stops talking to me because she’s listening for them. After a while I give up trying to talk to her and just listen too. Usually I get distracted, by the creepy-crawlies or the scabs on my knees but today I sit further forward, right up next to Mum. Her breathing is fast; she’s pointing at something.
‘Do you see it?’
My eyes hurt from straining so hard but I stare at where she’s looking and I do see it. My insides curl up and I have to look away. After a while, Mummy takes my hand in hers and strokes it, she pulls me close to her and gives me a little cuddle. It helps.
It’s been Mummy and me ever since I was born. I think that’s why Mummy is sad, and it makes me feel guilty. I try to be good, to do everything she wants. I go with her everywhere and watch when she tells me to watch and listen when she tells me to listen. But it doesn’t make her happy. Some of the time it makes her angry, and most of the time it just makes her sad. Then I get sad too, and sometimes I feel cross because I just want her to be like the other mothers, all smiley and happy and like a normal mummy.
But we haven’t got a normal family. Not any more. Mummy says we were going to have but that it got taken away. Someone else got it instead. When she says that it gives me a funny feeling inside, it makes me want to pull on the ends of my hair until the strands come out and it hurts a little bit. I did that a lot when I was younger but Mummy said I had to stop or I’d never be able to plait my hair like they do. I stopped after that, because their hair is lovely, it’s the thing I’m most jealous of right now. I’ve seen them plait it through the upstairs window, I think they do it before they go to bed.
Kent
Ashley
Ashley gently shakes her son awake. The roads to her mother’s house were horribly busy, and she has done all the driving. James is not here. She slips a hand into her cardigan pocket and brings out her mobile; has he even called yet? But of course, there isn’t any reception at the house. Never has been. She’d bet on the fact that he hasn’t rang anyway. Ashley sighs. She’s eaten Minstrels all the way to Kent, dipping into the bag proffered by Benji. No wonder James isn’t here; he probably doesn’t want to be stuck with a fatso like her.
Ashley shoves her phone away, takes a deep breath and gently kisses Benji’s still-closed eyelids. She’ll have to put James to the back of her mind, but it’s hard. Beside Benji, Holly stirs in her car seat. Her little fists are clenched by her sides. They have had to stop three times on the way, once to change her nappy, once to buy Lucy a magazine and once to get Benji the Minstrels. Every stop has been a struggle. Lucy has been quiet and unhelpful, Ashley is hot and tired from juggling all three children on her own. Without James.
Every time Ashley thinks of it she gets a little spurt of anger. She had pleaded with him to come but he had been resolute.
‘Ash, I have to be in the office on Saturday morning. I’m sorry, I know it’s not ideal but . . .’ He had tailed off, looked down at the floor. Lucy had come into the kitchen moaning about her shoes (‘Where are they, Mum? I left them in the hallway. Why do you always move everything?’) and the moment had gone, slipped away from Ashley like sand through her fingers.
‘I’ll meet you there, I promise,’ James had murmured, planting a brief kiss on her forehead. She had reached for him, brushed the ends of his shirt as the jangle of his mobile pulled him into the next room. He had pressed it tight against his ear, turned his mouth away from her so that she couldn’t hear what he was saying, or who was on the phone. She’d watched the back of his head through the glass window in the door frame, the way the muscles in the back of his neck stood tense and alert.
At least this weekend is an excuse to get away from the house. Ashley is not sure how many more nights sitting alone in front of the TV she can take, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock, waiting for Holly to start crying again. Lately, when Benji and Holly are sleeping upstairs and Lucy has retreated to her room, Ashley finds herself at a loss – not that there isn’t anything to do, there is always washing to be done, surfaces to be wiped – but she finds herself alone, left with nobody to talk to. When this happens, she realises what is happening – she is missing her husband. Even in the marital home they have shared for years, Ashley is missing the man she married.
And she wants to know where he is. She has come to dread the little pangs of anxiety that ripple through her every time the phone rings, the places her imagination jumps to. There had been another call late last night, the needling sound of her mobile this time, jolting her awake just as she dozed off, alone in the double bed. She had stared at the screen. Unknown number. Sitting upright in bed, Ashley had pressed the phone to her ear. She’d said nothing, didn’t want whoever it was to have the satisfaction of hearing her voice. After a few seconds of silence, she’d pressed end call, buried the little phone deep underneath the pillows, laid back down in the bed. In the morning the phone had been placed neatly back on their nightstand; James had smiled at her.
‘You shouldn’t sleep with it under your head. I moved it for you.’ She had nodded, watched him leave the room, go straight upstairs to his office even though it was first thing in the morning and the children were all clamouring for breakfast.
His absences have shown no signs of stopping. She knows she ought to confront him but something is making her wait. She supposes it is hope; hope that she is getting things out of proportion, is misreading the signs. Once it’s out there, she will have to deal with it. But how much longer can this go on? How can he not see how much she needs him?
When they reach Sevenoaks, Ashley hugs her mother tightly. She can feel Mathilde’s bones through her top, is shocked by how skinny she has become. Ashley worries that her mum spends too much time alone. Even though the house is small it still seems too big for one person; Ashley is taken aback by the emptiness of it each time they come. And the gap her dad has left in the family looms larger whenever the three of them are together.
‘It’s so good to see you, Mum.’ It is; she smiles at her mother, breathes in her familiar scent of cleaning products and freesias. Mathilde reaches for Holly, buries her face in her neck.
‘How is our little one? Oh, your grandad would have loved you so much.’
Ashley feels a twist of sadness. When Holly was born, a part of her had wanted her to be a boy, another Richard. The letters of her father’s name had hovered around her head in the terrible weeks between his death and Holly’s birth, as though waiting to latch on to something else, to reassign themselves. But Holly is Holly. And her father is gone. He would have loved her to distraction. Ashley knows he would.
Benji runs forward into the house, screaming excitedly for Dominic. Lucy follows, the white buds of her earphones trailing after her, her mobile buzzing in her hands.
Corinne is curled up like a cat on the living room sofa, her dark hair tied back from her face, fiddling with the gold bracelet on her wrist. She’s wearing jeans and a pale blue jumper, she looks somehow younger than her thirty-four years. Dominic is by her side. He grins at Ashley.
‘Great to see you, Ash!’ He pulls her into a hug and she embraces him warmly. She has always liked Dominic, he is so down-to-earth, good for her sister. Ashley leans down to kiss Corinne, cupping her face in both her hands affectionately. Her sister looks thin; as Ashley hugs her, she feels Corinne’s body jerk slightly, as though she is nervous.
‘Hi, Ash. Where’s James?’ Corinne asks.
Ashley’s
