‘What’s your seller name?’ asked Lauren curiously.
‘MrsArmstrong47,’ said Bridget. She looked flustered. ‘Listen, we’ll be waking your dad. I’ll get out of your way. You’ll want to get to bed . . .’
‘It’s OK, Mum,’ said Lauren. ‘I don’t mind helping.’ She put her hot chocolate down on the bedside table and uploaded the photographs Bridget had been trying to add to her eBay listing.
‘Wow!’ she exclaimed. ‘Are these all the things you’re flogging?’
‘Erm, yes.’
‘You’re going to make a packet, with this lot. Have you been doing this all evening? Does Dad know? Won’t he wonder where his old power drill’s gone?’
‘He’s gone and got himself a new one, hasn’t he? Without telling me. Besides, we need a clear-out.’ Bridget gave Lauren a warning glare. ‘Don’t tell him, though. You know what he’s like – trying to buy back his old trousers from the firemen’s jumble sale.’
‘Fair enough. But, Mum, you haven’t put a reserve on this . . . set of fish knives. Are you sure?’ Lauren added, clicking on the pictures of the fancy presentation case. ‘They look dead old. Were they a wedding present?’
‘Yes, from my auntie Doris.’ Bridget sighed and stroked the leather case on the bed. ‘Never used. Never likely to. But they’re silver, so they’re worth a bob or two. Mother-of-pearl handles.’
Lauren turned to look at her mother properly. ‘But you love stuff like this.’ Her gaze fell on something else she recognised. ‘Are you flogging your silver coffee spoons? No! Not the ones with the little silver beans on the ends?’
Bridget fiddled with her watch. ‘It’s a lot of clutter,’ she said, in a tone that didn’t quite ring true with Lauren, somehow. ‘You know what the house is like – full of stuff.’
‘Hmm,’ said Lauren, but inside she thought, maybe Mum’s been watching those daytime antiques programmes. And they were about to retire, after all. What was the point of hanging on to fish knives when you could be using the money to fly to New Zealand to see your grandchildren?
‘Don’t tell your dad,’ Bridget insisted again, her cheeks flushed. ‘He’s still not convinced about the internet.’
‘OK. But you need to fix a reserve. See, that’s why modern wedding lists are a much better idea,’ said Lauren, typing. ‘You get what you want, and you can always swap what you don’t want for things that you do. Which reminds me, you can do lists on the internet now, save you going round the shops. Do you want to see? I’ve already registered with a couple.’
‘Yes,’ said Bridget, as if she had a choice. ‘Let’s do that.’
‘Oh,’ added Lauren, remembering the bills. ‘These are yours.’
She was too busy logging into her M&S list to notice the look of panic that went across her mother’s face when she saw the statements, or the guilty way she slipped them into her pocket.
Lauren was also too busy showing her carefully selected bathroom accessories, to notice the nervous way her mother was twisting her eternity ring round and round on her right hand.
Bridget thought the ring had been a lovely idea of Frank’s: ‘To thank you for the life we’ve had, and for the life we’re going to have when we’re both retired,’ he’d said, a smile splitting his face, as she opened the little box and gasped at the diamonds that sparkled inside.
She had started to remind him they couldn’t afford it, but Frank – the old romantic – insisted. ‘We’ve both worked so hard, and you deserve something beautiful. I’ve taken it out of my golden handshake, love. It’d only get spent on bills otherwise.’
He’d slipped it on her finger as he spoke and once it was on, Bridget hadn’t wanted to take it off. Ever. She knew he wanted to make a gesture, and it was the last chance they’d have of that sort of lump sum. But Bridget wished Frank would remember they just had the one full income now – he still went to M&S for the groceries, and splashed out on new hobbies like his camcorder. Somehow the overdraft had crept up to five thousand pounds; the bank had extended it twice already this year.
Then she thought of the bills in her pocket and for the first time in her life, Bridget didn’t think she had the nerve to open them.
She looked down at her finger.
How much did she really need this ring?
How much would it hurt Frank if she sold it?
It’s just money, thought Bridget, shoving her niggles away just like she’d hidden the credit-card bills. But that was the trouble.
16
Later on, sitting paralysed with misery in the darkness, Katie worked out that the bitter row that finally derailed her marriage could be traced back to Eddie Harding. Not directly – it wasn’t as though he had sat there between her and Ross and goaded them on – but via tight little links in a nasty chain that she couldn’t have undone, starting on Monday morning, when Eddie knocked and walked straight into her office.
‘Can I have a quick word, Kate?’
Katie gritted her teeth, and closed the Monsoon website. Jo was still nagging her to frock up for dancing, and was now sending her internet links to appropriate ruffly confections, since Katie had no time for real shopping. Katie had to admit she was softening to the idea: after the last class, Lauren had been raving on about how much easier it was to strike elegant poses when you were wearing something pretty – and Katie wanted to believe that perhaps it was just beading that transformed lanky Lauren into Ginger Rogers.
The parade of pretty dresses vanished and she looked up at Eddie. He had his ‘you’re going to do me a favour’ face on. It was impossible to imagine Angelica’s fantasy world of graceful women and chivalrous men while breathing the same air as Eddie Harding.
‘It’s about the town project,’ he said, still without bothering to wait for her response. ‘You’ve made such a cracking job of getting your research team underway that I’ve decided it’s only fair to let you take credit for the whole thing. Move you up to team leader at this stage. And you know what that means . . .’ He tapped his nose, winked, then rubbed his fingers together.
‘Great!’ smiled Kate, interpreting his pantomime as something to do with promotion, then added, as it dawned on her, ‘But what about . . . ?’
‘Nick? I’m moving him sideways onto liaising with the various contractors, playing to his contact strengths there, so you’ll be taking over his site analysis – shouldn’t be too hard, now you’ve got everything set up, eh?’
Katie’s mouth opened and shut. So Nick was now in charge of a punishing schedule of lunches and a few rounds of golf, while her paperwork nightmare had doubled. Tripled.
Eddie sensed her panic and added, condescendingly, ‘I mean, if you don’t think you’re really ready for more responsibility . . .’
She set her jaw, and focused on the extra money, and the added days of holiday and the chance to go for flexitime.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t mind. But I’ll need all the documents he’s been working on so far. And I’ll be putting in for overtime.’
‘Good girl, Kate. Just as you like,’ Eddie had said, and slimed out of her office, a bit too quickly, which should have triggered alarm bells.
When she got the files from Nick’s intern after lunch, Katie realised why he’d been so keen to pass the buck: the other site was right in the middle of the town centre, centred on the precinct and the slab-sided tower blocks behind it. It would be a nightmare of leaseholds, freeholds, Compulsory Purchase Orders, commercial versus residential allocations . . .
And the deadline was the same as for the site she was already working on. There was an initial appraisal meeting at the end of that week.
Katie made herself take deep, calming breaths as the enormity of it set in and her heart quickened with panic, but even as she did so, her professional pride began to rise inside her.
I can do this, she told herself. And he’ll owe me so many favours it’ll be worth it. And I’m definitely booking us a three-week summer holiday next year.
Sh
e had just started making notes of the contacts she needed to call when the phone rang, and she grabbed it automatically, thinking it might be Nick Felix wanting to apologise.
‘Katie, it’s Jo. Listen, sorry to phone you at work, but I wanted to check while I’m in Asda – do you and the kids need anything for our magical mystery tour?’
Katie stared out of the window, where a steady drizzle had set in. Now her brain was in hyper-work mode, it took a second to flick it back to home matters. ‘Er, one or two bits and pieces, but I was going to get them at the weekend.’
Jo laughed on the other end of the phone. ‘Bit late then!’
‘Late?’
‘Well, yeah, since we’ll already be there! We’re going on Thursday, dumbo. Three days.’
Katie looked at her desk diary, the days already blocked out with morning meetings and afternoon site visits with tenants associations and local business people, with her new dates for the second site pencilled in around them. Was she going mad? She flipped over the pages. Nothing.
Katie’s stomach turned as she flipped back and forth in her diary.
A cold sweat broke out on her forehead.
How had that happened? She’d definitely written it down somewhere.
She scrabbled in her handbag for her own diary, the one with dancing classes and counselling appointments, and there it was, clearly marked – Hannah/Ross birthday.
You forgot your own daughter’s birthday, goaded the horrible voice in her head. You are a careless, selfish mother.
I didn’t forget, she protested, trying to drown it out. I didn’t! I just . . .
She’d asked Scott to sort out her holiday allocation. And he’d made a big deal about not doing her personal chores and she’d left it with him, and now – she checked frantically through her email inbox – there was no confirming email from Personnel about the days off.
‘Oh God,’ she groaned. ‘You’re not going to believe what I’ve done.’
‘Try me. I found the kettle in the fridge this morning.’
Katie sank her head in her hands and a lead weight settled on her shoulders. ‘Look, give me ten minutes, I’ll call you back.’
Scott was nowhere to be found; fortunately for him, he was off on a site inspection. Katie knew she’d have to call in a favour from Eddie to get out of the meeting, and that gave her a headache already.
He wasn’t alone when she knocked on his office door; he was ensconced with two men in suits.
‘Ah, Kate,’ he said, ‘I was just talking about you. Have you met Councillor York? And Clive Jenkins, our head of regional development?’
Katie’s stomach knotted. This wasn’t the best time, but she had no alternative. ‘Hello!’ She forced out a smile. ‘Eddie, this meeting on Friday . . .’
Eddie beamed at the two other men. ‘Kate will be presenting initial findings for the proposed regeneration sites.’
‘Ah, wonderful!’ said Councillor York.
‘Yes, er, Eddie, I’ve been looking over those documents Nick sent over.’ Katie bit her lip. There was no point pretending she had prior commitments, since she’d known about that meeting even when she was only presenting one site. If she could move the meeting, then pulled an unheard-of sickie, she might just be able to make it. ‘I was wondering if it would be possible to move the meeting into next week? I don’t want to skim over what he’s done, and not do justice to that hard work.’
But Eddie was already shaking his head and sucking his teeth. ‘I hear what you’re saying, but I’m afraid not.’
‘We have a findings deadline too,’ added Clive Jenkins. ‘For capital investment applications.’
‘It’s a big ask, but if anyone can step up to the plate it’s Kate!’ Eddie slapped his desk, and she knew the twinkle in his eye was more of a glint of warning. ‘You’ll hit this one out of the park for us, won’t you?’
‘Do I have a choice, Eddie?’ she asked, with a metallic laugh.
Eddie’s face turned serious. ‘No.’
She shook her head and left.
You’ve brought this on yourself, Katie told herself as she flung herself back in her chair and called Jo.
‘I know what you’re going to tell me,’ said Jo when she picked up.
‘What?’
‘That you can’t come because of work.’
Katie squirmed. ‘Look, I had it down in my home diary, not my office one, and I’ve been moved onto this huge project at work, literally about an hour ago, and there’s no way I can take two days off now.’
‘Get someone else to do it.’
‘I can’t!’
‘Can’t you?’ Katie thought she could detect a chill in Jo’s tone. ‘That’s the kind of thing Greg would say. And I would say, what’s the point of being in charge of a team if you can’t delegate? Come on, Katie, you deserve a break as much as Hannah and Ross do! Just tell them!’
‘It’s not like I don’t want to go!’ she protested. And it wasn’t the break so much as the chance to be there with the kids, doing things with them, with no pressures or phones ringing. ‘I’m desperate to go, but this is the big regeneration project we’ve won, and I’ve only just been landed with the files for a meeting on Friday morning . . .’
There was a telling pause at the other end of the line.
‘Well, I suppose it’s not like you’ve already promised Hannah you’ll be there,’ said Jo, and Katie could tell the implication was, ‘so you’re just disappointing her, not letting her down’. If she was trying to make Katie feel better, she didn’t succeed.
‘Is Greg going?’ she asked.
Jo hesitated. ‘Probably.’
That did make Katie feel slightly better, but not much, since Greg was the least hands-on parent since Darth Vader.
‘I can try to get there for Friday night,’ she suggested, scanning her diary for any meeting she could move. ‘I mean, the traffic will be awful and . . .’
‘Do you want me to tell Ross?’ Jo interrupted her. ‘I mean, I know it ruins the surprise, but if he’s going to be bringing the kids on his own, he ought to know.’
Katie rubbed her temples, as she saw in her stupid diary that she and Ross also had their fourth marriage counselling session on Tuesday evening, and it was ‘talk about your family experience of married life’ time. No doubt Ross would get maximum mileage out of this with Peter.
Katie’s mind raced, trying to see what she might still be able to salvage. Maybe there was still a way she could make it into a treat for him and Hannah: pack their bags in secret, with extra little presents in, or something?
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell him.’
Hannah took the news better than Ross did. But then as far as Hannah was concerned, Katie’s bright-eyed travel-agent descriptions of pony-riding and indoor pool with slides outweighed the disappointment of Mummy’s absence, which was hastily glossed over, to the point where Katie wasn’t entirely sure it had sunk in. Ross noticed though. To give him his due, he did back her up with slightly fake excitement until Hannah had rushed off upstairs to try on her swimsuit.
As soon as she was out of the room, his eyes turned cold and tired, and he went back to picking up the Lego scattered liberally over the rug as if she hadn’t said anything.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Really thoughtful of you.’
‘What?’
‘Another four days’ solo childcare but with waterslides. Are you sure you’ve got something on at work? Four days at home on your own sounds like a holiday to me.’
‘Ross, don’t start,’ she said, sinking wearily into a chair. ‘Of course I’m working. You can’t feel more angry with me than I am already, honestly.’
‘I don’t feel angry,’ he said. ‘It’s not like I expected you to be there. But next year? I’d like an afternoon off for my birthday present. Cheaper, and you don’t have to be there for that, either.’
‘Don’t!’ Katie looked up at him. ‘We’ll do something at the weekend, I promise. I didn’t mean this to
happen, but it’s the biggest project I’ve ever run, and I couldn’t say no. But I really did want us all to go away together and have fun. Ask Jo – I’ve been planning this for ages.’
‘Jo’s coming?’
‘Yes,’ said Katie, seeing a ray of light. ‘So you will get some time off – Jo’s happy to look after the kids and there are crèche facilities so, you know, you can have a birthday drink.’
Ross’s face seemed to lose some of its tension, and Katie felt relief, followed almost immediately by a prickle of jealousy.
‘Well, if Jo’s going . . .’ he said.
‘If Jo’s going what?’ she demanded.
Ross stared at her, and there was something in his face she didn’t recognise. ‘If Jo’s going, I might at least get a laugh. We all might.’
Katie felt stung. ‘And if I were there, you wouldn’t?’
Ross shrugged theatrically. ‘How would I know? You never are.’
‘Don’t be glib,’ snapped Katie, because she knew he meant it, and at that moment she hated herself more than she’d ever done in her life.
He said nothing, but dumped the Lego in his hands into the tub, and started on the half-finished jigsaws, his mouth a thin, tight line.
Katie watched him, unable to find words to break through the tangible sulk. That was Ross’s most hurtful tactic, she thought: that withdrawal of himself. Putting barriers of silence between them.
I suppose that’s what he thinks I do with work, she thought, miserably. Something that comes between us that he can’t understand or be part of. It’s all he’s got, his silence, and he knows how much it hurts me to feel excluded. We’re going to suffocate each other. Like putting a cushion over our marriage and smothering it to death.
In his beanbag chair, Jack’s round brown eyes moved from Katie to Ross and back to Katie.
‘I can take some time off next month,’ she bargained. ‘We could do something then?’
‘Oh great,’ said Ross. ‘We’ll move Hannah’s birthday. And mine. Doesn’t make much difference. I’ll still be a grown man who spends his days scraping play-doh off the sofa.’