over and kisses me.
‘Morning, Babe,’ he says, without opening his eyes, then rolls back over. ‘Night, Babe.’
‘Hey, fella, you’re not getting away with that,’ I whisper in his ear as I run my hand down his body and pull him back towards me.
Luke opens one eye and looks at the clock. ‘Jesus, Clare, it’s only five-fucking-thirty.’
‘Never mind all that …’ I kiss away his protests.
I feel his mouth curve into a smile and he opens his other eye. ‘Now, that is cheating.’
He rolls over and swamps me in his arms and for a while I allow myself to forget the challenges of real life.
‘And how are we all this morning?’ says Mum coming into the kitchen as Luke and I are hurtling around getting breakfast ready and taking it in turns to direct the girls on what needs doing next. Okay, Hannah is rather more capable at seven years old and only needs encouraging, Chloe, however, at just three, needs the more hands-on approach.
We live with my mother, Marion, in the house I grew up in. Initially, we had moved in with her when Luke was a struggling artist and I had just taken my first appointment in chambers straight out of uni. Some would say that Luke still carries the struggling artist hashtag. By that, I actually mean my mother. Although, in her defence, she is very tolerant.
Since then the girls have come along and we have expanded to five of us in one house. Just as well The Old Vicarage, in which we live, is large enough to give Mum a separate living room to us and Luke his own studio in the annexe of the house.
‘Seems silly me rattling around in this big house on my own and the house prices around Brighton are ridiculous,’ Mum had said. ‘Besides, I’d like the company. I’ll be close to the girls as they grow up and you two would have a built-in baby sitter.’
And she was right. All these points made perfect sense and were very pragmatic, but we both knew the real reason why I could never move.
Not after what happened.
And, in truth, I wasn’t sure I could, even if my heart wanted to go along with Luke’s preferred choice of buying a place of our own, to make memories of our own, my conscience wouldn’t allow me. I couldn’t leave Mum all alone.
‘You can’t keep yourself hostage to something that happened in your childhood,’ Luke had said one night as we lay in bed, his last-bid attempt to change my mind.
The truth was, though, I could, and I had always known it would be like this. The only way it would change would be if Alice came home.
‘Come on, Chloe,’ I say, picking her up from the play mat. ‘Let’s get you to the table. Morning, Mum.’ I sit Chloe on the booster seat and push her closer to the table. I take the bowl of Weetabix Luke hands me. He is whistling as he makes a pot of tea.
‘Someone’s happy this morning,’ says Mum, helping herself to a slice of toast. The smile might be there, but the flat tone of her voice is a betrayal.
Luke and I exchange a look across the kitchen.
‘It’s a beautiful morning, the sun is shining and I have my lovely family around me. You included,’ Luke says enthusiastically. He gives Mum his best cheery smile in an effort lift her mood. Mum looks away, her eyes automatically seeking out the calendar on the wall and coming to rest on the date two days ahead.
‘I need to go into town today,’ she says. ‘I’ve got to pick something up from the jewellers.’
We all know, without Mum having to spell it out, that it will be Alice’s birthday present. Never a birthday nor a Christmas has gone by without Mum buying a gift for when Alice comes home. Never if, always when.
‘I’ll give you a lift in, if you like,’ says Luke. ‘We can drop Chloe at nursery and go on straight from there.’
‘Oh, would you? That would be kind,’ says Mum. This time her smile is warmer.
I like that Luke and Mum have a good relationship. It makes living together so much easier. Most families we know sit down in the evening for their quality time. In the Tennison household, breakfast is our family meal. I quite often don’t get home from work until early evening and it’s too late for the girls to eat. I appreciate it isn’t Luke’s ideal arrangement, but he always makes an effort for us all.
‘So, Hannah, you have recorder today,’ I say in between guiding cereal-laden spoonfuls into Chloe’s mouth. ‘Luke, you won’t forget, will you? I think the music book is still on top of the piano in the sitting room.’
‘Er … yes, all under control,’ says Luke. He leans over to Hannah and whispers theatrically, ‘Have you got the music book?’
Hannah flicks a glance in my direction and whispers back to Luke. ‘No. I thought you had it.’
I pretend not to notice Luke put his finger to his lips and then mutter, ‘Leave it with me. I’m on the case.’ Hannah gives a giggle and when I look at Luke, he winks at me and then makes a big show of being engrossed in pouring the tea.
‘Oh, God, would you look at the time?’ I hurriedly shovel another spoon of Weetabix into Chloe’s mouth. ‘I have the Monday rumble at nine with Tom and Leonard. Come on, Chloe, eat up.’
Luke reaches over and takes the spoon from me. ‘Off you go,’ he says. ‘Don’t want to keep the boss waiting.’
‘He’s not my boss any more,’ I say, gulping down the cup of tea Luke has poured, wincing as it burns my throat. ‘I’m an equal partner now, remember.’
‘Hmm, well, you still act as if Leonard’s your boss. And Tom, come to mention it. Make them wait for you for a change.’
Ignoring the comment, I kiss the girls goodbye. ‘Have a lovely day, my darlings. Hannah, don’t forget to hand in the swimming gala permission form to your teacher. Chloe, be a good girl at nursery. Mummy loves you both very much.’
‘Love you too,’ says Hannah, blowing kisses as I manoeuvre around the table.
‘Uv you too,’ repeats Chloe through a mouthful of soggy wheat and milk.
‘Don’t forget, you’re going home with Daisy after school,’ I remind Hannah and then to confirm Luke has remembered the details, add, ‘Pippa’s picking Hannah up and giving her tea. She’ll drop her back later.’ Pippa is one of the few friends I have in the village. If our daughters hadn’t become friends themselves at school, then I probably wouldn’t have got to know Pippa. I give Mum a peck on the cheek. ‘See you later, Mum.’ Then I bend down to kiss Luke. His hand slips around my waist and he holds the kiss for a moment longer than necessary.
‘Go get ‘em, Babe, at your rumble in the jungle.’ He lets me go and shadow boxes Ali style. ‘Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.’
I feel a surge of love for this man. He is my best friend, my lover, my husband, my everything. I give Luke a high-five before I grab my jacket from the back of the chair and head out of the kitchen and down the hall, where my briefcase and sack trolley are waiting, the latter loaded with a pile of files I had brought home for weekend reading. I pause at the door and call back over my
