What Have I Done? (15 page)

‘I said two minutes.’

She knew that protest would be pointless, even if she were able to find the courage. It was her own stupid fault, daydreaming about rubbish from her childhood. She wouldn’t say anything; she didn’t want to start the day any more points down than was absolutely necessary. Shivering, she stepped from the steamy cubicle into the cool air. Mark placed a large towel around her body and with one free end he wiped the foam from her eyes and face.

‘There now,’ he cooed, ‘that’s better.’

She padded into the bedroom and got dressed while her husband showered. Despite using the towel to remove as many of the suds as was possible, her hair was still a sticky mess. She ran a comb through it as best she could. Looking into the mirrors on her dressing table, she practised her smile. Was it her imagination or was it becoming more and more difficult to get it right?

Kathryn stripped the bedclothes as she did every morning and tried not to look at the scarlet pond of misery that spoilt the white perfection on which it sat. She added her nightdress to the middle of the bundle of linen. As ever, she would have this on a hot wash before the children surfaced, and they would never know. They would never know.

By the time Lydia made her way into the kitchen nearly an hour later, the laundry was ready to be pegged out, the table was set
for breakfast, bacon was crisping under the grill and Kathryn was standing at the sink, ready to face the day.

The first she knew of her daughter’s arrival was when the chair legs scraped on the wooden floor.

‘Good morning, Lydi! Did you have sweet dreams?’

There was no response from her daughter, whose head lay on her arms which formed a triangular cradle on the table.

‘Lydia, I said did you have sweet dreams?’

Kathryn approached her slowly and stroked her hair away from her shoulder.

‘What?’ Lydia shouted, yanking the two tiny white headphones from her ears.

‘Sorry, darling, I didn’t realise you were plugged in, I was just asking if you—’

‘Oh my God! What on earth have you done to your hair? It looks awful! Really awful!’

Kathryn chose to ignore the comments, as she had no adequate response.

‘Would you like some bacon?’

‘
Would I like some bacon
?’ Lydia’s voice climbed in incomprehension. Why had the subject been changed? Had her mother finally flipped?

‘What are you two shouting about?’ Dominic was an unwelcome addition to the already uncomfortable conversation.

‘I wasn’t shouting.’ Kathryn corrected him.

‘Jesus Christ, Mother, what’s with the wet look? You look like a mental patient. Seriously, like a real total freak! For God’s sake, sort it out. My friends might see you!’

‘Would you like some bacon, Dominic?’

‘
Would I like some bacon
?’

‘That’s where you came in, Dom.’ Lydia rolled her eyes. ‘I was telling her how totally weird she looks with whatever
you call that thing going on with her hair and she replied with “Would you like some bacon?” I think she’s finally lost the plot or, as I’ve been saying recently, not that anyone listens to me, she is seriously menopausal—’

‘Can you two please stop talking about me as though I am not here; it is really very rude and hurtful. What does it matter what my hair looks like? It’s only hair! Now, more importantly, can I get anyone some bacon?’

For some reason this was hilarious to her teenage children, who chortled and slapped the table until tears began to gather, among wheezes of ‘
Bacon
!’ And then back to laughing.

‘Good morning, family Brooker! My goodness, what is all this jollity for, first thing in the morning? What have I missed?’

‘Mum…’ Dominic managed before pointing and collapsing again.

Mark ruffled his son’s long hair and smiled at the twosome.

‘Come on, you two, nothing can be that funny.’

‘It is!’ Lydia squawked.

He shook his head.

‘Kathryn, is there any chance of some bacon?’

This sent the two into hysterical convulsions and their dad had little option but to join in, the laughter being impossibly infectious. The three sat at the table and laughed and prodded each other and laughed some more and occasionally pointed at Kathryn’s head. It was all very, very funny.

Kathryn picked up the wicker basket and loaded the wet bed linen into it. She wandered out to the clothes line with her floral bag of dolly pegs.

‘Come on, Peggy, time to go to work.’ She ran her thumb over the little smiling face as it took up its position.

As she stretched the sheet taut on the line and watched it billow in the breeze, she thought of something else that had
diminished: she had. She was getting smaller and smaller and of less and less consequence. She was quite certain that one day she would simply disappear, and absolutely no one would notice. She shivered as she pegged her nightdress next to the sheet.

‘Morning, Mrs Brooker!’

‘Morning, Mrs Bedmaker!’

Again the two spoke simultaneously, suspecting that she would miss the cruel moniker. They were right, she didn’t notice a thing.

‘Morning, Luca! Good morning, Emily! How are you both today?’

‘Good, thanks. Is Dom ready?’ Luca spoke for them both. Emily had the guilty and furtive air of someone who was sleeping with her son.

‘I think so. Feel free to go in. There is breakfast ready if you are hungry.’ She smiled at the two of them.

Mrs Bedmaker, Mrs Bedmaker, Mrs Bedmaker
… the words spun around inside her head, a silent taunt.

Clearly they were in too much of a hurry for breakfast as within a minute the four children were making their way back down the path and off to morning lessons.

‘See you later!’ Dom shouted over his shoulder. Lydia was once again plugged in and oblivious to the rest of the planet.

‘Bye, love! Have a good day!’

Kathryn hated the false brightness of her tone and the smile that she knew was an inadequate veil to her silent misery. She watched them disappear behind the hedgerow and seconds later heard a roar of laughter. She knew instinctively that they were laughing at her – about her, at her, it made little difference which. It hurt just the same.

As she walked into the kitchen Mark pushed his breakfast
plate into the middle of the table, ready to be tidied away by his wife.

‘Kathryn…’

He always said her name when starting a conversation, to make sure that he had all of her attention, so that she wouldn’t miss a detail or even a nuance.

‘Kathryn, I think fish for supper would be good.’

‘Fish. Yes of course.’

‘Good.’

He rose from the table and pulled his double cuffs to the desired length below his suit jacket.

‘I don’t know if you have heard on the rumour mill, but I, and as a result the school, are being honoured. I have had it on good authority that the National Excellence in Education Awards are naming me Head Teacher of the Year. How about that?’

She blinked at him.
Speak now, make it something nice
.

‘That is very well done, wonderful.’ She tried hard not to make it sound stilted or mechanical.

‘You are right, it is very well done and wonderful. You know why I am being honoured in this way, don’t you?’

‘No, well, yes, I’m not really sure…’ She didn’t know what the correct or expected response was.

‘Fret not, Kathryn, I will tell you why. It is because I am quite brilliant. Why did I get it?’

‘Because you are brilliant, Mark.’

‘That is very kind of you to say so, my sweet wife.’

Pulling her forward by the tops of her arms, he kissed her full and hard on the mouth just as Judith opened the back door.

‘Only me!’

Seeing that she had interrupted an apparent moment of tenderness, Judith felt the scarlet stain of embarrassment creep up her chubby neck.

‘Oh, Headmaster! Kathryn! I am so dreadfully sorry to impose! I’m obviously interrupting at a delicate moment.’

She was flustered, jealous and intrigued all at the same moment.

‘Not at all. My wonderful wife was just telling me that I am brilliant!’

Judith pushed her glasses back up onto her nose. ‘Oh, but you are, Headmaster, quite brilliant.’

She stared slack-mouthed at Mark, as if she had forgotten that Kathryn was there. Kathryn could imagine her salacious, lewd thoughts.

‘That is very kind of you to say so, Judith. Have you come to escort me to the office?’

‘Well, yes and no! I mean, I will obviously escort you, but also I wanted to pick your brains about speech day refreshments and the siting of the marquee; we must prepare for the possibility of light showers!’

‘Ah yes, indeed we must. And there was me looking forward to a leisurely stroll to my office. Never mind. No rest for the wicked, isn’t that what they say?’

He turned and winked at his wife as the two of them left the kitchen, neglecting to shut the back door. Wicked indeed.

While stacking the dishwasher, Kathryn smiled to herself. Judith’s entrances always made her think of Natasha and how much she missed her friend’s visits. Natasha used to imitate Judith by entering with a much exaggerated ‘Only me!’, which would render Kathryn helpless with laughter. She thought back to one particular rainy Tuesday, when the two had been chatting in the school shop. Natasha was stocking up with pencils and Kathryn was putting up a notice about a fundraising event for the rugby first fifteen’s trip to South Africa.

Natasha had turned to her friend and asked, ‘Notice anything different about me today?’

Kathryn cast her eye over her friend’s striped tights, flared mini-skirt and pale pink ballet cardigan. ‘Not really. Should I?’

‘Yes! I am rosy and glowing with love! Well, lust actually, but in my cynical book they are one and the same.’

Kathryn felt her cheeks colour. She routinely avoided conversations around this topic, especially with Natasha, so as to evade any reciprocal questioning about the state of play in her own love life. Kathryn felt out of her depth and slightly uncomfortable with the whole subject.

‘Oh? Anyone I know?’ She prayed that it wasn’t anyone that she knew, not wanting the mental pictures that were threatening to form in her mind.

‘Actually you well might. Do you know Jacob Whittington, sixth former?’

‘Yes, nice-looking boy, off to Oxbridge…’ Kathryn wasn’t sure where this was heading.

‘Well, if you think he is a nice-looking boy, you should see his dad. He is hot! I mean, seriously hot! And a surgeon and divorced and shagging me! Aren’t I the lucky one!’

Kathryn stared at her friend and felt her jaw drop, quite literally.

‘Really? Dr Whittington?’

‘Yes, really! Dr Whittington – or Max, to those of us that get to see him butt-naked and making me cups of tea at three in the morning! God, don’t look at me like that, Kate. It’s like I’ve just told you that I’ve committed a heinous crime, you look so disapproving. Why are you looking like that? Is it because he’s so out of my league? You’re right, of course, he is and I know we are not supposed to fraternise with pupils’ parents, but he is really scrummy and I am rather keen, in fact super
keen. I can almost guarantee that young Jacob will be getting the A star that he is so desperately seeking if it means I get to keep seeing Daddy! Kate, say something, anything…’

‘Are you not a lesbian?’ Kathryn blurted.

The question caught Natasha off guard and left her momentarily lost for a response, until eventually she screeched with laughter, her head thrown back, loud and unrestrained.

‘Am I not
what
?’

‘A lesbian,’ Kathryn repeated, feeling embarrassed at even using the word on school premises.

‘A lesbian? Oh my God! Why did you think that? Because I have short hair and wear men’s shoes?’

‘No! No, Natasha, not at all. It’s just that Mark said—’

‘Oh well, that figures. Mark wouldn’t know a lesbian if one came up and bit his arse! He is so keen to pigeon-hole everyone with his nasty clichés. Grrr, that bloody man! It’s not that I give a shit what he thinks about me, but he could really cause some damage with his mean little rumours and nicknames.’

She remembered suddenly that she was talking to not only her newest best friend, but also to Mark’s wife.

‘Sorry, Kate, no offence intended, but you know what I mean.’

‘None taken, and I’m sorry, I should never have supposed that his assumption was correct. I should have known better. And there was me feeling terribly cosmopolitan with my first ever lesbian friend.’

‘Ah, honey, I have really disappointed you, haven’t I? I’m sorry if I’ve let you down with my boring heterosexual practices, all that deviant sleeping with men.’

They both laughed and strolled off arm in arm. The shop staff watched them walk from the store and no one commented
as Natasha playfully squeezed Kathryn’s bottom as they were about to round the corner.

‘Well, Kate, if they are going to talk, we may as well give them something to talk about.’

Kathryn had jumped and shuddered, not at the playful act of her friend, or even with embarrassment at the gossip it would create, but because Natasha had inadvertently pulled apart a cut that was trying to heal, breaking the skin and causing her to bleed.

Kathryn smiled at the memory. She closed the dishwasher door and focussed her attention on the task in hand. Tuesday, Tuesday… Think, what are the chores for Tuesday? She had had years to memorise the weekly calendar of chores, and yet increasingly she found herself forgetting. It must be her age. Ah yes, it was coming back to her now. Tuesday’s chores included removing all of Mark’s textbooks from the shelves in the study, dusting the shelves as well as each individual book and replacing them just so; stripping the children’s beds and washing and ironing their bed linen; weeding the flower bed at the back of the kitchen door; and cleaning both the family bathroom and the en suite thoroughly, ensuring that baths, taps, sinks and loos were all shiny. Finally, before going into the village to collect eight organic salmon fillets and the accompanying veg, she had to wax and polish the parquet flooring in the hallway. It was a day like any other, but a busy day nonetheless.