‘You must let us know how much we owe you,’ Kate says. Sweat trickles down her neck. She is still in her coat.
Annabelle looks at her sharply.
‘It’s not a question ofmoney,’ she says.
‘Oh, I …’
Jake presses his hand into Kate’s lower back. She falls silent.
‘We really appreciate it, Mum,’ he says. ‘Thank you.’
Annabelle sighs.
‘Nonsense. Family first. That’s always been my motto.’
She peers into the saucepan, the steam clouding her glasses. Kate takes off her coat and hangs it in the hallway. She slips her phone reluctantly into the pocket – Annabelle doesn’t like them to have their mobiles at mealtimes but leaving it behind always feels to Kate as though she’s temporarily cut adrift from a world that understands her as a woman in her own right, rather than Jake’s inconvenient appendage.
When she returns, Jake and his mother are speaking quietly and quickly. They stop as soon as she walks in.
‘What were you talking about?’ Kate asks.
‘Oh, nothing,’ Annabelle says, getting a seeded loaf from the bread bin and slicing it with practised ease.
‘Can I do anything?’
‘No, I’ve done it all now. It’s just soup,’ she repeats.
‘Shall I grate some cheese?’ Jake asks.
‘Actually thatwouldbe helpful.’ Annabelle reaches out to squeeze Jake’s shoulder. ‘Thank you, Jakey.’
Kate leans against the wooden dresser, forgetting, as she does so, that it wobbles precariously if any weight is put on it. The plates clatter within. She steps away, standing awkwardly on the flagstones with her arms crossed in front of her as Jake busies himself grating cheddar into big yellow mounds. No matter how much time she has spent in this house or how long she has notionally been a part of this family, Kate always feels so out of place: an interloper from an alien race.
She fixes her eyes on the opposite wall which has a calendar hanging on it, every month accompanied by a photograph of a different European city. Annabelle is rigorous about noting down all appointments and visits in black marker pen. The square for today has ‘J&K to visit’ in the top left-hand corner. Tomorrow is ‘Meeting with vicar’.Monday is ‘Cleaner’. Typical of Annabelle not to use the cleaner’s name, Kate thinks. She probably doesn’t even know it.
Her eyes scan back towards the beginning of the month and she notices, with surprise, that the letter J is repeated several times. She tries to remember how often she and Jake have been able to visit, but she knows they haven’t been at all this month. So why is Jake’s initial there?
‘Right, I think we’re almost done,’ Annabelle says, lifting the pot away from the stove and onto a woven mat on the table. She catches Kate looking at the calendar and the two women’s eyes meet.
‘Too many Js,’ Annabelle says, straightening the butter dish. ‘My fault for naming two children Jake and Julia.’
‘Haha, right,’ Kate replies. Doesn’t Julia live in Hong Kong, she wants to ask? Unless these were scheduled phone calls, but that seems unlikely. Before she gets the chance to say anything else, there is a gust of cool air from the back of the kitchen and Marisa walks in from the garden.
‘Hi everyone.’
She is pink-cheeked, hair tied back by a velvet scrunchie, belly neatly rounded. There is no other word for it but blooming. The cliche annoys Kate because it is true.
‘Marisa!’ she says, her voice slightly too eager. She goes to hug her, but Marisa steps back and kisses Kate on the cheek instead. Her face is cool and wind-blown. She smells of peanut butter.
‘It’s so good to see you,’ Kate says. ‘How are you feeling? Is everything OK?’
‘Let the poor girl get inside,’ Annabelle says, ladling soup into small bowls, each one circled with the word ‘BOWL’ and a pattern of polka-dots.
Kate looks at the soup, swampy and lumpen, and is pierced with loathing for Annabelle. She closes the door behind Marisa and the kitchen is sucked back into its own heat.
Marisa bends down to remove her wellingtons. Jake rushes to help her, holding her hand for support as she levers off each one using the cast-iron boot remover Annabelle keeps by the back door. Marisa iswearing a high-collared lace shirt underneath a woollen navy top. Other than the gold glasses chain and the lack of cashmere, her outfit looks exactly like Annabelle’s.
‘Righto, everyone come and sit down or the soup’ll get cold.’
