laughed. It was a good wholesome laugh, a laugh that made Kate feel quite envious.
‘How’s Joe?’
Bad choice.
‘For someone so small you weigh a bloody ton.’ The words, hissed between gritted teeth, sounded far grumpier than Kate had intended but then again she was sweating and fighting for breath having struggled down Church Hill, steering Maggie in a wheelchair, trying very hard to avoid letting her mother roll off the kerb and under passing juggernauts. Controlling a wheelchair was a lot harder than Kate had anticipated; they’d been out of the house less than ten minutes and she was totally knackered. Maybe flat shoes would have been a better choice rather than the little kitten heels sandals that she was wearing.
Kate had been home about an hour. Once she had recovered from her encounter with Andrew and finished the unpacking and bedmaking, Kate rapidly realised that if they didn’t do something she would probably end up asking Maggie about Guy or alternatively telling her about Joe and Chrissie, and she didn’t feel ready to do either.
A walk, that was what she decided they needed, get Maggie out in the air, must be awful to be cooped up in the house all day with just four walls to look at. Kate paused; who the hell was she trying to kid? It sounded like bliss to have a few days on the sofa with a pile of magazines, with nothing to do and no one to disturb you.
Watching Joe drive away that morning, before going back inside to wake the boys, Kate had wondered if he had arranged to meet Chrissie somewhere. Maybe they had met up for breakfast. Had he grinned and waved, hurried across some road somewhere to join her for croissants and coffee?
Chrissie would be hurting like hell, Kate thought, as she manoeuvred Maggie down the drop kerb and across the traffic lights. She and Chrissie had been friends for years, which made everything worse than impossible. How the hell could she be having an empathic response for the woman who had been sleeping with her husband? A woman who had betrayed all those sacred arcane laws about shagging your best friend’s bloke?
Kate could guess exactly how Chrissie would be feeling and there was part of her, against all the odds, that felt really sorry for her. It was impossible not to think about all the things they’d done together, as families, as a couple, as friends; it seemed just so unlikely, so impossible and so bloody unfair that all that time Joe and Chrissie had been holding on to this huge secret thing. They knew and Kate didn’t. It gave her the most awful sick feeling.
Did Joe and Chrissie look at each other while they were all together, while they were on holiday together, while the kids were playing cricket on the beach, or at a barbecue, and long to be alone? Did they brush past each other in the kitchen, and smile knowingly while Kate was outside turning the beefburgers; did they talk about her when they were in bed together? Had they got secret jokes and magic words that she had heard and yet never recognised?
She and Chrissie had often talked about sex, life, kids. Kate couldn’t think of a single area of life where they hadn’t been in conversation. Years before, over a coffee, or maybe a bottle of wine, Kate had told Chrissie, amongst a million other things, how Joe had once grabbed her in the kitchen, dragging her off for a quickie in the coal shed where they stored the bikes. How they’d screwed like rattlesnakes, giggling and half cut, trying so very hard not to make too much noise, while Kate’s parents and the kids were sitting inside waiting for them to dish up Christmas dinner. What was it Chrissie had thought as Kate had been telling her? Had she been there too? Stolen moments while Kate had been somewhere else, patiently waiting? Had it been better for her or worse?
Kate felt cold fingers track up and down her spine; a person could easily drive herself mad thinking about this stuff. She was so deep in thought Kate had almost totally forgotten about Maggie.
‘You were the one who suggested it would be nice to walk into town.’ Maggie sounded tense. ‘Guy thought it would be a good idea to borrow a wheelchair from the hospital. He took me down the pub for lunch yesterday.’
Kate snapped back to the present; good for bloody Guy. There was no way she could possibly compete with the bronzed boy wonder. Pushing the wheelchair was like trying to steer a human shopping trolley. Kate glanced over her shoulder wondering how the hell she was ever going to get Maggie back up the hill.
As if she could read her mind, Maggie said, ‘Kate, instead of struggling like this why don’t you park me over there under the trees and go back and fetch the car? I don’t mind. We could have a sandwich at home if you like? I’ve got loads of food in. Guy felt so guilty about leaving me he’s laid in enough for a siege.’
‘No, it’ll be fine. Don’t worry.’ Kate did her best to sound brisk and capable. ‘Now where did you say you wanted to go?’
Which was a stupid thing to ask because up until a quarter of an hour ago Maggie had been happily reading on the sofa with no desire to go anywhere whatsoever.
There was a pause and then Maggie, in that same kind of oh well we’re here now better get on with it way, said, ‘We could drop into the bookshop if you like. You can meet everyone, and then we could find somewhere for a late lunch – the brasserie? I’m sure they would be pleased to see I’m still alive. My treat.’
‘Sounds fine, although when we get back I really must get on with some work,’ Kate said, implying that coming home to Maggie’s had dragged her away from something vitally important.
Maggie nodded. ‘Okay. Did I tell you I’m thinking about remodelling the garden later this year? We’ve drawn it up and measured it. I’ve promised myself that while Guy’s away I’ll go through all those gardening magazines and books I’ve got. It’s really nice to have someone to plan things with again and he loves gardening –’ Kate could hear the enthusiasm in her mother’s voice and didn’t know what to say, but it appeared that she wasn’t expected to say anything, as Maggie continued, ‘I thought I’d do some textural things – cobbles, gravel and water. I’ve seen this wonderful water feature that was built into the top of a brick wall; you end up with this thin, rather elegant stream, dropping over different levels and then being pumped back. And then –’ Using her hands for emphasis Maggie started to wax lyrical about patios and pots and pools as Kate braced herself against the handles of the chair. ‘Maybe we could go to the local garden centre some time while you’re here? I’ve been thinking about building a pergola; Guy is very good with his hands.’
Kate decided not to comment.
In a funny way, Guy or no Guy, it was a relief to see Maggie so animated. This was the woman Kate thought about when she visualised her mother, self-contained, joy-filled, always with some scheme or project on the boil. It was reassuring that things weren’t so far out of kilter after all. Instead of playing nursemaid Kate could let go and give her mum some space. Part of her, she realised, felt that she was obligated to amuse and entertain and generally be with her mum all the time. For as long as she could remember Kate had never felt that way about Maggie.
Although, said the rogue voice in her head, wasn’t that the main reason she had volunteered to come back home? While protesting she needed time and space to think, wasn’t Kate really hoping that nursing Maggie would take her thoughts away from Joe and Chrissie, that somehow, in her absence, all those things that were broken would miraculously heal themselves?
While her mind was busy having an argument with itself, Kate steered the wheelchair in through the gates of the Memorial Playing Fields, a short cut into the town.
