CHAPTER ONE
Beth peered through her nets and frowned in annoyance. Anita, her next-door neighbour, had put her bins out again. That in itself wasn’t an issue. Where she had put themwas. Why couldn’t the bloody woman put them outside her own gate?
Why did she have to butt them up against Beth’s? It made it look like Beth had double the number of bins to anyone else in the street. That blimmin’ dog of Anita’s had also woken her up in the early hours, barking its head off. And don’t get her started on the kids. The woman was forever shouting at them, screeching at the top of her voice, day in, day out. And the little sods didn’t take a blind bit of notice, so Anita might as well save her breath and save Beth from having to listen to it.
Tightening the belt of her dressing gown, Beth stomped into the hall, yanked open the front door and marched down the short path. Muttering under her breath, she dragged her neighbour’s bins back to where they belonged – in front of her neighbour’s house. And for good measure, she deposited themright in front of the gate. If the woman wanted to get out, she’d have to shift them.
Beth knew she was being petty, but since she’d retired a few months ago, she didn’t have much else to think about, and the issues with the woman next door were gradually taking on bigger and bigger proportions.
‘Oi! What do you think you’re doing?’ Anita yelled through her bedroom window.
Beth smiled sweetly. ‘Just putting these back where they belong.’
‘They’re blocking my gate. Damien will be wanting to go to school in a minute.’
From the amount of yelling the bloody woman had done just to get Damien out of bed, Beth was pretty certain the boy didn’t want to go to school at all.
‘So, move them,’ Beth called back, and turned on her slippered heel to march up the pavement and back inside.
Slamming the door with more force than was strictly necessary, she went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, and whilst the kettle came to the boil, she thought about what she would do today.
The oven could do with a good clean and there was a bit of washing in the laundry basket, but probably not enough for a full load. There was a time when the washing machine was always on the go, but that had been when the kids were little. They were all grown up now, with washing machines of their own. Except for Maisie. There wasn’t room for a washing machine in the static that she lived in with her boyfriend Adam, so when she wanted to do any washing, she borrowed Dulcie’s.
The kettle’s automatic switch knocked off, and Beth wondered why the hell she was thinking about washing machines… Oh yes, half a load. She would wait until the end of the week and see what was in the laundry basket then. If she still didn’t have enough for a full load, she would chuck in a few tea towels. They could always do with a freshen-up.
Beth made a cup of tea, mashing the tea bag against the side of the mug with a spoon.
She could pop to the supermarket later. She had a few bits to get, and it meant she would have some fresh air – although how fresh it was, being in the city, was debatable.
Dulcie had fresh air. Loads of it. Well, she would, wouldn’t she, being halfway up a hillside in the middle of nowhere. Those goats she kept didn’t smell too good though, and the chicken coop reeked.
What was she doing now, Beth wondered. There was one way to find out: she would call her. But after listening to twelve rings, Beth gave up. Her middle daughter was probably outside doing farming stuff.
How about Nikki? But when Beth checked the time, she realised that her eldest child would probably be on her way to work. Jay didn’t pick up either, and although Maisie answered after the third ring (one day that girl would have to have her phone surgically removed), she sounded out of breath.
‘Am I allowed to ask why you sound like you’ve just run a marathon?’ Beth asked.
‘We’re moving stones.’
Of course she was. What else did one do on a Thursday morning?
Maisie was obviously busy, so Beth said, ‘I’ll let you get on, but be careful you don’t put your back out. It can ruin the rest of your life, can a bad back.’
‘I’ll be fine, Mum. Stop fussing.’
Beth hung up, muttering, ‘That’s what mothers do – fuss.’ Not that any of her kids appreciated or cared just how much she worried about them. That was the privilege and arrogance of youth: they thought they were invincible. And the younger they were, the more invincible they thought they were.
Nikki, being the eldest, was starting to have an inkling that life was harsher and less forgiving than she’d assumed, but she wasn’t there yet. She would soon change her tune when she was staring middle age in the face and wondering where the grey hair, wrinkles, and saggy boobs had come from.
Where had all the years gone? One minute Beth had been dancing in the Plaz, flares flapping around her legs, a disco ball pixilating her skin and the taste of Snake Bite on her tongue; and the next, she was rubbing her bunions and wondering where she could buy support stockings. The bit in between was a blur of nappies, nits and teenage strops. In those days she had longed for an hour to herself, a bit of peace and quiet where nobody was demanding anything of her.
‘Be careful what you wish for,’ she grumbled, startled when she realised she’d said it out loud. Flipping heck, she was talking to herself now. Maybe she should get a cat? There was a distinct similarity between cats and daughters: they were both disdainful (scornful, even), they both treated their homes like a hotel, and they both came and went as they pleased at all hours of the day and night, but at least cats didn’t answer back.
Beth sighed disconsolately. She would give her right arm to have one of her kids answer her back right now. The house was too big and too silent, except for the echoes as she rattled around in it.
Should she find something smaller? It would certainly be less to clean. Not that there was much cleaning to be done now that her youngest had moved out.
Was it because ofherthat all of them had moved away? Had she been such a bad mother that at the first opportunity to leave Birmingham (and her) they’d leapt at it?
