with their mouths open.
She chuckled. ‘Don’t worry. I wouldn’t ask you to stay there.’
Gloria knew then that Zara was no ordinary woman; she was hard and had taken on more than most people could handle, but she would still face her demons.
Zara, though, miraculously didn’t see these as demons, merely challenges.
Eric placed his hand on her back and gently rubbed it. ‘If you need to go back there for anything, I’ll go with you.’
Gloria clocked the look on her son’s face. She didn’t like it one little bit.
***
Rebecca sat at the kitchen island with her head in her hands, the tea towel covering her sodden cheeks. At forty-three years old, she should have been in her prime, but she wasn’t. The signs were all there: a thickened waist, grey hair, and crow’s feet around her once bright and, some would say, come-to-bed eyes. She wasn’t even sure if her husband knew what she looked like under her elastic-waisted trousers and iron-free blouse. All the intimacy that had once been between them had diminished over the last two years. His business – so he said – was growing, and his excuse for staying away was that he had to strike while the iron was hot. It must be bloody molten lava by now, she thought.
The stress of it all pushed Rebecca to consider resigning, but as soon as she mentioned those words, Alastair and her father went off like a Catherine wheel, spitting, hissing, and spinning in circles. Her eyes looked to the cupboard under the sink, the place where she thought every housewife hid her booze. Her husband certainly wouldn’t look there: he didn’t even know where the kitchen sink was.
Just as she bent down and opened the cupboard, a crashing sound made her jump. Spinning round, she almost lost her balance. There, giving her an unwelcome sneer, stood Kendall. The noise was from her daughter flinging her rucksack onto the worktop. Like her sisters, Kendall had not an ounce of respect for her.
Usually, she would have offered her daughter a drink or something to eat, but not this evening, though; she was sick to the back teeth of pussyfooting around Kendall. So, instead, she sneered back and tutted.
‘So, tell me, Mother, who exactly is your puppetmaster?’
Rebecca tilted her head to the side with a questioning expression. Silently, she wondered why she’d ever bothered to take Kendall away from her father. She should have left her there. There was not a smidgen of her own genes in the girl – not in looks, attitude, not even in interests. If she didn’t look so much like her real father, Rebecca would have sworn she’d been swapped at birth.
‘Kendall, I have no idea what you’re talking about, and, to be quite frank, I really don’t care!’
She turned away from her daughter and searched for the bottle of Bombay Sapphire. Pulling a tumbler from the top shelf, she poured a generous helping and took two large gulps. So uptight and angry, she didn’t bother to add the tonic; instead, she swallowed more of the bitter, clear liquid and smarted as it ripped the back of her throat. After taking a deep breath, she looked up at her daughter, who appeared to be stunned. Well, she would be; she’d never seen her mother do that before – she’d thought her too straight-laced to knock back neat gin.
‘What’s up, Mother? Did you find Alastair with another woman?’ she scoffed.
Rebecca stared at her daughter’s ridiculing eyes and was hit by overwhelming anger that shot up from her feet to the top of her head. Instantly, she threw the glass tumbler at the wall, and then, with both hands, she wiped the centre island clear, sending the vase, the condiments, and Kendall’s rucksack flying to the floor.
Still incensed, she smashed both her fists on the worktop and glared with fire in her eyes at her daughter. ‘Now, you fucking listen to me. You’re a spiteful, evil bitch, and if you weren’t my daughter, I would give you what-for. So, fuck off, away from me.’ She paused, sucking a deep breath as she stared at the horror-stricken look on Kendall’s face; yet she didn’t feel in the least bit sorry or guilty for those harsh words.
‘I wish I’d never applied for custody. I wish I’d never brought you back into my home to give you a better life. In fact, I wish you’d never been born, you ungrateful, nasty girl. Now, before I do something I really do regret, fuck off, go back to your bastard of a father, and leave me alone!’
Kendall stood frozen to the spot. Never in her life had she seen her mother act that way. The overly polite and sickly-sweet manner had been replaced by a raging lunatic, but Kendall wasn’t going to stand there and take that. ‘My dad, the bastard, yeah? Weren’t you the one who couldn’t keep your knickers on? Weren’t you the one who fucked off with Alastair and left Dad and me on our own? I think the truth is, Mother, you’re the bastard – or the puppet.’
She knew the minute the words left her mouth she was going to get it from her mother, so she turned to rush out of the door before something was thrown her way. However, she wasn’t fast enough and was ripped back by her T-shirt and pushed against the wall. With a tight grip around her throat, Kendall’s eyes nearly popped out of her head and her heart felt like it was beating outside her chest. Her mother was a millimetre away from her face and foaming at the mouth. This wasn’t her mother, surely? This was a demon who had taken over her mother’s body. Then, to her horror, her mother pulled her fist back ready to launch a punch. Kendall stared into her mother’s eyes, searching for any sign of the rage leaving. To her relief, her mother dropped her arm and pushed her away.
With legs like jelly and her body trembling, Kendall scurried away. As soon as she was out of reach, she shouted back, ‘Don’t worry, I’m moving out next weekend. My father has a flat for me, so you can go and fuck yourself.’
Heading to her bedroom, only too pleased to have had the last word, Kendall didn’t hear her mother sobbing. As soon as Kendall reached the end of the hallway, the front door opened and in walked Alastair, looking very chuffed. Dressed in a grey suit and with a golden tan, Kendall had to admit he wasn’t bad looking. She could see why her mother was attracted to him. A well-built man, with ripped muscles and piercing eyes, he wouldn’t seem out of place at a prefight weigh-in. However, the way he looked at her still made her want to cringe.
‘Hello, Kendall, how’s Brooke?’ he said, not noticing the sheer spite on her face. He took off his jacket, placed it on a hanger, and rolled up his sleeves. Kendall didn’t reply but went up the stairs, leaving him to see for himself the carnage in the kitchen. Once she reached the landing, she strained her ears to listen, wondering if her mother would revert to the sweet housewife fussing over her husband like it was in the 1950s.
‘What’s the bloody matter now, Rebecca?’ Alastair’s voice was less than compassionate, which sent Rebecca into a further downward spiral.
‘Where have you been?’ she snapped.
‘Where the hell do you think? I’ve been to work, Rebecca. Now, will you pull yourself together and stop badgering me. I’d have thought you had more pressing issues to be concentrating on, like the upcoming election. Oh yes, and not forgetting, you have our daughter up there suffering.’
Kendall crept back down the staircase and waited midway, listening.
‘Brooke won’t even look at me, and damn the bloody election. In fact, Alastair, I might resign. I’ve had enough.’
‘What!’ he bellowed, his tone now deep and masterful. ‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous, woman. We’ve come
