Change of Life (2 page)

“You can still put Mum and Sam in the picture, Max,” says Jenny. “Even if they’re not here – you’re a good enough artist.”

Max nods and lays his things on the table.

I hug Jenny. “Thanks for the making the cake, it was a lovely thought.”

She smiles. “Come on, Adam, let’s see Mum off.” Jenny places a hand on her twin brother’s shoulder. He shrugs it off.

Max takes my hand. At first Adam doesn’t move. Then he gets up and stands, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, shoulders hunched. He’s facing me, eyes downcast.

“Bye then, Adam. I meant what I said. I’m really sorry.” I will him to look at me. He shrugs and walks past me, head down. I hear him stomping up the stairs.

As I walk down the hall with Jenny and Max, I glance at the closed living room door. I wonder if Tom will say goodbye. I wonder if I should go in. I can’t face it. The shock and anger that I’ve felt for the last few days have hardly abated. Tom has betrayed me. His secret’s out.

As I get into the car I glance back at the house. The Victorian villa’s sandstone walls are darkened by the rain. It’s been my home for nearly twenty years. I love everything about it – its seaside situation in Gullane, one of East Lothian’s prettiest villages, its large, light rooms, its period quirks and the memories we’ve made there. I shall miss it almost as much as the people inside it. I see Tom at the living room window, watching. I think he’s about to wave or beckon me back. He turns away.

The appearance of Robbie in our lives has changed everything. And on top of that I now have a dreadful secret of my own.

Painful Discoveries

Rosie

Chapter Two

I didn’t see any of it coming. Tuesday the 17
^th
of May began as an ordinary Tuesday. By eight o’clock, our seventeen-year-old twins, Jenny and Adam, were on their way to school in Edinburgh. It was the day of their higher maths exam. Neither of them said goodbye before they set off. Adam left without a word and all Jenny said was that she felt sick. The rest of the family was having breakfast in the kitchen. I was upstairs dashing around, tidying up before I had to leave for work. Ruby would be in later and I needed to make space for her to vacuum.

As I made our bed, a sea breeze drifted in through the open window and I paused to look out. It was a bright day and the view across the Forth estuary, from East Lothian to Fife, was sharp and clear. Even after twenty years I still loved the view from every window in our big, old house. Several dinghies and yachts were already taking advantage of the wind and fair weather.

“Oh there you are! I’ve been calling you. Didn’t you hear me?” Tom stood in the doorway. At six-foot-two he almost filled the space as he leant against the frame. “Busy, I see.” He smiled and came to stand beside me. He kissed the top of my head. He smelt nice and I wanted to push him back onto the bed and undo his tie and shirt. At fifty-one, Tom was still good looking. He kept himself lean and fit. His dark hair was lightly streaked with grey and remained thick, even as it receded slightly at the temples. I looked up at his face. I wanted to stroke his cheek, to touch the laughter lines at the corners of his eyes, to caress the back of his neck. It was too long since we’d made love. It was too long since we’d even just sat and talked. We were always so busy.

“Well,” he said, “I can’t stand here all morning with you gazing gormlessly at me. I need to get on, even if you don’t.”

“I’ve got things to do too. I only stopped for a minute. I never tire of watching the sea.”

“I’m teasing, but joking apart-are you okay? Actually you look quite pale. Are you sure you’re not overdoing it?”

“I’m fine. Anyway, why were you calling for me?”

“Just to say I’m off to the hospital– it’s a full list in theatre today so I better get going. Oh and I need razors - if you’re going to the shops. I’m down to my last one and I think Sam’s been shaving her legs with it.”

He pointed to a couple of little scratches on his chin. “And could you possibly collect my dry cleaning? Please?”

“Right – so I look overworked, but not so overworked that I can’t fit in a few extra errands!”

“Well what else do you have to do?” Tom was already ducking as I flung a pillow at him.

“Bye, Tom.”

I heard him laughing and then the front door slamming as he left. This attitude of Tom’s, that I was the one with the time to do all the domestic stuff, was nothing new, but lately it irked me more than it used to. Whenever I complained of having too much to do, his answer was always that I should give up my teaching job, that he earned enough for both of us. He could never see that what I was actually asking for was for him to pull his weight at home.

I finished making the bed. The clean white linen smelled of the sea air. I smoothed the bedcover. Not for the first time I was struck by how much the bed resembled a boat. It wasn’t only the sheets billowing as I spread and smooth and tucked. It was a place of safety with its sturdy old oak frame, like a ship on a sometimes stormy sea. Tom and I had nestled down in it for the last twenty-five years – rolling together, twisting apart. The children had also sought refuge here, first, as babies for the night feeds and, later, climbing aboard in the small hours to escape the terrors of the night. Their warm little bodies snuggled into Tom and me, one back each. I thought of all the birthday breakfasts eaten there, as well as cold, burnt, Mothers’ Day ones. Six of us all squeezed up together, laughing and carrying on.

I felt a pang that these days were gone. Our eldest, Sam, was nineteen and about to go to university and our youngest would soon transfer to high school. I wondered what the future held for Tom and me. I’d been thinking ‘is this all there is’ a lot lately. I both longed for and dreaded a change.

I glanced in the mirror before I left the bedroom. My late mother seemed to be staring back at me. I’d always looked like her and, until recently, that wasn’t a bad thing. I’d inherited her slim build, her thick, fair hair and blue eyes. But now there were crow’s-feet at the corners of my eyes and grey hairs amongst the blonde. I made a mental note to get my highlights redone. I lifted my chin in an attempt to smooth out the wrinkles in my neck. Next stop would be the menopause. I was sure I’d already had a couple of hot flushes. I wasn’t relishing the prospect of turning fifty the next year. Looking worried - it put years on me. Tom was
right,
I did look pale and tired. I turned and tilted my head, seeking a more flattering position.

I thought of my twin sister too. Would Heather have aged in a similar way to me? My memories of my identical twin were usually well suppressed. But as I stood looking in the mirror both Heather and my mother felt very close.

My mother would’ve had some comforting words to say about how I was feeling. I smiled at the thought. She’d been the queen of clichés. My sister, brother and I all used to tease her about it, but she often hit the nail on the head, so to speak. She’d probably tell me to count my blessings. In my mother’s universe every cloud had a silver lining. She died when I was twenty-six weeks pregnant with Sam. I still missed her.

“Mum, it’s after half past eight.” Max called from downstairs, bringing me back to the present. I taught at the village primary school, where twelve-year-old Max was a pupil. It was time for us to leave.

As I often did on a Tuesday, I nipped home at lunch time to see Ruby. It was a chance for a chat and a catch up. I sat at the kitchen table while Ruby put the finishing touches to some sandwiches. As she handed me my plate she looked at me closely.

“Are you okay? You’re looking pale today. You do too much - wear yourself out - teaching and running around after everyone.”

“Oh I’m all right – really,” I said. “Yes a bit tired, but nothing to worry about. And you’re a fine one to talk. I don’t do half of what you do – with all your children and grandchildren and your two jobs.”

“Oh, my lot know the score. I do what I can to help, but they know I have my own life too. I enjoy my work and I don’t give up my bingo for anyone. He has to muck in too mind.”

She never referred to her husband by name. “And I expect the bairns to sort out their own messes. I do what I do for them because I want to, not because I have to. You on the other hand-”

“I’m fine! I have a life too. I like looking after everyone, as you do with your family - and I enjoy my job as well.” I didn’t sound convincing, even to myself.

“Well, you look exhausted,” she said, putting her hand on mine. “When was the last time you had a night out? Or just some time to
yourself
? You know you need to look after yourself better. You’ll make yourself ill.”

“Oh, Ruby, for heaven’s sake, you’re not my mother!”

It was unreasonable to be annoyed at Ruby. She’d saved my life. When she first came to work for us it was to help with the children, as much as to help look after the house. I was suffering from a completely disabling bout of postnatal depression, brought on by exhaustion, both from a difficult pregnancy with the twins, and from having three children under three-years-old. I could hardly look after myself, never mind the children. Then Heather died and at times during that awful year I wanted to join her. But, Ruby, with her unfailing common sense and good humour, helped me through.

“Sorry, hen, it’s just that I worry. You drive yourself far too hard you know.”

“No, I’m sorry, Ruby. I’m glad you worry about me – it’s nice – but there’s no need.”

“If you say so – anyway - tuck in”. As she poured us both a mug of tea she nodded in the direction of the dresser. “Is that the box of photos you promised to show me?”

“Oh, yes.” I got up and brought the box over to the table. It was four years since my father died but I’d only recently got around to sorting through all the small, personal stuff that had belonged to my parents. I passed the box to Ruby. As we ate she looked through the photos and I did my best to fill in the
who
, when and where of the ones that caught her interest. She came to a packet containing a bundle of black and white snaps.

“Oh – it’s you and that has to be your sister– look – bouncing on your mum and dad’s bed. You look like a right lively pair! Who’s who?” She handed me the photo.

There we were laughing, jumping, holding onto each other, two identical, blonde haired girls. Heather was looking directly at the camera and I was looking at Heather. I was wearing a summer dress. I loved that dress. I could remember it clearly, pink and white stripes with a bow at the back. “That’s Heather in the shorts. It’s not our parents’ bed. It was ours. It was a three-quarter, bigger than a single, but not quite a double. It belonged to my grandmother. We inherited it.”

As I handed the photo back to Ruby, I recalled how much we had loved that bed. It had a dark wooden frame, and it came complete with Granny’s Irish linen and fat, feather pillows. There was even a bolster. It was grand. The top cover was glorious, a counterpane, Granny called it, with its pattern of white stars on a dark blue background.

“Heather looks a right cheeky wee madam,” Ruby said, smiling. “How old were you? Were you allowed to jump on the bed?”

“Oh, she was cheeky all right - much braver than me. We’d be about ten. We weren’t really allowed to bounce on the bed, but Dad just laughed and got the camera. We’d been out after tea, playing hide and seek with our friends in the street, and then Dad called us in. It was still light outside and we didn’t want to go, especially since Michael got to stay out a bit longer. We were supposed to be getting ready for bed, but Heather still had too much energy and she said ‘let’s bounce!’ So we did.”

As Ruby looked through the rest of the photos, my mind went back to my childhood home. “I remember we always used to get washed as quickly as possible – the bathroom was icy, even in summer, and then, in the bedroom, we’d dash over the cold lino and jump onto the bed.”

“Ah yes,” said Ruby, smiling. “I remember that too - the days before central heating and fitted carpets.”

“Yes, indeed. We’d get under the covers as quickly as possible and lie there – facing each other – giggling. In winter, Mum put two hot water bottles in the bed and we’d snuggle together for warmth.”