still watching the news. He says hi.’
I doubt Dad has peeled his eyes from the TV screen. Having brought up four daughters in a compact terraced house, he learnt long ago to tune out of the conversations going on around him.
‘Have you heard Hayley’s news?’ Mum continues. ‘She’s only been back from maternity leave two months and they’ve promoted her already.’
‘Yes, you told me.’
Mum hears the sharpness of my reply. ‘You’ll get there too, Jennifer. You have as much potential as your sisters and you’re still young-ish.’ There’s a telling pause before she adds, ‘Although I was looking at how long it takes to become a certified counsellor. You really should start training sooner rather than later.’
I regret ever mentioning my musings to Mum, but I’d been in the middle of planning the relaunch and Ruth had me all enthused about how the foundation might actually expand its services beyond the helpline, despite Geoff’s calls for caution. But Mum’s right. It will take years to become qualified and there would be sacrifices I’d have to make along the way.
I glance across the open plan apartment, with its polished timber floor and gleaming surfaces. There are no sticky finger marks on the glass dining table, no Lego bricks gathering dust beneath the pale grey sofa, and the corner desk has no teetering tower of files brought home from a demanding job. I’m unlike any of my sisters.
It’s as if Mum is looking over my shoulder when she adds, ‘And it’s not the only thing you need to start planning.’
I don’t know why I bothered answering the phone when I saw Mum’s name appear. On a day when I’m desperate for a hug, my mother puts me in a stranglehold. Can’t she see that I’m happy as I am?
‘It’s ten years since – you know,’ Mum continues. ‘It’s time to move on and start building a life for yourself.’
As Mum’s voice drones on from the speakerphone, I carry the lasagne to the oven. The dish makes a clatter as I drop it onto a baking shelf and I don’t hear the front door opening. When I straighten up, Charlie catches me pulling faces at the phone.
‘You’re twenty-eight years old, Jennifer,’ Mum continues, having given up pretending I’m still young-ish. ‘You need to think about settling down properly, and Charlie’s business is doing well. Isn’t it time he popped the question?’
Charlie’s eyebrows lift as his mouth pulls into a smirk. Mum would have a fit if she knew that in almost eight years of living together, Charlie has asked me to marry him a total of five times and my answer has always been the same – what we have works.
‘I’m waiting for Jen to ask me, Eve,’ Charlie calls out.
There’s a long pause and I can’t tell if Mum has been struck dumb because she’s realised Charlie was listening, or she’s simply horrified at the idea that one of her daughters should have to do the asking.
‘Don’t worry about us, Mum,’ I say to break the silence. ‘We’re happy enough as we are. Shouldn’t that be what matters?’
‘I’m only looking out for you— for both of you,’ she adds. ‘You don’t have to settle for happy enough. That’s all I’m saying.’
This time when I pull a face, Charlie does too and we have to stifle our giggles as we say our goodbyes to Mum and I cut the call.
‘That’s never all Mum was saying,’ I mutter.
‘It’s your fault for not fitting into her standardised daughter mould.’
‘And she won’t stop until she’s hammered me into place.’
‘I like a woman who knows her own mind,’ Charlie says before adding quickly, ‘You do know I’m talking about you, right? Not your mum?’
‘I know,’ I reply although I’m not sure I do know my own mind. My refusal to conform could be because Meg passed on her rebellious streak to me as a parting gift, but I suspect what she actually left me with was fear – fear of opening new doors when the one behind was torn off its hinges and will never close. I doubt I could look to the future at all without Charlie. He knows what we left behind. He was there too. ‘Thank you for saving me from my mother’s designs.’
‘As I recall, we saved each other,’ he replies.
Moving closer, Charlie circles the kitchen island that divides the kitchen and living space. He’s a foot taller, some might say lanky, with curly brown hair and hazel eyes pinched into a permanent squint because he refuses to wear glasses except for driving. He says they make him look like a geek and I’m inclined to agree but it was his geekiness that attracted me to him, and that was long before he ever noticed me.
We met in high school and were part of the same circle of friends with Meg at its core. There was an unspoken rule that none of us could fancy each other, and no one had an issue with that until we started sixth form and Lewis infiltrated the group. That was when the rules of engagement were rewritten and Charlie and I were one of the last to pair off. The fact that Lewis was the catalyst might suggest his influence was a good thing. It wasn’t.
His arrival heralded the end of all our teenage dreams, and Meg wasn’t the only one who would fail her A Levels. Charlie did too, and if I’m honest, I was more worried about him at the time than I was Meg. I was no longer the person she turned to in a crisis, and I proved to be no help to Charlie either. After Meg’s funeral, he disappeared for a while. He went to work for his uncle in Warrington and when he returned a year or so later, he found me where he’d left me; still at Mum and Dad’s, still grieving, still scared to look to the future. Thank God for Charlie.
A smile creeps across my face as I watch him pick up a damp dish cloth and begin treating the red spatters on my shirt as if they’re war wounds. He has the presence of a paramedic although his area of expertise lies closer to stain removal.
Taking advice from his uncle, Charlie had come back to Liverpool with a plan. He set up his own cleaning business and I’d been helping him when Ruth stole me away to work for her. It was probably a good thing that I left when I did. As is apparent from the mess I’ve made in the kitchen, cleaning is not my forte, whereas Charlie has found his vocation. Despite what my mum might think, you don’t need qualifications to be a success.
‘What on earth’s got your mum riled up this time?’ he asks.
‘The interview. Meg’s anniversary. Hayley’s promotion. The full moon,’ I say, counting them off on my fingers.
Charlie’s quiet for a moment. Meg has that effect on us. ‘How did the interview go?’
‘I imagine that depends on who you ask.’
‘Forget whatever your mum’s said.’ He puts the cloth down and wraps his arms around me.
Resting my head on his chest, I say, ‘I’m not talking about Mum, and the interview itself went well. It might only be the local news but our services are targeted to the North West anyway, and it’s just what we need to raise awareness.’
‘But?’
‘Ruth … She all but named Lewis as Meg’s murderer.’ I’m
