What Have I Done? (18 page)

Kate was taken aback, angry and defensive in equal measure. ‘It’s not that straightforward, Tash—’

Her friend was not done, interrupting Kate for the second time in as many minutes. ‘Actually, Kate, it is that straightforward. Their dad was a prize knob, a nasty piece of work, and you did your best to hide it from them, suffered for the sake of their convenience and this is how they repay you? Dominic travels the length and breadth of the country to go to a bloody party and yet can’t tootle to Cornwall to see how you are at a time when you need him more than ever? You let them get away with it, Kate, but you should get tough with them. I know I bloody would.’

Kate was incandescent. ‘Then let’s hope for everyone’s sake that you never actually become a mother because God help your kids!’

‘I wouldn’t let them walk all over me, Kate, that’s for sure. You need to set them a boundary, set them an example!’

Kate stood up. Her voice shook with barely controlled anger. ‘Set them an example? I’ve spent my whole life setting them an
example! My whole life trying to show them how to be decent human beings by being kind and attentive—’

‘Yes! And look how that’s worked out. How kind and attentive are they exactly, Kate?’

Kate ran from the beach towards the path. The sound of her sobbing drifted back on the breeze.

Janeece looked at Natasha. ‘I’m glad I asked…’

Natasha buried her hands in her face. ‘Shit!’ She knew she had gone too far.

Natasha knocked on Kate’s bedroom door and entered without waiting for an invite.

‘I’m sorry, Kate.’

Kate stared at her through swollen lids. ‘For which bit?’

‘All of it. I shouldn’t have said it.’

‘I know you didn’t mean it, Tash.’

Natasha held her friend’s hand. ‘Oh but I did mean it, Kate! I just shouldn’t have said it.’

‘But you know my kids; you love them!’

‘Yes, I do. But I love you more. I will always do and say what I think is best for you and right now I don’t like the way they are behaving.’

‘You’re right, Tash; it is my fault, the way I brought them up. I thought that hiding things from them was the best course of action, but it wasn’t. They are young adults who don’t know how to trust because what they trusted was a mirage and that’s all my fault.’

‘But that’s just it, Kate. It’s not all your fault, it’s all Mark’s fault actually, and I wish they would realise that. I try to do everything in my power to support you, Kate, and make you happy. You’re my best friend in the whole world and it kills me to see how much you suffer when the solution is so simple. Just
one visit, that’s all it would take. I don’t think they’re being fair.’

Kate hugged her mate. ‘You are my best friend too. They will come eventually, Tash. I know it.’

Kate bit her bottom lip. She had to believe that was true.

‘I’m sure you’re right. I forget sometimes what you have been through, that while I’ve been working away you’ve been in prison. It’s because you seem to cope so well and are so resilient, I just forget.’

‘I forget too sometimes. It’s like I’ve blanked out large chunks of my life. The time in jail neither flew by nor dragged particularly; it was a bit like a pregnancy or a long school holiday – felt like an eternity at the beginning, but now it’s over seems to have passed doubly quick. I find it hard to remember the detail of my life in there; I can only recall how much I missed the kids.’ Tash squeezed her friend’s hand. ‘It was also a haven of sorts, a relief not to be gut-wrenchingly terrified all the time. I could watch the clock hands whizz towards bedtime without feeling petrified. And life inside was actually quite easy, not what you might think. There was no scrubbing concrete steps with a toothbrush or having to peel a never-ending mountain of potatoes whilst sat on a cold, concrete floor…’

There was a silence while both women considered how to continue.

‘Do you really hope I never become a mother?’

‘Yes, but only because of your horrendous dress sense and non-conformist ideas. The poor kid would be a weirdo!’

The two laughed. They were back on track.

‘I’ve thought of names for if I ever do have kids…’

‘Oh you have to tell me!’

‘Well, for a boy I like Radar and a girl, Philadelphia.’

‘Philadelphia, like the cheese?’ Kate roared.

‘No, like the city!’

‘Radar and Philadelphia? I rest my case, poor little weirdos.’

Janeece poked her head round the door and was relieved to find the two of them laughing.

‘Sorry to interrupt, but Tom from the pub is downstairs.’

Kate noticed that Tom had spruced himself up, shaved his stubble and flattened his unruly hair. Her feet had barely touched the bottom stair when he fired his question at her.

‘Were you serious about a job, Kate?’

‘Depends, what did you have in mind?’ Kate wondered what his skills were.

‘I’m a trained chef and I’ve worked in the local hotels since I left school, doing every job you can think of. For the last couple of years I’ve mainly been mending fences, building walls and painting, but I prefer working inside. I’d like to be your cook and housekeeper. I reckon I can keep a few bedrooms shipshape and rustle up good breakfasts and meals for all your guests.’

Kate looked him in the eye. ‘Can you promise me, Tom, that I will never, ever, ever have to wash a sheet or make a bed for the rest of my life?’

‘Yes, I can do that, no problem.’

Kate held out her hand. ‘Then welcome aboard, Tom!’

‘When shall I start?’

‘You just did. Four coffees and a plate of biccies please, and then the four of us can figure out how this place is going to work.’

Tom beamed and limped off to find the kitchen.

Mark spooned the asparagus onto his plate and proffered the bowl to Lydia, who was sitting to his right.

‘So, Lyds, how’s the revision going?’

‘Not too bad. Struggling with Latin and Chemistry, but getting A stars in Art.’

‘That’s great, but art isn’t exactly a career choice, is it? I’m sure your brother could give you a hand, eh, Dom? There’s no point in having a good academic brain and not sharing it!’

Dominic glared at his father and gritted his teeth.

‘Sure.’

His smile was fleeting and forced and for a split second Kathryn thought he looked a bit like her. For some reason this gave her a jolt of joy.

Lydia was incensed. ‘That’s a crap thing to say, Dad. There are plenty of careers that involve art! I could work in graphic design, illustration, fashion and a gazillion others – what you mean is it’s not a career that you would like me to go into!’

‘I never said that, Lyds.’

Mark flung his hand to his breast, feigning hurt.

‘Darling, I honestly don’t mind what you do as long as it makes you happy – and makes you money! And I don’t want you to feel pressurised by the fact that you are being given an education that most people would kill for. It’s perfectly okay to take that expensive tutoring and put it to best use by
colouring in pictures all day.’

‘God, I knew it!’

Lydia threw down her fork in protest.

‘Lydi, I’m joking, kind of. If art becomes your thing then you must follow your dream, but you can’t neglect other subjects that might help you achieve that dream, that is all I am saying. For example, if you want to run an art gallery, you will need an understanding of commerce and marketing. Graphic designers still have to work to a budget and be aware of material constraints and so forth.’

He ruffled his daughter’s hair.

Lydia grinned at her smart dad.

Mark changed tack and kept the teenage duo amused with his impersonations and stories of his colleagues, their tutors. Kathryn thought this was most inappropriate. It was not the way to teach the kids respect for other people, but she was not about to raise that at the dinner table.

‘So, I expect everyone has been nattering about the big award, have they?’

Dominic looked blankly at his father.

‘What award?’ Slivers of salmon fell from his lips and back onto his plate.

‘Please do not talk with your mouth full, Dom, it’s disgusting.’

Everyone ignored Kathryn’s comment.

‘The Excellence in Education awards. I am to be named Headmaster of the Year. Ta da! There’ll be a swanky all-expenses-paid do at a posh hotel in London, which will be very good publicity for the school. Governors are over the moon. It’ll be in all the Sundays…’

Dominic snorted through his nose.

‘Actually, Dad, no, I haven’t heard it mentioned. Have you, Lyd?’

She shook her head. ‘Nup.’

Kathryn tucked her lips inward and bit down to stop herself interjecting, but she was dying to know what ‘nup’ meant and where it had come from. However, having already commented on Dominic’s eating habits, she didn’t want to wade into Lydia about her speech, didn’t want to give them any more ammunition, didn’t want to be continually branded as the baddy. There were lots of things that she didn’t want.

Dominic was still snorting.

‘So, Dad, if you’re going to a swanky do, are you going to take a swanky bird with you? I mean, you can’t turn up with Mum!’

‘Once again, Dominic, I feel I should point out that I am actually here, sitting at this table in the room and not absent. I am also not deaf, so please refrain from talking about me as if I am either or both.’

Everyone ignored her and a curious thought struck her: maybe she was invisible.

Dominic’s statement caused her husband to roar with laughter whilst shaking his head in mock disapproval.

‘You might have a point, Dom, but who would you suggest I take?’

He winked at his daughter, reassuring her that it was all just a bit of banter, good fun, no harm intended.

‘Dunno, you could always dust Judith off and give her an airing.’

This made Mark roar even louder.

‘Oh my God, please! Judith!’

He pushed his plate away and feigned being sick.

‘That has really made me lose my appetite!’

Dominic then piped up.

‘It’s a shame Natasha Mortensen has left. She would have
done you proud, Dad! I can just see her frock now, Oxfam meets Tinkerbell.’

Mark gave an exaggerated shudder of revulsion.

‘Oh please, Dominic, I will have no mention of that grotesque lesbian.’

‘Actually, she is not a lesbian. In fact she was sleeping with Dr Whittington the whole time that she was here; may in fact still be seeing him for all we know.’

Kathryn didn’t know where the idea to say this aloud had come from, or the actual voice, but one thing was sure: she now knew that she wasn’t invisible as all three members of her family stared at her in surprise.

‘No way!’ was her son’s response.

‘Lucky Ms Mortensen, he’s a total dish.’

It was Lydia’s retort that caused Mark’s eyebrows to rise the highest. He said nothing.

For the second time that evening Kathryn turned her lips inward and bit down. She hated them being so mean and openly mocking of her friend, and Natasha had also been very kind to each of them in different ways. It felt nasty and she hated nasty.

‘How was your day, darling?’

It took a split second for Kathryn to realise that she was being spoken to.

‘Oh! Sorry, I was miles away. Fine. Good, thanks. Fine.’

‘
Fine. Good, thanks. Fine!
There we have it, kids, the engaging description of how your mother spent eight hours while the rest of us toiled over dog-eared pages.’

Mark’s comment was clever. Not only did Kathryn recognise it as a cruel and pointed reference to her love of reading and the fact that while every other individual in the school had access to hundreds of books, her passion was denied her, but it also told her children that her life was pointless, wasted. Instead
of retorting, she busied herself with clearing the table. The scraping of plates was always a good diversion.

Dominic and Mark had taken a cricket ball to the nets. Lydia, however, remained slumped in her chair, observing her mum with a furrowed brow.

‘Why do you do that, Mum?’

‘Do what, Lydia?’

‘I can’t really describe it, but it’s like you don’t listen to what’s going on around you. You should try to join in more; it would make everything so much easier.’

‘Easier for who, Lyds?’

‘Well, all of us actually. You never find Dad’s jokes funny and he really tries. I know he can be a bit of a chauvinist, but he doesn’t mean it. He’s just being Dad.’

Kathryn sat down opposite her daughter; the plates could wait. She swallowed her automatic response, ‘
Oh, he means it, darling. He means it more than you could ever know.
’

Her daughter wasn’t done.

‘And like when we are on holiday, it would be so much better if you did what we did, if you joined in more. I hate it when we are all in the sea just mucking about and I look up and you’re sitting on the beach on your own looking fed up. You have never, ever come swimming or even for a dip! You shouldn’t be so self-conscious, Mum. No one cares if you’ve got cellulite or whatever, lots of old people have it. We would rather see your cellulite than have you sitting on the beach in your linen skirt every day. It’s like you’re Victorian and can’t show off your body! You make yourself more obvious by never getting undressed.’

Lydia let out a long sigh.

Kathryn looked at her daughter in earnest.

‘What do you think of me, Lydia?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘I mean, when you look at me, what do you think?’

‘What do I think?’

Lydia poked her tongue out of the side of her mouth; it was her thinking face. Kathryn watched her strike a similar pose whenever there was a paintbrush in her hand.

‘Well, I don’t think much…’

‘Charming!’ Kathryn swatted at her girl with the end of a dish cloth.

‘No, I don’t mean it in that way. I mean, it’s never a shock or surprise to see you because you are always there and you have always been there, obviously.’

‘I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not, Lyds!’

‘When I look at you, I see my mum and so I don’t think much beyond that. You are just Mum, always there and always doing… something. You are like background noise or my favourite pillow. I don’t have to look for you or think about you much because you are always there, but in a good way.’

‘Background noise, but in a good way?’ Kathryn was struggling to find the positive.

‘Yeah. It’s like, you could be really bad background noise – like, say, one of those naff boy bands, or classical music, which I really hate. But you’re not; you are background noise like something soothing or a lovely smell, baked cookies or jam. Which is really cool.’

‘So I am cool?’

Lydia snorted her laughter through her nose and rolled her eyes.

‘God! No! Mum, you are so not cool. Even hearing you say that is funny!’

‘Right.’

Kathryn rubbed at her eyes and tucked her hair behind her
ears. She didn’t like the verbal cul de sac into which they had talked themselves; it was three-point-turn time.

‘Okay, Lydia, let’s move away from jammy-scented background noise and let me put it another way. When I say what do you think of me, I mean more explicitly, would you like to live my life?’

Lydia was silent, thinking. Her mother prompted her further still.

‘A good example would be that when I was your age, I was sure that I would teach English. That was always my ambition. I’ve always loved books and I always thought I’d be a really good teacher. I got a first in English and I sometimes think it’s a shame that I’ve never put it to good use.’

‘Why haven’t you?’

How to answer that? What to say? Neutral, watered down, diluted, agreeable: she had to find the words that fitted the formula.

‘I don’t really know, Lyds. I guess life just got in the way.’

It would have to suffice as an explanation; it would have to suffice, for now. Kathryn again tried to steer the conversation.

‘Want I want you to do, Lydia, is to picture yourself in your forties. What does your life look like?’

Her daughter let out a deep sigh and lowered her voice in pitch and volume. Imagined or otherwise, it made the whole conversation smack of conspiracy. She looked at her mother through lowered lashes.

‘It’s hard because that is like so old, but I know I want to be in great shape. I’d like to look like Luca and Guido’s mum.’

Kathryn resisted the temptation to point out that with the same surgeon and if she didn’t touch a carb for twenty-five years, she could.

‘Plus, I guess, Mum, that I wouldn’t want my life to be quite
as ordered as yours, you know, not quite so predictable. I think that I would like more variety. I know that I will always paint, but apart from that one constant, I’ll probably move around a bit, meet new people, go to different countries, have new experiences and fall in love a lot. I guess I think that unless you try everything, you might settle for the wrong thing and then you might be stuck. I don’t want to get stuck, Mum. I like the idea of not really knowing what I might be doing one year to the next. That would make it feel as if my life was an adventure and not just happening around me, if that makes any sense. I don’t think that I want to be married and having to look after people in the way that you look after us and Dad. No offence or anything, I mean, you are really good at it!’

Kathryn could only nod and swallow the internal tears that slid from her nose down the back of her throat, rendering speech impossible. In her head she was saying, ‘
None taken, my darling, clever girl. You’re right, try everything! Go everywhere, never settle for anything that isn’t the best possible thing for you! Make good choices! Make the right choices! Have an adventure! Don’t get stuck
…’

It was a massive relief to hear her daughter’s words. Kathryn knew that her little girl would be just fine, no matter what happened.

It was nearly bedtime, an hour that always seemed to come round much too quickly. In earlier years she would try and delay going up to bed, but this only postponed the inevitable and angered her husband more.

Kathryn trod the stairs, changed into her familiar white cotton garb and waited.

Mark bent down as he walked past the end of the bed and inhaled her scent.

‘Your hair smells of fish.’

She winced, remembering running her fingers through her hair after touching the salmon and knowing what that might mean. She was embarrassed. No matter how routine, it was still humiliating to receive negative and nasty comments.

‘That was an interesting revelation about Miss Mortensen earlier and I am surprised that you found it appropriate to raise it not only at the supper table, but also in front of the children.’

Kathryn knew that it was better to say nothing, although the temptation to point out that he frequently raised far more inappropriate topics at the dinner table and in front of the ‘children’, one of which she knew for a fact was sexually active and smoked like a chimney.

‘Tonight you will read to me. I know how much you like reading.’

He smiled briefly at his wife, who was kneeling and waiting in her regular pose.

While Mark showered, her heart lifted slightly at the prospect of reading, albeit aloud. She was unsure how she should react. If she showed any joy at the task, he would surely be angry, yet indifference could provoke the same reaction. She needn’t have worried. There was to be no joy in the task, none at all.

She rose shakily from her kneeling position as Mark handed her the book. He unfastened his dressing gown and indicated the ladder-backed chair that he had placed by his side of the bed. Kathryn handled the weighty tome and read the title:
The Iliad.
Her fatigue and desolation felt overwhelming. She was tired and the idea of having to plough through that particular text at that time of night felt like she had a mountain to climb.