The House We Grew Up In (21 page)

Vicky breathed in hard again. ‘Darling,’ she began, ‘I do understand your feelings – I appreciate how stressful you find it when your things get touched – but you have to bear in mind that there is very little space in this house for the girls to use. That it is almost, darling, inevitable that they will come into contact with your things. When there are so very
many
of your things for them to come into contact with.’

Lorelei let her shoulders slump and tutted. ‘It’s just,’ she began melodramatically, ‘a matter of respect. Of respect for other people’s things. It’s one thing to touch, but where are they, Vick? Where are my books?’

‘Well, if you must know, it was me.’ She felt her heart quicken with nerves.

Lorelei looked at her, aghast.

‘There was a second-hand book sale at Soph’s school, at the Easter Fayre. A fund-raiser, darling. For their school. And you know how under-funded that lovely little school is. And I just thought,
My God, Lorrie has a lot of books she’s never read and never will and it’s for such a good cause
.’

‘Without asking?’ Lorelei’s voice was brimming with hurt feelings.

Vicky sighed. ‘Had I asked, Lorrie, what would you have said?’

Lorrie tutted again and folded her arms. ‘That’s not the point.’

‘Well, then, love, what is, exactly?’

‘It’s about respect. It’s about privacy. It’s about …’ Her face grew dark and tragic. ‘I don’t know what it’s about. But you and your girls, you need to …’

‘What, darling?’

‘You need to butt out. Just
butt out
. OK?’

‘Oh, Lorrie, really and truly, I wouldn’t say things like that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because one day you might just get what you want and I truly believe you wouldn’t really want it.’

She smiled sadly at her love and walked away.

‘Mummy?’ Maddy threw her mother a sideways look.

‘Yes, darling.’ Vicky brushed Maddy’s hair off her face and Maddy pushed her hand away as she always did. It did not
stop Vicky from brushing Maddy’s hair from her face. She was still allowed to do that, she was sure she was.

‘I need to tell you something. Something really important.’

Vicky nodded.

‘No, but I mean, like,
really
important.’ She sighed and stared dramatically through the car window.

She had the loveliest profile, her older girl. So delicate and elfin. ‘Go on,’ she said encouragingly, waiting for some tame pre-pubescent revelation about a boy or a failed test.

Maddy turned to her then abruptly and said, ‘I want to move out. I want to go and live with Daddy.’

Vicky felt her stomach propel itself up towards her heart and she hit the left indicator and the brakes, taking the car off the road and into a lay-by.

She turned off the engine and the silence as the radio stopped talking at them was sudden and overwhelming. Vicky turned ninety degrees in her seat and looked at Maddy.

‘But, baby girl,’ she said, ‘you can’t move out. You’re only twelve.’

‘It doesn’t matter how old I am. I’m not happy and I want to move out and I’ve told Daddy and he says I can live with him. If you say it’s OK.’

‘But, darling, I don’t understand. I mean, what exactly …?’

‘It’s Lorrie.’ Maddy’s mouth was set hard. ‘I hate her and I don’t want to live with her any more.’

Vicky reeled slightly at these words. She felt as if she’d been kicked in the chest. ‘What?’

‘I used to really like her and she used to be really fun but
now all she does is moan about everything I do, and she tuts all the time and she won’t let me touch anything or go anywhere and she keeps buying all this rubbishy old stuff and some of it smells and I don’t want to share a bedroom with Sophie any more and I asked her if I could have Rhys’s old room and she swore at me.’

Maddy swallowed these last few words whole, gobbled them up so fast that Vicky was not entirely sure she’d heard right.

‘She did what?’

‘She swore at me. She called me a little shit.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Vicky breathed in hard. ‘When was this, darling?’

‘Last week. When you were collecting Sophie from Emma’s house.’

‘But … but I don’t understand. What happened? Tell me exactly what happened.’

Maddy sighed, as if she’d had to tell this story a hundred times over. ‘Well, she was just coming out of her room and I was just coming out of my room and she said something about how lovely that me and Sophie shared a room, how she’d shared a room with
her
sister when she was my age and how lovely it had been, bla, bla, bla, and then I said, “Well, I’m getting quite bored of sharing with her now,” and, it was like, you know, I’ve been
thinking
about saying something about Rhys’s room for ages now and I’d been going to say something to you, but then, like, she was just
there
and so I said it and she went all weird and said I was a thoughtless little shit.’ She shrugged.

‘Oh, my God.’ Vicky clutched her mouth with her hand. ‘But why are you only telling me this now? Why didn’t you tell me before?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose I’ve just been thinking about it. I mean, no one’s ever sworn at me before. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. And then we were at Dad’s this weekend and I found myself telling him and when I was telling him about it, it all kind of started coming out. The way I feel. About Lorrie. And I realised that I don’t like her. I don’t like living with her. I don’t like all her mess and her stupid precious
things
and the way she looks at me as if I’m part of some weird dream she’s having and she isn’t sure what to make of me. And how I can never invite friends back to my house because it’s, like, so embarrassing and everyone’s starting to think I’m weird. It just all …
came out
. And Dad said I could go and live with him. Now that I’m old enough to walk home from school. I could. I could do it. And then do every other weekend with you and Soph.’

‘Oh, Maddy.’ Vicky fought back a sob. ‘I don’t know what to say. I really don’t know.’

‘Just say yes.’

‘But …
I love you
. You’re my baby. I couldn’t bear it if I didn’t see you every day.’

Maddy shrugged again.

‘I’d be lost, Maddy, utterly lost without you.’

‘No, you wouldn’t. You’d be fine. You’ve still got Sophie. And Lorrie.’

‘But they wouldn’t make me as happy as they do if you weren’t there too.’

‘Well, then …’

‘Well, then, what?’

‘Move out.’

‘What?’

‘Move out. Find a nice flat for us to live in. Just you, me and Sophie.’

‘But I can’t!’

‘Why not? You moved us out of our old house. We could just move again. You could still be friends with Lorrie and still see her all the time. But we just wouldn’t have to live with her.’

Vicky bit at her bottom lip. ‘You know, Lorrie, she’s a very complicated person, and I’m so sorry she was so awful to you, but it’s just been the anniversary of Rhys’s death and she was probably feeling a bit over-sensitive and that’s
no excuse
, obviously, and I shall have a very strong word with her, but darling, she’s such a sweet soul and she loves you so very much …’

Maddy, her baby, her little woman-in-the-making, so composed, so sure of her own feelings, put up a restraining hand, as if to say, ‘
Stop. This far and no further
.’ ‘Seriously,’ she began. ‘I know you love her and everything. But I don’t. I didn’t choose her,
you did
. And I don’t want to live with her any more. And if you want to carry on living with her, that’s fine, but I don’t want to. And I need you –’ she paused and stared at her fingers, before bringing her gaze back to Vicky’s – ‘to let me go.’

Vicky straightened herself and said, ‘No. No. I can’t do that.’

‘Then let’s move out.’

‘I can’t do that either.’

‘Well, then,’ said Maddy.

Beth wriggled her dress down towards her knees and touched her hair. Through the leaded windows of the country pub she could see the sky growing dark and bruised. On the table in front of her was a half-drunk glass of orange juice and lemonade. At the bar was a man called Jason who was ordering himself another pint of something local and a glass of wine for her.

‘Are you sure I can’t get you a real drink?’ he’d said, half-raised from his seat.

And she’d shaken her head and said, ‘No, honestly, I’m fine.’ And then she’d watched him heading for the bar, looked at his strong, wide back and his good hair, his well-chosen clothes and pleasant feet in nice open sandals and thought,
This could be it
,
this could be my chance to be normal
. And as she’d thought that she’d called after him, ‘Actually, Jason, yes, a small glass of white wine. Please.’ And he’d smiled and looked like he’d scored a small victory. Another small victory. He’d been chasing her for months, ever since he’d started at her company in January. He was Australian. He was only twenty-five. It had taken her very much by surprise. After all these years and years working at the same place, sitting next to the same people, putting money in the same envelopes for the weddings gifts and birthday presents of the same colleagues, having the same conversations about the same things, eating the same sandwiches at the same desk, suddenly everything began to change. Suddenly the succession of predictable moments that constituted every day at work was punctured by new and unexpected ones. Unnecessary visits to her desk to ask for things
that could easily have been requested via email or an instant message. Suggestions for lunchtime drinks. Compliments. Endless compliments. About her hair, her clothes, her smell, her handwriting, her shoes, her parallel parking, her taste in biscuits. A walk along a corridor now bore with it the frequent possibility of being stopped for a chat. Questions usually that would begin along the lines of,
‘So, you’re a local, where would you recommend for good-quality meat?’
Or,
‘Is it possible to get a decent curry round here or do I have to go to Birmingham?’

She had been doggedly ignoring his advances for months. The whole thing was ridiculous. She was thirty, for God’s sake. Thirty and still conducting an insanely dangerous affair with her sister’s partner. Thirty and still living at home. Thirty and nowhere near as pretty as she’d been in her youth. Past her prime. And she wasn’t being disingenuous to think such a thing. Even Bill had stopped telling her she was pretty.

She’d agreed to a date with Jason because Bill had phoned to tell her that they were going on a last-minute Easter break. All five of them. Off to Mallorca to stay in some fancy villa with two swimming pools: one for the adults, one for the children. They were going with ‘some friends’. Beth had shuddered and brought the conversation to a close. Too much there to digest in one sitting. Family. Holiday. Friends.
Last-minute
. Beth had not done anything last-minute in her life.

And then Jason had appeared at her desk the next day, all fresh skin and thick hair and wide eyes and tangible lust, and he’d asked her what she was up to at the weekend and she’d said, ‘
Nothing much
,’ and he’d said, ‘
Fancy a drink?
’ And she’d said, ‘
Sure
.’

She’d arrived prepared to have a horrible evening. Vicky had asked her where she was off to and she’d said, ‘
The Black-faced Lamb
.’ And Vicky had said, ‘
Oh, really, who are you going with, friends from work?
’ And she’d said, ‘
Sort of
.’ And then Vicky had smiled and said, ‘
Is it a date?
’ And Beth had grimaced and said, ‘
Sort of
.’ She had put on a dress, though. One of Bill’s favourites: pale pink with wide shoulder straps and a full skirt and a white trim around the hem. She’d pulled her dark hair back into a ponytail and was wearing her black Converse and a denim jacket.

‘You look
adorable
,’ Jason had said when she’d walked into the pub half an hour ago. ‘Totally.’

She’d squirmed and said thank you and he’d said, ‘
What is it with you?
’ And she’d said, ‘
What?
’ And he’d smiled and said, ‘
Oh, nothing
.’

He returned with their drinks and placed them on the table.

‘I got you a Chardonnay? Hope that’s OK?’

She shrugged and smiled and said, ‘I’m not exactly an expert.’

His phone fizzed against the tabletop and he picked it up and turned it off without looking at it.

‘Don’t you want to know who that was?’ she asked.

He looked at her curiously. ‘Not really. If it’s important they’ll call back. If it’s not important, why would I answer when I’m sitting here with you?’

She thought of Bill, who treated his phone like a special-needs child, fussing over it and caring for it, meeting its every need and demand. She smiled and said, ‘Oh. Right.’

‘So, Beth? Bethan? What do you prefer to be called?’

‘Beth,’ she said, ‘just call me Beth.’

He smiled as though there was some inherent joy in her being known as Beth. ‘Great,’ he said, picking up his pint. ‘Thank you for coming out tonight. I really thought you’d say no.’

She couldn’t respond with any surprise to this declaration given that she had thought she would say no, too, until the precise moment she’d said yes. ‘That’s OK,’ she murmured. ‘It’s nice to be out.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, gazing at her knowingly, ‘I get the impression – and don’t take this the wrong way – that you’re quite a homebody.’

‘A what?’

‘A homebody. A person who likes being at home. Staying in. Not going out.’

She shrugged. ‘Yes,’ she said. I suppose I am. It’s just …’ She closed her mouth against the distinct possibility of saying something mad. ‘Yes. I like being at home.’

‘And you live with your mum?’

‘Yeah. I know. Terrible, isn’t it? So embarrassing but, you know, I’ve never really earned enough money to get my own place …’

‘South Gloucestershire PA of the Year, three times in a decade? And you’re not earning enough money to rent a room?’

She flushed at his words. Of course she could afford to rent a room. She could probably afford to rent an entire flat, a small one, at least, somewhere unfashionable. ‘Yes, well. It’s more –’ she inhaled – ‘just family problems. Just family …
stuff
.’ She felt panicky. She wasn’t used to talking about this kind of thing with anyone who didn’t already know about it. ‘I’ll get around to it, one day. And what about you? Where do you … I mean, I know where you live, but who do you …?’