie’s advice and knew she was right. Sometimes she wondered whether she enjoyed the bubbling of resentment that seemed to well up inside her with surprising regularity. It was a mixture of self-pity and martyrdom, both of which she disliked intensely but which she realised were fast becoming old friends. She knew that all the marriage books and relationship advice would agree with Rosie, that she should air her feelings in a simple, non-accusatory manner, stating the facts and the corresponding emotions. But she never seemed to manage to do so. She wanted Charlie to know what to do without her having to tell him. She wanted him to just ‘get’ things, to be more in tune with her needs and her feelings.
Rosie and Tasha polished off the bottle of wine over dinner. They caught up on each other’s news, marvelling at how different their lives were and laughing at the more hilarious aspects of family versus single life.
‘I admire you, you know,’ Tasha said.
‘Why?’
‘You are so confident. How did you become so independent? So self-reliant? What happened to the little geek with train tracks that I used to know and love so well?’
‘Good riddance to her. I suppose I needed to learn how to handle myself! My train tracks and bushy eyebrows were never going to get me far in life, were they?’ They collapsed laughing as they recalled Rosie’s headgear, reminiscing over the first time they had plucked each other’s eyebrows, leaving nothing more than a thinly tweezed line.
‘I need to get some of my confidence back,’ Tasha sighed.
‘You’re still an incredibly gorgeous woman,’ Rosie assured her. ‘You just can’t see it. All you see is a busy, exhausted mother of three!’
‘Perhaps we should go and have a day of pampering, just the two of us… leave Charlie in charge of the kids?’
‘I’d love that!’ Rosie said as she drained her glass. ‘Right, I’m afraid I’ve got to make a move… I’m off to a leaving do.’
‘God, your life!’
‘It’s fun, if a little exhausting,’ admitted Rosie.
‘I’m so jealous. Call me in the morning if there’s any gossip?’
‘I will,’ Rosie promised as she pulled on her jacket. Her blonde hair fell in a silky cascade onto her shoulders. It made Tasha green with envy. Her wavy hair needed constant taming and would only look that sleek after a good session with her trusty straighteners. Tasha was determined to get herself to the hairdressers before long for a much-needed cut. She tried to remember when she had last had a trim; it must have been almost a year ago.
She waved Rosie off and went upstairs to check on the children. They were all asleep, Bella with a torch and her Harry Potter book on her chest. Tasha smiled as her heart burst with love for her daughter. She crept into her room and removed the book and torch, watching Bella’s chest rise and fall with each breath. Her dark brown hair curled softly on her pillow. She looked so peaceful.
Tasha went back downstairs to tidy up before making her way up to bed. She brushed her teeth and took her make-up off, putting on her pyjamas and slipping under the covers. She spread out like a starfish, taking advantage of having the bed to herself, the sheets cool and crisp against her skin. She woke as Charlie nudged her to move across onto her side of the bed. He felt cold and smelt of beer as he pulled her towards him, spooning the back of her body as he wrapped his arm around her and nuzzled her neck. He was so familiar, so comforting, she fell back asleep in the crook of his arm, a smile on her face. Rosie might have the exciting, glamorous life Tasha often dreamed of, but she didn’t have this: a family. Tasha reminded herself just how lucky she was.
An hour or so later Tasha felt rather noticeably less lucky having woken Charlie countless times in a futile attempt at stopping his alcohol-induced pneumatic drill impersonation. Finally accepting defeat, she got out of bed and made her way into the spare room, which doubled up as a storage unit. The bed was unmade and covered in towering piles of paperwork and clothes waiting to be filed, sorted and put away in the loft. Tasha cleared the mountain of debris onto the floor and snuck under the musty-smelling duvet to try and go back to sleep.