It was a moment of reckoning. She knew they could not carry on like this, knewshecould not carry on like this! Having the notes rolled inside the purse had felt a little like sanctuary, the thinnest and most insubstantial of safety blankets, and Lawrence had invaded that.
So, what needed to happen? Counselling? An intervention of some sort? Yes, and yes, but how to broach it when she had failed so miserably at being open about how she was feeling prior to hisaction? This, however, felt like the right time. To try to get things on track, to rewrite the rules, reset the boundaries when it came to how they as a family communicated. They needed to face up to the dire mess they were in, and this was no longer a wish but had to become their reality or else she could not see a future. This thought alone meant her breathing came in stuttered bursts, as it did of late, with the feeling that she was only one tiny papercut away from a panic attack.
Her phone beeped. She looked at the message, an alert from eBay – one of her listed items had sold.
Used – Mulberry handbag. Ivory-coloured leather. Good condition ...
Running her hand over the soft leather she felt the threat of tears again. This bag, the nicest thing he’d ever bought her, and he’d given it with promises of a rosy future. And here she was, sitting in a layby outside the shop, wondering how she was going to return to her in-laws and explain her lack of chocolates, how she was going to calmly look Lawrence in the eye and not scream at him there and then, ‘One hundred and fifty quid! My last one hundred and fifty quid! What in the world did you need it for that was more important than food for our family, you fucking idiot?’
But of course she wouldn’t, because they were the Kelleways. She was married to the golden boy, MrMoneybags. And ultimately, she didn’t want to make a fuss that might upset her kids, wanting to keep the true desperation of their situation from them. Yes, this she would do until she had absolutely no choice other than to bring a hammer down on all they thought was solid and secure, shattering it into fragments that she knew would never again fit back together in quite the same way.
And this she knew because this was what had happened when they left Australia. They were, as a family, changed in shape: chipped, cracked and less robust, fragile almost.
Instead, she’d walk into the house where the family, mid-celebration, waited for her, make up some excuse about being ditzy, and, in an attempt to keep her controlling mother-in-law happy, eat some bloody cheese ...
CHAPTER SIX
CLEORICHARDSON
Cleo Richardson was both intrigued and perturbed by Julie’s odd behaviour. Her friend and sister-in-law had seemed a little ‘off’ all night. She wondered if her mum was right when she’d whispered that Julie’s nose might be a little out of joint at the thought of another baby on the way, seeing as her status as the only one to have provided grandchildren in the family was about to be demolished. Cleo didn’t think it possible, didn’twantto think it was possible; Julie and Lawrence knew all about their IVF journey and just how much they had longed and prayed for this baby. The miracle child they had long ago given up hope of ever having. Yet it would explain how Julie had acted. Especially after she’d returned from the shop with some very odd story about not being able to park the car and then forgetting the chocolates, before stuffing her face with Brie. Her mum had sidled up to her and whispered, ‘How much cheese is she going to scoff? So rude!’
Cleo knew enough to nod and say nothing. Her mum did this, provided enough food to sink a ship and then made cutting comments about anyone who overindulged. Plus, she nearly always had something negative to say about Julie, whose crime hadbeen no greater than to snare Lawrence, give birth to Cassian and Domino, and then whisk them all off to Australia, as if the woman had strong-armed Lawrence into it and he’d been frog-marched to Heathrow against his will.
On the day they had left, her mother had taken to her bed, bereft and full of blame and foul words for ‘that girl’ who had clearly, in her view, insisted they pack up and haul their belongings to the other side of the world. Cleo had never said as much, but if thishadbeen the case, she’d have understood. Her mum could be hard work.
Winnie had stayed in bed for a week, mourning the absence of her only son. It had made Cleo question whether her presence was any consolation at all. She knew Lawrence was her mother’s favourite, always had, even if she’d denied it, but it was obvious in a thousand small ways. Going right back to her childhood, Cleo could picture the way her mum’s whole demeanour lit up when he came out of school, quite unaware that she was being watched, her face beaming at the sight of him, whereas Cleo would have to tug her coat to make her aware of her presence. It had hurt then, it hurt now.
‘Oh, hello, Cleo. How was your day?’ she’d ask flatly, while her eyes sought out her boy across the playground and her hand waved furiously to get his attention.
It had taken her a few weeks, but her mother had soon bounced back to life with a new set of highlights in her hair and a plan to remodel the kitchen. It had been a golden time for Cleo; with her brother away, she became the sole recipient of their mother’s attention. Winnie invited her out to lunch, they went shopping and her mum would buy her endless little gifts like soft socks, glossy magazines and flowers. It had been lovely, gluing together some of the fissures that had run through their relationship for the longest time.
To find out four years later that the golden son was returning from the land down under had sent Winnie into a spin. She again dropped Cleo like a hot potato and organised a welcome home party, had a banner printed, and stocked up the freezer with all the things she thought her son might like to eat. It smarted to be so quickly and obviously relegated, but Cleo didn’t dwell on it – what would be the point? She had Georgie and he was more than adequate compensation for all her mother’s failings.
And now here they all were, celebrating her parents’ anniversary. One big, happy family.
She watched quietly as her mum tore the wrapping paper to reveal the fancy gold-framed oil painting Lawrence and Julie had bought, and smiled warmly at the voucher Cleo had got them for John Lewis. Then, just after her mother had read aloud every word from every card that had plopped through their letterbox, informing them all loudly that their aunty Pattie hadn’t bothered to get in touch and that they should all remember that when it came to sending Christmas cards, Cleo felt a very real and sudden cramp in her lower abdomen, immediately followed by a rippling ache that was new, different. Her breathing increased in excited and nervous anticipation. Looking over the table towards her man, she called out softly, ‘Georgie? I think I’m ready to call it a night. I’m very tired.’ She spoke wide-eyed and deliberately, knowing he’d understand that she was trying subtly to say more.
Putting down his can of Coke, he stood quickly, and she loved him for it. This was what he did, put her first, did everything in his power to make her happy and comfortable. Always. He loved her in a million small ways that made the biggest difference. He gave her the window seat when they travelled, offered her the most perfect slice of whatever they were sharing and he let her sleep like a Swiss roll, entombed in their duvet while he shivered, rather than wake her. It felt wonderful to have this man in her life who prioritisedher and adored her as much as she did him. There was no having to weigh up her options, no second guessing or censoring her words; she and Georgie just worked, and always had. They were great mates as well as husband and wife. Her life was infinitely better because he was in it.
‘Off already, Cleo? Anything going on we need to know about?’ Winnie yelled, clasping her hands at her chest, watching her daughter rise and reach for her cardigan.
Cleo shook her head. ‘No, just tired, Mum. Thank you for such a lovely evening and happy anniversary. And you can’t keep asking me if there’s anything happening – I’ve told you already, it could be another couple of weeks! Due dates are no guarantee.’
‘Oh, darling!’ Winnie took her into her arms and held her tight, whispering in her ear, ‘Apparently eating curry, driving over bumpy roads and having sex can bring things on.’
‘All at once?’ She pulled a face, trying to ignore the fact her mum was annoyingly prying. This was nothing new, but Cleo had never freely given information to her mother, deciding long ago that Winnie couldn’t have it both ways: she couldn’t give Cleo a second-rank position and then expect her to open up. Where her mother was concerned, she felt it was safer, nicer, better to keep a certain distance. Self-protection, if you like. ‘I’d give it a go, but I worry I’d spill my jalfrezi.’
Her mother ignored her.
With the whole family ritually kissed goodbye and after being waved off from the driveway, she clambered into their car and sank back into the passenger seat. Closing her eyes, she enjoyed the quiet as Georgie pulled out on to the road.
‘How are you feeling, my little love?’ He reached across and ran his hand over her leg.
‘I didn’t want to say anything back there and create a big hullaballoo, but I think there might be something happening,Georgie.’ She bit her lip, smiling at the man she loved, who exhaled slowly.
‘I knew it. What do you want me to do?’ he gabbled. ‘Should we go straight to the hospital or go home? We’ve got your bag in the boot. Tell me what to do!’ His fast speech caused her pulse to quicken.
‘What you need to do is calm down, love. Nothing is happening right now, and it might be a false alarm; the midwife said that was possible. We need to save the drama for when it’s actually needed. So just breathe. Please.’
