It had felt a lot like validation, and she liked it.
She smiled now, thinking of how her mum, who she suspected wasn’t as green as she was cabbage-looking, had skilfully got her to commit to her dad’s birthday lunch. Archie’s mother, Elaine Fitch, had none of Ruthie’s deftness, and Ashleigh was aware that had she declined an invitation to lunch, or drinks, or the opening of a gallery owned by the son of a friend, or last-minute tickets to a tiny theatre to see a one-man show, her mother-in-law would have gone full ice queen until they hurriedly reorganised their diaries and made amendments to keep her happy.
There was a lot of that.
She was thankful that she and Archie required no such drama. Not that they were perfect, and she was determined to find moretime to spend with her love, and with Evie, creating the family moments that had shaped her childhood. The question was how, and was she brave enough? Every time she failed to make a connection, was rebuffed or ignored by Evie, it felt as if another strand of rope connecting her to her little girl frayed, leaving her more afraid of estrangement than if she hadn’t tried. Looking up now at the bedroom windows, it was difficult for her to admit that she half hoped Evie was already in bed, wary of another unsatisfying interaction that highlighted just how bad she was at motherhood.
‘I’m sorry, little one.’ Words laden with sorrow she whispered towards the landing light, wondering how she could break down the barrier, how to get better at it and who she could ask for advice. Remy was the obvious choice, but it was almost impossible to broach such a mighty subject without inviting judgement or admitting to her shame. Especially when Remy seemed to effortlessly get it so right. She and Midge radiated bliss and contentment and were so at ease with their kids, displaying a closeness that she envied because it used to be hers, before she stepped away from all that was familiar and headed off to St. Jude’s. A familiarity that, up until the age of eleven, had cocooned and kept her safe, before she had been driven to her new life, in her new uniform, while Remy and Tony waited at the bus stop arm in arm. Feeling herself cut loose and letting self-doubt settle into every pore had dogged her ever since, even when it came to communicating with her own child.
It was hard to talk about it to her husband, who tended to offer broad verbal brushstrokes designed to placate or calm her rather than actually offer a solution.
‘Do you think I’m a good mum?’ she’d asked once, as he walked up and down the kitchen with tiny baby Evie against his chest, winding her and cooing into her ear as she cried. He had offered a brief and unnatural smile before replying, ‘Better thanmymother!’
It had done little to reassure her.
The Fitches were a different breed, which meant Archie had grown up without the closeness that had been so wonderful. Elaine and Dickie were remote, cool when sober, and seemed barely interested in what she and Archie got up to. The type of people who believed that giving compliments did not help shape a person’s character, and that showing too much emotion meant weakness. The kind of people who didn’t care about common ground, quite the opposite, only favouring a preoccupation or hobby if no one else had done it or it was out of the reach of mere mortals, usually because it was prohibitively expensive. The moment Guy, at the dinner table some years ago, had chimed in with ‘Oh, Machu Picchu? Yes, I went in my gap year, isn’t it incredible?’ taking the gloss from Elaine’s story, she’d changed the subject to the time they tackled a gale in the Bay of Biscay before eating sea urchins on the yacht, the spiky delicacy plucked straight from the sea.
Ruthie had been spot on in her summary of the woman she’d met only a handful of times. ‘Elaine? Oh, she’s lovely! In very good shape, very smart, very pleased with herself. Mint Imperial, anyone?’
Ashleigh knew she would never forget how her in-laws-to-be had laughed when she’d pronounced the Cambridge college where Archie’s cousin had studied as ‘Mag-da-layne’ and not ‘Maudlin’ – it made her feel like a dumdum and she’d almost fled the room, puce with embarrassment. It didn’t take much. A reminder of all the things she didn’t know, of the tiny world she had come from. They had made her feel small, in a way her parents never did. Her lovely mum and dad, who, after all these years, were still aglow with the fact that she’d won a place at St. Jude’s. Archie’s parents, after enquiring where she’d gone to school, had given tight smiles, and mumbled, ‘Charming!’ as if it were anything but.
In fairness to her in-laws, they had thawed a little since she’d gifted them a granddaughter who apparently looked exactly like Archie at the same age. This hadn’t stopped them hinting that asibling for Evie‘might be nice ...’A second child was, however, not on the cards, and she had made this clear to Archie. How on earth would her business thrive? How would they function if there were not one but two kids to consider? This, of course, was a smokescreen for the fact that she just didn’t feel like a very good mother, and to be reminded of it by two children would surely only double the feeling of inadequacy. Her own private sadness that she masked with busyness and a jam-packed schedule. What else could she do?
She let herself in to the house and was surprised to hear The Strokes playing on the stereo, meaning either Archie was at home, or Evie had put on her dad’s CD in lieu of watching cartoons.
‘I didn’t think you’d still be here!’ She smiled at her husband, who was mixing a whopping gin and tonic into a highball glass on the countertop.
‘Came back for a shower. The German wanted to freshen up, so we’re meeting at Nobu.’
‘Nice.’ She yawned.
‘You’re very welcome to join us? Be doing me a favour!’ He grinned.
She felt bad, particularly after their rather rocky encounter this morning, and didn’t want to let him down, but the thought of smiling and making polite conversation with a stranger was no match for the lure of her silk pyjamas, a movie in bed, the slathering of Dior face cream on her dry skin, and a one-way ticket to the land of nod.
‘Do you mind if I don’t, darling?’ She let her head hang to one side, indicating just how knackered she was.
‘Course not.’ He smiled at her, this gorgeous man who got her like no one else, apart from Remy, but that was a given. ‘Good day?’
‘Not really, bit shitty actually. We lost the Hartington Road house and I’ve agreed that we’ll go to my dad’s birthday lunch at The Plough.’
‘Want one?’ He lifted the glass in her direction.
‘No, thanks, love.’
Her husband took a large glug of the sparkling aperitif.
‘So, talk to me, what happened with the listing? How did you lose it?’
‘Erm, there was an issue with the ... with the parking ...’ This was not strictly untrue.
‘That sucks.’
‘Yep.’ It sucked and meant a dent in their forecast for the month in a market that seemed to have stagnated a little, neither of which was good. They needed more property, more viewings, more sales, more everything! To have messed up today hit hard.
‘When’s your dad’s lunch?’
She was glad he hadn’t pressed her for the details of the house cock-up, knowing it didn’t show her in the best light. ‘Saturday.’
