Nicole Gainsford, watched the young mother leave the library, smiling now. Was the poor child raising a baby on her own? She must be if Just Girls was helping her. They took in young mothers without any support systems from all over the county.
She was going to make more effort to revitalise the young mothers’ reading group at the library. These days you had to provide far more than a place to borrow books or go on the Internet. They had quite a few community groups going now. Some of the oldies had cheered up enormously at having somewhere to go and something to do.
Then another customer took her attention and she didn’t think about the young mother again. What she did think about when she had a moment was the difficulty she was having with her teenage sons, especially William, who was going through an aggressive patch and was giving her a lot of grief. But also Paul, who had become very withdrawn lately and would hardly say a word to anyone.
She set off for home, on foot today because she had no shopping to do. Inevitably her thoughts turned to her husband. The two of them had drifted apart during the past few years, no denying that. She hadn’t noticed at first and when she had, she’d tried to do something to bring them together. Only he didn’t seem interested in his family any more.
In fact, she was wondering if he was having an affair. He was sometimes late home, sat staring into space a lot, had become very secretive about his emails, protecting his area of the computer with a password so that she and the boys couldn’t access his stuff. Who was he emailing that was so secret?
She slowed down as she got closer to their house. She dreaded going home these days.
It was even worse that evening. William was outright rude to her and refused to gather his dirty clothes together for her to wash.
‘All right,’ she yelled. ‘Let them stay dirty. Anything not in the laundry basket in the next five minutes you can wash yourself.’
Paul came down two minutes later with his dirty clothes.
‘Where’s your brother?’
He shrugged.
She waited a full ten minutes. No sign of William. So she set the washing off.
Five minutes later he sauntered into the kitchen and dumped his dirty washing all over the floor.
‘Too late,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to do it yourself.’
He kicked the nearest clothes across to her. ‘You’re the mother. It’s your bloody job to do the washing.’
She kicked them back. ‘You keep saying you’re not a child. Well, grown-ups put their own things in the laundry basket.’ She was sick of this argument which they had every week.
He moved across to her, towering over her from his newly acquired six foot. ‘I’m not – doing – the – washing.’
For a minute she thought he was going to hit her, but he just shoved her towards the utility room, knocking her against the wall, and kicking the clothes in her direction. Then he slouched off up the stairs, yelling over his shoulder, ‘Call me when tea’s ready.’
She went to sit down, feeling shaky. She’d really thought he was going to thump her. She’d been frightened of her own son. That was bad.
She didn’t feel like cooking so hauled out some noodles and a jar of sauce and heated it up. That’d have to do.
She hesitated to call William, not wanting to seem as if she was obeying his orders, but in the end she stood at the foot of the stairs and yelled, ‘Tea’s ready.’
Both boys came down. Paul sat and ate quietly. She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t talk to her. She kept meaning to get him on his own and insist he tell her what was wrong, but the opportunity had never seemed to arise. He made sure of that.
‘There’s no meat with this,’ William complained.
‘No. I didn’t have time to defrost any. Your father’s supposed to help with the shopping and cooking but he’s been a bit forgetful lately.’
‘That’s women’s work.’ He stared at her challengingly.
She was too tired to take him up on that. How a son of hers had turned into such a male chauvinist, she didn’t understand.
As he went to get the milk out of the fridge, she said sharply, ‘Don’t drink from the carton this time.’
He grunted and slammed a glass down on the surface so hard she expected it to shatter.
There was still no sign of Sam by the time the meal had ended, nor had he rung.
He didn’t feel like part of the family any more.
The next morning Janey felt a lot better about the world because she and Millie had both slept really well in their new flat, right through the night. There were supposed to be some neighbours, but she hadn’t seen anyone else nor had she heard a sound from the flat above hers or the one on the same floor.
She yawned and stretched, then crept out of the bedroom while her daughter was still sleeping and made herself a cup of tea.
After they’d both had breakfast, she made a careful list of the things she needed and went to check out the supermarkets properly, looking at all the specials before she made her choice. She came back with two loaded bags of shopping dangling from the sides of the buggy and a few big things in the tray underneath.
Carrots were two bags for the price of one, so she’d be eating a lot of carrots during the coming week. That was all right. Carrots were healthy. When she thought how fussy she’d been about eating before she left home she cringed, then smiled ruefully. Her dad only liked steak, chops or sausages with his nightly chips, so that was what they had.
At the Just Girls hostel, taking her turn to help in the kitchen, Janey had discovered that she enjoyed cooking, though she didn’t know many recipes yet. She intended to learn more about cooking now she was on her own. It’d be something new to do and you could get books on it from the library and copy down recipes, so it needn’t cost anything extra.
She left Millie in the buggy at the foot of the stairs with the front door locked, as she rushed up to the flat with the shopping. She only put away the frozen stuff because she felt so guilty at leaving the baby on her own in the hall. But how else did you get the shopping into the flat when you were going out straight away?
There was washing to do but she couldn’t face it yet, so went down again and gave Millie a smacking big kiss on her fat, soft cheek. ‘Shall we go for a walk?’ She decided the gurgle meant yes. They both loved being out of doors and luckily it was fine today, if rather cold.
She thought she heard a door click shut upstairs and wondered if someone had been watching her.
She decided to explore her own street first, remembering the elegant old lady who had stopped to stare at her yesterday then walked on up the slope. Did someone like that live in Peppercorn Street too?
The street was about three hundred metres long, and went from rather shabby near the high street to marginally better where Janey’s flat was situated, about a hundred yards away from the shops. She was surprised at how posh the houses were at the upper end and stopped several times to admire the older ones. Lovely, they were, with coloured glass in the doors and in the small windows on either side, fancy brickwork and big gardens behind low stone walls.
It would be nice to learn more about the history of architecture. She’d put that on her list when she got back. She was making a list of things she could learn about from the library, both to fill the time without costing anything and because she didn’t want Millie looking down on her when she got older for knowing so little. As a result of getting pregnant she hadn’t even been able to take her A levels.
She found that the street was a cul-de-sac, which was why it was fairly quiet, except for cars parking at the lower end and moving off after their owners had done their shopping.
She nearly missed the narrow path for pedestrians between the two top houses, then went back to peer down it. Curious to know where it led, she went along it. There was just enough room for someone on foot to pass the buggy. Two buggies would have had trouble squeezing past one another.
Halfway along someone had dropped a garish takeaway box, so she picked it up and put it into the litter bin at the end. There, that was better. The path looked pretty again. It had a low wall at the far end, where it curved to the right and opened out into another street, and surely those were daffodils poking up along its base? They’d look lovely against the grey, stone wall when they came into bloom.
The next street wasn’t a cul-de-sac, but it also had a footpath between the houses at the top of the slope, so she followed that rather than going back down to High Street. This second path led to a small park at the end of the next street. Great! She and Millie could come here in the warmer weather. It’d be nice to walk under leafy green trees and look at flowers. Maybe there’d be a children’s playground. She explored the park, which didn’t take long, and sure enough there were a few swings in one corner, including baby swings. She thought Millie would be old enough to sit in one by summer.
Beyond the park was an area with one or two parked cars and a big gate at one end. Over it a sign said ‘Grove Allotments. Owners only’. She went across to peer over the gate at the rows of neat plots, though there wasn’t a lot growing in them at this time of year, of course. Some parts were covered in straw or a sort of matting, probably to protect the last remaining vegetables from frost.
Her granddad had always grown his own vegetables and she’d helped him from when she was little. He’d been dead for five years now but she still remembered how much she’d enjoyed gardening with him and how delicious the fresh fruit and vegetables had tasted. During the past year or two, she’d grown a few things in her parents’ garden. Her dad hated gardening, hated anything that made him get out of his armchair after he got home from work.
An old man was working on one of the plots. He smiled and raised his hand in greeting, just like her granddad used to do. After a moment’s hesitation, she waved back. You had to be careful who you spoke to these days, but he looked friendly and unthreatening, and he was quite old and scrawny, not really a threat to her because she was tall and quite strong, had been good at sport. That was another thing she missed.
Don’t go there! she told herself firmly.
Turning, she walked back towards her street, wondering what to do with herself for the rest of the day. Washing, of course. There was always washing when you had a baby. She’d had to do a lot of it by hand because there was only one washing machine in the B&B, and times for its use were restricted. In the new flats there was a proper laundry room with two coin-in-the-slot washing machines and two separate tumble dryers, also some washing lines out at the back. That was luxury to her. Not that she’d be using the tumble dryers except in an emergency. Far too expensive.
There must be another woman in the flats because this morning there had been some women’s clothes hanging outside, but Janey still hadn’t seen anyone else going in and out.
Washing wouldn’t take up the whole day, though. Nor would playing with Millie, who still slept a lot. Should she go to the meeting at the Just Girls shop? No, she couldn’t face it yet. It was the time of day when Millie had a nap and she wanted to settle her daughter into a proper routine now. She sighed. Life felt so shut in lately. And boring. She could see why people living on their own got depressed.
The people from Just Girls had said they’d try to get her a television. That would help pass the evenings, but she wasn’t going to watch it in the daytime like one of her mother’s neighbours, who only seemed to be able to talk about the latest TV show.
If things hadn’t gone so badly wrong for her, Janey would be at university now, meeting people, going out and having fun. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t her fault she’d got pregnant. He had forced her.
But then, if it hadn’t happened, Millie wouldn’t exist. She had to remember that and not let life get her down. She hadn’t expected to love her baby so much, given the circumstances.
The sky was darkening already, even though the days were getting longer now. She’d better go back.
She smiled, remembering what her granddad used to say about February: it might be the greyest, coldest month, but its arrival was a sign that spring was round the corner. Perhaps she’d be having a personal spring now that she was more settled, growing in all sorts of new ways.
Oh, she was being fanciful again! Hadn’t she vowed to stay practical from now on?
Winifred stared out of her bedroom window as a movement caught her eye. The girl with the baby was walking along the footpath pushing the buggy. Definitely too young to be a mother. Probably no better than she ought to be.
When the girl stopped to pick up some rubbish, however, Winifred got angry at herself for making judgements on no evidence. Whatever her faults, the girl had the right attitude to rubbish in this throwaway age. Most people would have walked past that garish cardboard box. Winifred had lost count of the number of times she’d picked rubbish up from that path.
She finished dusting her bedroom and sorting out her clothes, putting away the washing she’d dried in the kitchen yesterday. Then she made her way slowly and carefully down the stairs. At her age, you didn’t dare risk a fall. Two of her friends had broken a hip in falls and one of them hadn’t come out of hospital again. Winifred still missed her.
She went into the kitchen and got out the bones and shin beef she’d bought from the butcher that morning. There was nothing like home-made soup to warm you in the winter, and a good soup began with good stock.
She put the radio on to keep herself company then began to chop up an onion, wiping away a tear. It was caused by the onion fumes, she told herself fiercely. She hadn’t been brought up to complain about life, however dull and lonely it had become, and she wasn’t going to start now.
When the stock was simmering, she took out her diary and began her daily entry. Not that she had anything special to report for herself, though she did mention the girl with the baby moving into the flats and the way she’d jumped to conclusions about her. She also commented regularly on the issues of the times: climate change, pirates at sea, demonstrations, terrorism, the more idiotic celebrities. There’d been a demonstration on the television news the night before. Had these young people nothing better to do than act like hooligans?
There had also been another young man killed in Afghanistan. Why did countries do this to their young men? How many of this generation’s young women had lost loved ones in the current war? How many mothers had lost their sons?
She didn’t know whether anyone would read her diaries after she was gone, but she’d asked in her will that they be lodged with the local heritage centre. After all, the diaries went right back to her girlhood before World War II, and she’d hardly missed a day in all that time. One day, perhaps, a historian would find them useful. Look at what had happened to the Mass Observation diaries from the War. They’d been turned into some splendid books.
Nicole got up early and tackled her husband after he’d had his shower. ‘Sam, I’m getting really worried about William.’
‘He doesn’t look ill to me.’
‘He isn’t. It’s the way he behaves. I thought he was going to hit me yesterday.’
That caught his full attention, which nothing much did these days.
‘What! No, he’d never do that. Definitely not. We brought him up properly.’
‘Since he met these new friends, he seems to have forgotten all we ever taught him. He’s turning into a proper chauvinist. Our son! A chauvinist!’
Sam sighed. ‘Give it a break. You’re always on about women’s lib. We’re past that now.’
She stared at him indignantly. What was he talking about? She hadn’t mentioned it for years because it always led to a row.
‘William’s just going through a bad patch,’ Sam said soothingly. ‘He’ll grow out of it. Now, I have to get off to work.’ And he was gone before she could stop him. He hadn’t even bothered with breakfast today and he was usually ravenous in the mornings.
Dan Shackleton left his allotment at four o’clock on the dot, as usual. He called at the care home on the way back, to see his wife. He always did this, even though she no longer recognised him.
Peggy was going downhill fast now. Dementia was a dreadful thing. It tore families apart and stole the very personality from those who had it. She’d been such a lovely woman, kind and fun. Now she had a blank face that belonged to a stranger.
His sons thought he should still be looking after her at home. There had been a few arguments about that when he announced that he was putting her into care. They conveniently forgot that he was seventy, had his own health problems and had looked after their mother for much longer than his doctor thought wise.
He sat by the bed for a while, but Peggy didn’t move, didn’t look at him. He’d given up trying to talk to her. She didn’t respond.
‘Mr Shackleton? Could I have a word, please?’
‘Yes, of course.’
He followed Matron into her office. She got him a cup of the horrible tea from the machine in the corridor and said in a gentle voice, ‘I’m afraid it won’t be long now.’
‘I realise that.’
‘Is your phone number still the same?’
‘We haven’t got a mobile number listed.’
‘I haven’t got one.’
‘Perhaps you’d better buy one, since you’re out all day.’
‘I’ll give you my son Simon’s number. He still lives in Sexton Bassett. My other son moved away. Simon can fetch me from the allotment if …’ He couldn’t say the words. ‘If I’m needed suddenly. I’m there till teatime every day, rain or shine.’
‘You can buy a basic mobile quite cheaply these days, you know.’
‘I’m not walking round like a dog on the end of a leash.’ He realised he’d spoken aggressively and took a deep breath. ‘Sorry. It’s just … one of my little foibles. I don’t like mobile phones.’ Couldn’t stand them, actually, but people looked at you strangely if you got vehement about the damned things.
‘Very well.’ She stood up, mouth a thin line of suppressed annoyance.
He sat in his car for a while, trying to calm down. His heart was fluttering in a way that always upset him and made him feel precarious.
Eventually he drove home, hating to go into the dark, empty house. He went about his duties according to the routine he’d worked out. It was washing day. After he’d put a load on, he checked the fridge to see what was needed when he went shopping the next day. He didn’t do housework in the daytime, but went to his little hut at the allotment as soon as it was light. He had a gas ring there to make tea or heat up soup, he could chat to anyone who turned up, and it was a rare day when he didn’t see two or three people. He did whatever jobs were needed on the allotment, read the newspaper, listened to the radio.
Only there did he feel as if his world was still normal.
He suddenly remembered the girl he’d seen looking over the gate. Pretty little thing. No, not little. She was quite tall. But young. Even the police looked young to him these days. Was she the mother of that baby? She’d looked at him uncertainly when he smiled at her, and it had taken her a few seconds to smile back and return his wave.
What had happened to make the poor kid so wary? He couldn’t imagine anyone being afraid of a skinny old chap like himself.
Nicole admitted to herself that she was starting to dread going home and that made her angry. What she was really dreading was another encounter with William.
As she walked into the kitchen she caught him drinking directly from the milk carton, something she’d forbidden him to do several times. She hesitated, then anger took over and she surprised them both by rushing across the kitchen and snatching it from his hand.
‘How many times do I have to tell you not to do that? It’s a filthy habit.’ She started pouring the milk down the sink.
‘Let me finish it off, then. You’re just wasting it.’ He tried to grab it from her and the milk splashed the front of her blouse, so she shoved him away hard. As he staggered back with a shocked look, the final dregs glugged out.
‘I’ll do that every time I catch you drinking from the carton,’ she snapped. ‘The rest of us don’t want to share your germs, thank you very much. And by the way, we now have no milk to put in our tea and coffee because I forgot to buy some, so you’ll have to have it black, unless you care to get off your backside and cycle down to the shop.’
‘No.’ He turned to leave the kitchen.
‘Wait! Have you emptied the dishwasher yet?’
‘No. And I’m not going to. How are you going to make me?’
Once again the moment was fraught and he looked so ready for battle, she didn’t dare challenge him further. ‘Clearly I’m not able to make you,’ she said wearily. ‘But I’m not doing it for you.’ She picked up her handbag and hurried out of the house.
‘What about our tea?’ he shouted after her.
‘You keep claiming you’re grown-up now. Act like it. Feed your bloody self!’
She bumped into Sam on the way out and yelled, ‘They’re your sons as well as mine. You deal with them!’
‘Not again. Do you have to have these confrontations all the time?’
‘Unless you want to live in a filthy pigsty, yes. And I’d appreciate a little support from you.’
‘I’m tired, Nicole. I just want to rest.’
‘Well, poor you! I’m not tired after being on my feet all day, am I?’
He turned away. It was too much. She yelled after him, ‘I’ve had it with the lot of you. Feed yourselves or go hungry.’ She got into her car and drove away.
She went to her usual refuge, the open space down by the ruins of the abbey. It was a beautiful place in summer, but rather spooky at dusk in winter, with bare trees scratching the sky around it. There was no one else nearby, so she locked the car doors carefully then let herself weep.
Since Sam had started his new job, he’d become very withdrawn. He stayed out late at night and said he was working. As if. No one worked till midnight.
She’d smelt perfume on him more than once. He said she was being ridiculous and how could he do anything if the receptionist wore a lot of perfume?
Of all the lame excuses, that took the cake.
He was unhappy at work, she knew, but he couldn’t leave until he found a new job, not if they were to continue paying off the mortgage. The trouble was, he wouldn’t even look for another job, said he couldn’t face writing all those applications again.
He didn’t touch her in bed and when he did come home early, spent most of the evening staring into space. He didn’t help her in the house like he used to, either, not unless she nagged him.
And since he’d stopped helping, so had William. Paul was still doing his chores and hadn’t defied her openly but he rarely said a word. Where were the two little boys she’d loved so much? How had they turned into these aliens?
What the hell did her family think she was? Their unpaid servant? She had to do something about that! Only what?
It wasn’t the first time the idea of leaving home had occurred to her. She might actually move away, just for a few months, to give them a shock, bring them to their senses.
This was the first time she’d contemplated it seriously.
Only where would she go? How would the family manage without her?
How would she cope on her own?
When she got home, she slept in the spare bedroom. And Sam didn’t come to look for her or ask what the matter was. That hurt so much.
The following morning Nicole got up, stared at the mess in the kitchen, which no one had bothered to clear up, and got ready for work in grim silence. She was out of the house before anyone else came down. She’d buy breakfast for herself in a local café.
Because she was angry at Sam for behaving as irresponsibly as the boys, she’d made no provision for their breakfast or lunch, and she didn’t intend to make tea for them, either, not unless they started helping in the house. Let them manage for a bit without her shopping and cleaning for them! If that didn’t bring them to their senses, nothing would.
And then what would she do?
Her shift finished at midday and she sat in the staffroom, staring into a mug of coffee, wondering what to do with herself for the afternoon. She wasn’t going back and clearing up that pigsty. No way. She left a message on Sam’s mobile to say he must come home on time tonight. She needed his support. Strange that he wasn’t answering.
Her friend and colleague Helen came in, took one look at her and sat down beside her. ‘Something’s wrong. You’re usually off as soon as your shift ends.’
Nicole nodded, tried to speak and gulped back tears.
‘Look, why don’t you come back to my place for lunch and tell me about it? I can offer you some true gourmet fare – sandwiches and tinned soup.’
When she walked into Helen’s neat little flat, Nicole sat down and stared at her hands, trying not to cry.
‘Tell me.’
She looked at her friend and began to sob as she told her what was happening. ‘If I had somewhere to go, I’d leave them to it. I’ve had enough.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I do. I’m not going to spend my life like this. Sam hardly seems to notice I’m alive and the boys look at me so scornfully, you’d think I had an IQ of minus 10. Families are supposed to care about one another but mine’s unravelling fast.’
‘I didn’t realise it was so bad. Look, you can come here in an emergency, but the flat isn’t large enough for long-term dual occupancy, I’m afraid.’
‘I’d not do that to you, Helen. I know how you value your privacy.’
‘Well yes, I do. You’re one of the few people whose company I enjoy. At fifty-eight I’ve given up pretending to be a social animal. I’m definitely a loner.’
Silence fell and Nicole tried to laugh as something occurred to her, but failed and another sob escaped instead. ‘Amazing what a small thing it takes to push you over the edge, isn’t it? A carton of milk, dammit. It ought to be something more important than that, don’t you think?’
Helen reached across to squeeze her hand sympathetically. ‘When I split up from Frank, it was shoe polish on the new carpet that was the final straw. But trouble had been brewing for a while. And it has with you, I think.’
She sighed. ‘Yes. Things have been going downhill for a year or two.’
William got home from school a bit later than usual. He stopped just inside the kitchen to stare round in annoyance. He’d been expecting to see his mother cooking tea, but she hadn’t even cleared up the mess. He opened the fridge, his hand already reaching out for the carton of milk, then jerking back. There was no milk in the fridge door. In fact, there wasn’t much food in the fridge at all.
His brother Paul came home shortly afterwards, looked at the kitchen and said, ‘Isn’t Mum back yet? She was supposed to be on early shift roster.’
‘Not a sign of her. She must be working extra hours.’
‘Well, I need to get something to eat quickly. I’ve got a rehearsal tonight.’
‘Be my guest.’ William gestured towards the fridge. ‘There’s sod all in it, though.’
‘Mum’s a bit edgy lately, isn’t she?’
‘Yeah. Must be her age.’
‘You should have emptied the dishwasher yesterday. It was your turn.’
‘I’m not into women’s work and I’m not going to get into it, either, not when the world is full of unliberated chicks itching to do things for me.’ He smirked at the thought of one particular chick. ‘Anyway, Dad doesn’t do much either. He’s wised up, I reckon.’
Paul rolled his eyes. ‘Heaven preserve me from arrogant shits who think the world is there to wait on them hand and foot!’
‘I didn’t see you volunteering to empty the dishwasher.’
‘I did it when it was my turn. I’m not doing yours.’
‘I’ve heard women go strange when they get older. She went ape about the milk yesterday. Tipped all of it down the sink.’
‘I don’t blame her. I don’t like it, either, when you drink from the carton.’
‘Whose side are you on?’
‘My own.’ Paul went to the freezer. ‘Oh, sod it! We’ve run out of bread, too. Now what am I going to eat?’ He went to the pantry and peered inside. ‘Tins of fruit, tins of soup, tins of baked beans.’
‘If you’re making something to eat, make me something too.’
‘Get it yourself.’
‘I’m older and bigger than you. Do it.’
Paul shrugged. ‘Nope. You can beat me in a fight but you still can’t make me wait on you. I’m not a member of the William Gainsford Fan Club.’ He found an apple, a chunk of cheese and opened a tin of baked beans, scarfing down the lot.
He was about to leave for rehearsal when their father came home and stared at the mess, not moving for so long that Paul looked at his brother, who shrugged.
‘Isn’t your mother back?’ their dad asked at last. ‘Did she say she was going to be late?’
‘No, she didn’t. I’m off to rehearsal, Dad. Don’t forget to pick me up afterwards.’
‘All right.’
Paul watched his dad rub his head, as if it was aching again, then walk upstairs without saying anything. On an afterthought he scribbled a note about needing to be picked up from rehearsal and stuck it prominently on the fridge where his mother would see it. His dad had been very forgetful lately.
William called, ‘Hey, Dad. We’re out of bread and milk, and Mum’s not got anything in for tea.’
‘She’ll bring something home with her. She always does.’
Then his parents’ bedroom door closed and there was silence, punctuated by a groan of relief from his father and the creaking of the bed as he lay down.
Paul shook his head, feeling really worried about his dad’s behaviour, then caught sight of the clock and rushed out.
Nicole spent the rest of the afternoon at the cinema, because it had started to rain. She didn’t get much benefit from the film because she kept getting lost in her own thoughts.
When she came out, it was getting dark, but at least the rain had stopped. She walked slowly home, stopping to gaze in the estate agent’s window: Flat to rent. Two bedrooms, Peppercorn Street, partly furnished. She lingered for a moment or two, reading the details, dreaming of somewhere of her own, a peaceful orderly home where no one upset you. If only – no, she couldn’t do it to them. It was just an escapist fantasy.
She continued along High Street to her end of town, stopped outside the house, took a deep breath and went in.
Not only had they not cleared up, they’d added to the mess, not even putting their crockery in the sink. Taking her favourite beaker, which no one else was supposed to use, she washed it out carefully and made a cup of coffee. She didn’t feel at all hungry.
Footsteps thumped down the stairs. William. She could always tell.
He stopped in the doorway to look at her warily. ‘Oh, there you are, Mum. What’s for tea?’
‘Nothing. I’m not cooking in this mess.’
‘Huh?’ He looked around as if searching for something. ‘You usually go shopping on your afternoon off. We’ve not got much food left.’
‘You didn’t feel like helping round the house yesterday. Today I don’t feel like shopping.’ She went across, flipped open the dishwasher door and stood very still for a moment to hold in the anger. ‘This hasn’t been emptied yet. We’ll be running out of clean crockery soon.’
‘But what about tea? I’m famished.’
‘What about it? I can’t cook in a pigsty.’ She left him standing with that sulky expression on his face that said he knew he was in the wrong but wasn’t going to back down. But at least he hadn’t threatened her today. Perhaps he realised he’d stepped over the line there.
In the bedroom she found Sam lying on the bed.
He sat up, looking dazed. ‘Sorry. I must have fallen asleep. Did you work extra hours?’
‘No. I just didn’t want to come home. Comfy, are you?’
‘I had a headache.’
‘And did you have a headache last night too?’
‘Come again?’
‘No one cleared up the kitchen. And you didn’t support me with the boys. William’s still refusing to lift a finger.’
‘Give it a break!’
‘I am. A complete break. I am not doing all the clearing up after you three.’
‘You always have done before.’
‘More fool me. And actually, you used to help around the house quite a lot. You’ve hardly lifted a finger lately.’
‘Since I got this job, I’m too tired with all the commuting.’
She glared at him. ‘Has it escaped your notice that I work full-time too?’
‘You’ve got an easy job compared to mine.’
‘So I suddenly became the housemaid as well? No, thank you. Didn’t apply for the job and I’m not being conscripted.’ She began to tidy one of her drawers, not sure what to do next.
‘Look, we’ll get a takeaway tonight.’
‘Not till that kitchen’s cleared up, we won’t. If you and the boys don’t do that, I’m going out for a meal somewhere clean.’
He got up off the bed, frowning at her. ‘Where? Maybe we could all go.’
‘You lot have got clearing up to do at home.’
‘Well, if you’re going out, Paul needs picking up from rehearsal.’
‘Glad you remembered. Don’t forget to do it.’ She ran down the stairs, expecting Sam to call after her, say he’d organise the clear-up, but he didn’t. She drove off slowly, tears blurring her eyes and making the street look surreal. She didn’t know what to do, where to go, just that she couldn’t bear to stay in. Surely, surely, they’d clear up now?
The only thing she was certain about was that she wasn’t going to touch the mess. She’d reached her sticking point. If she didn’t stand firm, she’d lose all self-respect.
She was not only tired of what was happening at home, she was bone tired, period, and desperately needed a break.
She wandered round the shopping centre buying a snack for herself from a café, a piece of rather stale gâteau. Feeling defiant, she bought a glass of wine too. Why not? One small glass wouldn’t put her over the limit.
Not until it was nearly time for the shopping centre to close did she go home.
Sam looked at her reproachfully as she announced that she’d be sleeping in the spare bedroom again.
‘That isn’t necessary.’
‘I think it is necessary until we sort this out. I’m angry at all of you. And I’m not giving in.’
The boys rolled their eyes at one another but said nothing. They didn’t go into the kitchen, though, just up to bed.
Sam went straight to bed as well.
She lay on the hard bed in the spare bedroom and cried into the pillow.
The kitchen stayed dirty the following morning. Sam must have bought some bread and milk the night before when he picked Paul up from rehearsal, but at the rate her sons ate, they’d soon run out of butter and jam.
William gave her a sneering smile before he left, gestured to the mess and said, ‘The earth hasn’t fallen in, has it?’
She was still gasping with indignation at his insolence as the door slammed behind him.
Sam had already left.
How long could this continue? Would she manage to hold out against them? Should she just give in and do the minimum? After all, boys of William’s age were noted for their macho behaviour.
No! She’d never forgive herself if she gave in. A saying someone had shared with her years ago popped into her mind: If you want people to walk all over you, just lie down and become a doormat.
She wasn’t going to do that.