It’s only as she’s driving away that I wonder how she’ll do that. Does she even know my surname?
When we arrive back at the house—my exercise bike in the boot—the builders have left. That isn’t surprising as it’s after five o’clock, but outside the garage—next to a skip that’s overflowing with the contents of the top-floor bathroom—there are piles of stones, tiles, bags of sand, plaster and cement, plus three new bathroom suites. Now the driveway has been widened, they must have taken several deliveries. Most of these are covered with dust sheets, some of them are left open to the elements, and a few are blocking the path to the house. The five of us dodge around them, Theo carrying my exercise bike through to the larder, where we’ve agreed it’ll be stored when I’m not using it.
Theo’s planning to go for a run and I’m looking forward to slipping up to our bedroom and reading more of Wilf’s letters. But I only make it as far as the chapel, when a trail of dust catches my eye. I follow it around the back, where the builders have left out a workbench, on which they must have been cutting tiles or stone. There’s dust all over the windows of the cottage, the trees, bushes and plants, and—worst of all—the washing on the line. Shit, I’m going to have to do it again.
Mabel appears from behind me, dashes over to her favorite lilac top and gives it a shake. “Adam, I didn’t ask you to wash this! You’ve ruined it!”
“I haven’t ruined it, Mabel,” I attempt, feebly. “It just needs another wash.”
She fires bullets at me with her eyes. “But it’ll fade if it’s washed too much!”
“It won’t fade,” I try to reassure her, “not if I do it on thirty.”
She gives a little scream. “Ihateyou!”
She stomps off towards the house, shouting, “Dad! I need to use your phone!”
Resigned to another argument—probably involving Kate—I slowly take the washing down and drop it in the basket. Rather than getting annoyed at the builders, I decide it was my fault for not asking what they were doing. In the future, I’ll only peg out when I know they’re inside.
I trudge round to the house and find Theo sitting on one of the new chairs on the patio, talking into his phone. The boys must have gone inside but Mabel’s on the chair next to him, her face animated.
“Clothing’s very intimate,” Kate is crowing over the speaker. “And what about her underwear? Did he go through that, too?”
Theo massages his temples. “Kate, he didn’t touch her underwear.”
“Well, it’s extremely inappropriate. And as a mother, I’m outraged. It’s a violation of my daughter’s privacy.”
Theo’s forehead ruts. “Kate, how did you think Mabel’s clothes were going to get washed? Did you think she’d do it? Or did you think we could all bring enough for six weeks?”
“No, but I thought you’d at least speak to her before letting yourboyfriendgo rummaging through her room!” Once again, when Kate pronounces that word, I can imagine the look of distaste on her face.
Theo looks at me and rolls his eyes. I rest the washing basket on the table.
“Adam’s here, Mum!” Mabel chirps. “He’s listening to our conversation!”
Kate gives a low growl. “Well, I can’t be expected to speak to him. Theo, you’re going to have to explain that from now on, we need some boundaries. Mabel deserves to feel comfortable. And Adam needs to respect her privacy.”
Theo gives a long, disenchanted sigh. “Alright, Kate, leave it with me.”
Something breaks inside me. “Leave it with me?” As if I’m some naughty child who needs reprimanding. Why can’t he just tell her to fuck off?
Mabel shouts, “Thanks, Mum. I knew you’d be on my side!” She flashes me a triumphant smile.
Determined not to explode, I pick up the basket of laundry and take it inside.
I wish I’d left her clothes on the floor now.
Later that night, Theo and I sit on the bed going over the argument with Kate. My anger has been building all evening and adrenaline’s coursing through me. I won’t be fobbed off with any more empty assurances that Kate’s going to calm down.
“She’s a bitch, Theo,” I say, shocked at how harsh the word sounds coming out of my mouth. “There it is, I’ve said it.”
Theo pinches at the bridge of his nose. “Ads, I know she’s being antagonistic but I wouldn’t go that far.”
Why does he always have to be so measured and diplomatic? “Well, I would,” I assert. “And she’s managed to convince the kids she’s some kind of saint and I’m the devil!”
He tries to put an arm around me but I shake him off.
He retreats to his side of the bed. “They don’t think that. They’re just caught in the middle. Kate wants them to think by being hostile to you they’re being loyal to her.”
