There was another paint-cracking bang. Diane winced, and Juliet smiled wanly and passed her a mug of coffee.
‘How do you put up with that all day?’ she asked. ‘I’d have back-to-back migraines.’
‘Oh, I suppose I tune it out. At least they’re not playing on computer games.’ Juliet had no idea why she was defending the Kellys. She didn’t even know what all their names were. There were two girls, two boys, she knew that much, and they all had red hair, and one of the boys had asthma attacks. At regular intervals, someone would yell, ‘Quick, where’s Spike’s inhaler?’ and there would be more stampeding.
‘Is anyone in charge of them?’ Diane went over to the window and peered out over what was going to have been Juliet’s vegetable patch, trying to get a glimpse through the ragged box hedge that separated the two long gardens. ‘Dear God, they’ve got a trampoline. They’ve got a cat on the trampoline!’
‘Their mum’s around somewhere. KitKat?’ Juliet helped herself and dunked one finger in the hot coffee.
‘Thank you but I won’t,’ said Diane. ‘Dr Dryden’s told me to watch my sugars. Juliet, love, don’t take this the wrong way, but if you’re not going to sort out builders, what about getting a cleaner in? Once a week, just to run a duster over the place.’
‘I’m fine, Mum.’
‘I’d pay for it. It would be a swap.’ Diane hesitated. ‘A favour for a favour, if you like.’
Juliet eyed her mother with some suspicion. ‘Favours’ were usually thinly veiled attempts to prise her out of her house in the name of social rehabilitation. Diane and Louise had let a decent amount of time pass after the funeral, but then they’d started to come up with these ‘favours’ – most recently, a plea to do Diane’s Saturday-morning dog-walking stint at the rescue centre on the hill. Three walks in five hours and as many bacon sandwiches as she could eat.
Juliet had declined. She had her own dog to walk, thank you.
Diane looked more guilty than anxious, though, and Juliet caved in.
‘You don’t need to bribe me to do you a favour,’ she said. ‘I don’t need a cleaner. What do you want me to do?’
‘Look after Coco for me. Just two or three days during the week.’
Juliet frowned. That wasn’t what she’d been expecting; if anything, her mum had been taking Minton for the odd walk, along with Coco, their elderly chocolate Lab. Coco was twelve, and apart from mild flatulence caused by Dad slipping her sausages against the vet’s strict instructions, had absolutely no faults whatsoever.
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m going to be looking after Toby at mine.’
‘So? Coco’ll just take herself off to her bed and watch telly in the kitchen, won’t she? That’s what she does normally.’ Juliet looked down at her mug and realised she’d nearly finished her coffee. It was amazing how fast she could drink coffee these days. It barely touched the sides; somehow the heat didn’t register the way it used to. Another weird side effect of Ben’s death. All her senses felt dulled. Planed down smooth, like the floorboards they’d started to strip down in the sitting room. Sometimes she wondered if she’d ever feel sharp-edged emotions again, and if so, whether that was necessarily a bad thing.
Juliet got up to put the kettle back on. Moving stopped the thoughts.
‘Anyway, can’t Dad take her out for a walk?’ she added, over he shoulder.
‘Well, no. He’ll be out at his Welsh class.’
‘His what?’
‘It’s just a summer school, not a full course.’ Since taking early retirement Eric Summers had racked up nearly all the Foundation courses at the local college. As he liked to tell people, he could complain about the food in most European countries. ‘I’ll be on my own.’
‘So? What difference does that make?’
‘Louise is a bit bothered about Coco being around toddlers. She says – and she’s quite right to have her concerns, Juliet; you see it in the papers all the time – she says that dogs that aren’t used to children can never be trusted one hundred per cent. She thinks it’d be nicer for Coco to be somewhere else entirely, rather than shut out in the garden . . .’
‘That’s big of her.’
‘. . . and I thought, since you weren’t back at work yet, it wouldn’t be much of a hardship for Coco to come round here.’ Diane didn’t draw breath, which made Juliet wonder just how long she’d been rehearsing this on her way over. ‘You could take them both out for a walk. It’d do Minton good to get some daylight. Vitamin D.’
Juliet made fresh coffee without speaking and then put her mug down on an old copy of Ideal Home from August 2009. There’d been a time when she’d bought them all, every month. It seemed a bit ridiculous now. A Belfast sink was a Belfast sink, and anyway, she didn’t have the money.
‘Say something, Juliet.’ Diane fidgeted with her scarf. ‘You know I hate it when you go silent on me.’
‘I’m not being silent. I’m just . . .’ Not used to talking to people in real time. Answering machines and emails had allowed Juliet to keep everything at a safe distance, giving her time to fashion a response that wouldn’t make her sound mad, as she so often did these days.
She felt a twist of irritation at being put on the spot, especially on account of her sister’s ridiculous Precious First Born-itis. ‘Poor Coco. Booted out of her own house just because she has paws. What’s she going to do? Fart on him? You shouldn’t encourage Louise when she’s like this, you know, Mum. Since she had Toby she acts as if every room’s a death trap.’
Diane winced at the word ‘death’.
‘Don’t. If anyone’s allowed to say that, I am.’ Juliet’s pulse surged with recklessness. She really could say whatever she wanted for the first time in her life: no one seemed to hold anything against her. ‘Coco’s not going to savage Toby. Or has Louise decided that, since she can’t wet-wipe a Labrador, they’re banned?’
‘There’s no need for sarcasm,’ said Diane. ‘She’s entitled to her opinion. You see things differently when you’re a mum.’
Juliet’s fizzing mood flattened in an instant, and she pushed the tip of her tongue against her teeth. This was the single emotion that cut through the general ache: bitter regret for the future she’d lost too. It kept leaping on her when she looked at Toby and saw Peter, Louise’s husband, in his worried eyebrows, and realised she’d never see Ben’s cheeky grin in a chubby baby-face now. His genes were gone, and she only had herself to blame.
Diane was still talking. ‘It’s only fair that I support Louise, the way I’ve been there for you,’ she went on. ‘Not that I begrudge a single second, and I thank God that we’re practically on the doorstep, but Louise needs a hand now, and I think it’s about time you got yourself out and about.’
Juliet opened her mouth to say something about her sister’s need for any help from anyone, but something stopped her. Ben’s gentle hand on her back. He’d defused so many bickering family moments before they sparked into a row.
Juliet had one sister, Louise, who had been perfect from an early age, and one less perfect but equally ambitious brother, Ian, who had emigrated to Australia and married a personal trainer called Vanda, with whom he had two little girls. Louise had the legal career, the two cars and the designer house; Juliet had the happy marriage to her childhood sweetheart, just like Mum and Dad; Ian had the freedom to do whatever he wanted without fear of interference, and a deep tan.
Until Ben had died, and Juliet had gone back to being the baby of the family everyone had to help and talk to as if she was nine. Particularly Louise the control freak, who wasn’t nearly as grateful as she should be to have Peter, a man who . . .
Deep breath, she thought. That’s what Ben had said whenever she’d paused to scream silently into the hall mirror during a phone call. Take one slow, deep breath and imagine you’re a tree with long roots in the cool ground.
‘What’s Louise doing that she needs you to babysit?’ she asked, instead.
‘Going back to wor
k,’ said Diane. Her expression struggled between pride and concern, and finally settled on pride. ‘She’s finally negotiated flexible hours. Don’t look so surprised! She’s been trying for ages. They don’t get many Crown Prosecution solicitors of her calibre round here.’ She nodded towards the local paper she’d brought, still unopened on the counter. ‘And goodness knows we need them. Did you see what was on the front of the Longhampton Gazette this week? That business about the vandalism?’
‘I don’t think Louise personally stops crimes happening,’ said Juliet.
‘I do,’ said Diane. ‘They don’t get off when she’s prosecuting. They know that.’
‘But didn’t she say she wanted to be a full-time mum when Toby was born?’ Juliet forced herself not to do a sarcastic impression of the smug lectures they’d suffered about the importance of a Play-Doh-wielding mother figure in a child’s formative years. ‘I thought Peter was fine about her staying at home while he went out and played computer games for a living?’
‘He doesn’t play computer games. He designs them. As well you know. Anyway, it’s not about that,’ said Diane. ‘She’s spent a lot of time working her way up. She shouldn’t throw it away.’
That was such a 180-degree swivel from her previous position that Diane blushed while Juliet’s jaw dropped open. Luckily for both of them, the yelling started up in the garden with new ferocity.
As Diane made a cat’s bum face at the racket, it occurred to Juliet that the alternative to sitting Coco might be sitting Toby while her mother looked after Minton. That she definitely wasn’t up for, for any number of reasons.
‘Whatever,’ she said, raising her voice above the cacophony. ‘Bring Coco round.’
‘Thanks, love,’ said Diane. ‘Tuesday, Wednesday, alternate Thursdays. Now then,’ she added, the serious business dispensed with, ‘I might just spoil myself with a KitKat . . .’
As she dipped into the biscuit barrel, something clattered against the kitchen window and a shriek went up. Something about Spike’s inhaler.
Chapter 2
Louise had made a list the night before of all the things she needed to do before leaving for her first day back at work, but it hadn’t calmed her down. If anything, it made her panic that she’d forgotten something really important, and wouldn’t realise until she was back in her office.
Eighteen months she’d been off, with Toby. It felt like a lot longer. It felt like starting again as a trainee, with the butterflies in her stomach. Worse, because she was meant to know what she was doing.
She slugged back a mouthful of lukewarm coffee and blinked at the neat column of tasks, bullet-pointed in order of importance.
Pack Toby’s day bag. She was doing that now.
Defrost Toby’s lunch/pack in cool bag.
Remind Peter re nursery direct debit. Even part-time, it was stretching them. Peter had kept his gym membership but hers had gone. Thank God for her mother.
Check Juliet up/awake.
She grimaced, then picked up the kitchen phone and pressed the speed-dial button for her sister. It was impossible to predict what mood you’d get with Juliet. Spacey and miserable was the best option. Openly hostile and/or crying was the worst. Louise hated hearing her cry, but she wasn’t good at vague comfort, like her mother was, and she’d run out of helpful, practical things to say. Juliet had never been the easiest person to help.
It rang several times, and then Juliet answered, with a sleepy yawn.
Louise glanced at the clock. Ten to eight. This didn’t bode well for her schedule.
‘Morning,’ she said brightly, tapping her nail against the marble counter. Pale pink speed dry varnish. Slapped on last night in an attempt to bolster her confidence. ‘Up and about?’
‘Yes,’ said Juliet.
‘All set to drive over to Mum’s? To get Coco?’
‘There’s no need to remind me, I am aware of the orders.’ Juliet’s voice sounded teenage on the phone. Cross and resentful – and deliberately pushing it. ‘Remind me again why we all have to go to Mum’s? You’re nearer.’
‘Mum doesn’t have the right kind of car seat for Toby.’
‘What? She’s got some sort of seat in the back of her car, hasn’t she?’
Louise removed the spoon from Toby’s fat little hands and wiped his face. He looked cross, about as cross as Juliet sounded, and Louise flinched. He knew she was planning to abandon him. He had Peter’s eyes: trusting, and blinky.
‘It’s not the right one. Don’t say anything – she went to a lot of bother. I’m going to swap it.’
Juliet made a noise. ‘How did she get the wrong one? I thought you had a nursery list. I mean, there was only one suitable baby sling, wasn’t there? And one bouncer?’
Louise ignored the tone in Juliet’s voice, the same way she tuned out the defence solicitor’s insinuating tones in court. Just the facts.
‘I’m dealing with it. But in the meantime, it’s easier if I drop Toby off and you go round to get Coco. Before eight fifteen, ideally.’ She wiped the side of the high chair as she spoke, then dropped the wipe into the bin.
‘And what if I don’t have the right sort of car for the dog?’
Oh, stop it, Juliet, thought Louise. We’re all tired. We’re all stressed.
‘You do,’ she said patiently. ‘Ben took Minton to work every day in the exact van that’s parked outside your house. Coco will be fine in the back.’
There was a pause. Louise didn’t like doing this to Juliet, forcing her out of her shell like a reluctant crab, but it was the only way. Sometimes it was better when there was only one way. That was her current mantra: forward, forward, forward, and don’t look back.
She turned to put Toby’s empty breakfast bowl in the dishwasher and her eye snagged on the long, framed photo of her wedding day, hanging in pride of place over the kitchen table. The brand new Mr and Mrs Davies, caught in the three different stages of their first dance: in a romantic ballroom hold, then Peter’s arm slung round her waist as she tipped trustingly backwards, then the Dirty Dancing lift they’d practised for weeks, way before it was fashionable to have big, show-stopping, choreographed numbers.
All two hundred guests were gazing open-mouthed in their direction, clearly wowed by geeky Peter and cool Louise transformed into slick dancers, but she and Peter were locked in each other’s eyes, as if there was no one else there.
They looked familiar, but that wasn’t her. It certainly wasn’t Peter. Not just because they were thinner and polished; something else was different. They looked like a couple. And, Louise realised with a guilty start, that six years on, the first thing she noticed about the photo was how elegant the table settings were.
She pulled herself up. She was lucky to have her husband. Reliable, cheerful Peter, who’d turned his passion for computers into a profitable software company. Peter, who joked that he’d never leave her, because that would mean dismantling their wireless set-up. Even talking to Juliet made her feel grateful that it wasn’t her sitting in a half-decorated tip, smelling of dogs and only eating KitKats.
Louise forced a cheerful note in her voice. Juliet responded very badly to pity.
‘I’m setting off now, so if you leave in the next five minutes, we’ll dovetail perfectly. You don’t even have to get dressed. Put a coat on over your pyjamas if you want – it’s what most of the school run mums do.’
‘I get dressed in the mornings,’ said Juliet huffily. ‘I’m a widow, not an invalid.’
‘Good. I’m glad to hear it!’
The bathroom door opened upstairs and then three seconds later, Peter’s feet trotted down the stairs, the same perky one-two-three, one-two-three gallop she heard every morning. He swept past her, smelling of mouthwash and aftershave, heading for the kitchen to pick up the apple for his lunchbox. She knew, from the detailed explanation over last night’s dinner, that his small company were doing some kind of communal health kick.
‘Morning,’ he called out as he passed. ‘Hel
l-o, my big boy!’ he went on, in much more enthusiastic tones, seeing Toby in his high chair. Toby clapped his hands with delight, and Louise suppressed a twinge of irritation. Fed, dressed, washed was Toby’s natural state as far as Peter was concerned, never mind the hour it had taken to get him to that stage while Peter was in the shower.
‘Was that Peter? He sounds cheerful,’ observed Juliet. ‘I thought Toby was teething?’
‘Peter has the luxury of earplugs.’ Louise followed him into the kitchen, trying not to catch her own haggard reflection in the hall mirror. ‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes, OK? Please don’t be late. It’s my first day back and I know they’ll all be waiting for me to turn up late covered in sick.’
‘Isn’t it normally your clients who turn up covered in sick?’
‘Very funny. Come on, we need to leave.’
‘What time can I bring Coco back to Mum’s?’
‘Five-ish? I should be back by five.’ Louise ignored the whine in Juliet’s voice, and began to gather the various colour-coded bags together: Toby’s toys, his food, change of clothes. All prepared the night before while Peter was upstairs ‘researching’ some online game. ‘I appreciate this.’
‘It’s not a problem. I’d never forgive myself if Toby got some dog hair in his yoghurt.’
‘No one’s—’
‘Dogs aren’t all slavering killers, you know.’
‘I’m not saying they are,’ said Louise. She didn’t have the time or the inclination to let Juliet get on her doggy soapbox, but she could feel herself being drawn into one of their routine squabbles. ‘But Mum can’t be everywhere at once. She’d never forgive herself if Toby shoved a pencil up Coco’s nose or something. Look, why are you taking this so personally? It’s not personal.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Is it because I didn’t ask you to babysit?’
‘No!’ Juliet sounded horrified. ‘I just . . .’
There was a pause at the end of the line that Louise might have listened to more carefully if she hadn’t been trying to juggle the phone and extract Toby from his chair, while indicating to Peter that the washing machine needed emptying before he left the house. ‘Fine,’ she said instead. ‘I’ll see you at Mum’s. Fifteen minutes.’