Change Of Life Read online

  “Oh, my lot know the score. I do what I can to help, but they know I have my own life too. I enjoy my work and I don’t give up my bingo for anyone. He has to muck in too mind.”

  She never referred to her husband by name. “And I expect the bairns to sort out their own messes. I do what I do for them because I want to, not because I have to. You on the other hand-”

  “I’m fine! I have a life too. I like looking after everyone, as you do with your family - and I enjoy my job as well.” I didn’t sound convincing, even to myself.

  “Well, you look exhausted,” she said, putting her hand on mine. “When was the last time you had a night out? Or just some time to yourself? You know you need to look after yourself better. You’ll make yourself ill.”

  “Oh, Ruby, for heaven’s sake, you’re not my mother!”

  It was unreasonable to be annoyed at Ruby. She’d saved my life. When she first came to work for us it was to help with the children, as much as to help look after the house. I was suffering from a completely disabling bout of postnatal depression, brought on by exhaustion, both from a difficult pregnancy with the twins, and from having three children under three-years-old. I could hardly look after myself, never mind the children. Then Heather died and at times during that awful year I wanted to join her. But, Ruby, with her unfailing common sense and good humour, helped me through.

  “Sorry, hen, it’s just that I worry. You drive yourself far too hard you know.”

  “No, I’m sorry, Ruby. I’m glad you worry about me – it’s nice – but there’s no need.”

  “If you say so – anyway - tuck in”. As she poured us both a mug of tea she nodded in the direction of the dresser. “Is that the box of photos you promised to show me?”

  “Oh, yes.” I got up and brought the box over to the table. It was four years since my father died but I’d only recently got around to sorting through all the small, personal stuff that had belonged to my parents. I passed the box to Ruby. As we ate she looked through the photos and I did my best to fill in the who, when and where of the ones that caught her interest. She came to a packet containing a bundle of black and white snaps.

  “Oh – it’s you and that has to be your sister– look – bouncing on your mum and dad’s bed. You look like a right lively pair! Who’s who?” She handed me the photo.

  There we were laughing, jumping, holding onto each other, two identical, blonde haired girls. Heather was looking directly at the camera and I was looking at Heather. I was wearing a summer dress. I loved that dress. I could remember it clearly, pink and white stripes with a bow at the back. “That’s Heather in the shorts. It’s not our parents’ bed. It was ours. It was a three-quarter, bigger than a single, but not quite a double. It belonged to my grandmother. We inherited it.”

  As I handed the photo back to Ruby, I recalled how much we had loved that bed. It had a dark wooden frame, and it came complete with Granny’s Irish linen and fat, feather pillows. There was even a bolster. It was grand. The top cover was glorious, a counterpane, Granny called it, with its pattern of white stars on a dark blue background.

  “Heather looks a right cheeky wee madam,” Ruby said, smiling. “How old were you? Were you allowed to jump on the bed?”

  “Oh, she was cheeky all right - much braver than me. We’d be about ten. We weren’t really allowed to bounce on the bed, but Dad just laughed and got the camera. We’d been out after tea, playing hide and seek with our friends in the street, and then Dad called us in. It was still light outside and we didn’t want to go, especially since Michael got to stay out a bit longer. We were supposed to be getting ready for bed, but Heather still had too much energy and she said ‘let’s bounce!’ So we did.”

  As Ruby looked through the rest of the photos, my mind went back to my childhood home. “I remember we always used to get washed as quickly as possible – the bathroom was icy, even in summer, and then, in the bedroom, we’d dash over the cold lino and jump onto the bed.”

  “Ah yes,” said Ruby, smiling. “I remember that too - the days before central heating and fitted carpets.”

  “Yes, indeed. We’d get under the covers as quickly as possible and lie there – facing each other – giggling. In winter, Mum put two hot water bottles in the bed and we’d snuggle together for warmth.”

  “It must have been nice – together and all cosy in the dark,” said Ruby.

  “There was a nightlight – it was for Heather. She was afraid of the dark so I used to tell her stories before we fell asleep. But yes, it was nice – the bed was our place. In it we were close and safe. But then we grew up – grew apart…” I gave a little shudder.

  “Oh, Rosie, I’m sorry.” Ruby put her hand on mine. “I didn’t think. These must be upsetting. I shouldn’t be so nosey. I’ll put them away.”

  “No – honestly – it’s all right. It’s nice you’re interested, and the photos are a reminder of the happy times. I was thinking about Heather earlier on today – about the less happy stuff - so it’s been nice to see these. You take your time looking through them all. I better get back.”

  I was still thinking about my sister when the boy ran into my car a couple of minutes later.

  Chapter Three

  That afternoon, at work, I was distracted – to say the least. I just wanted to get home. The call from the hospital, the encounter with the boy – I needed time to think. As soon as I got home I went to sit in the garden.

  I loved my garden. I liked that it thrived on partial neglect – unlike my husband and children, who seemed to need constant attention. It regularly surprised me with some self-seeded beauty or unanticipated flowering.

  I wanted to enjoy the late afternoon sunshine, to breathe in the sea air mingled with the smell of next door’s freshly cut grass, to catch the perfume of my beautiful shrub roses. I wanted to relish the sound of our resident blackbird, proclaiming his good mood, as he sat amidst the vibrant pink blossom of the cherry tree. But the scents were muted; the birdsong distant - and the scene seemed, somehow, out of focus. Mother Nature had taken on a malignant face. All I could think of was – cancer. I tried to keep it in perspective – it could be nothing – something benign. But I was petrified – scared of pain, of dying, of not seeing my children grow up.

  No-one knew I’d found a lump. No one knew I’d already been to the doctor or the hospital. I wasn’t sure why I was so reluctant to tell. I suspected it was partly because talking about something makes it real. I also suspected that if I told Tom, he would jump in and take control. He wouldn’t listen to what I wanted.

  Of course, I’d needed some sort of explanation when I went to see Kirsty about getting away early on Thursday. I called in at her office on my way out of school, as I did on most days.

  “I’m sorry it’s short notice,” I said. “I only heard today.”

  “Oh that’s okay, I’m sure I’ll be able to cover for the last hour. Nothing serious I hope?”

  “No, no it’s menopause stuff. I’ve to have some tests.” It was only a partial lie but I still felt guilty.

  I knew that if I wanted to keep my hospital appointment secret and get through the next couple of days without blurting it all out, then I would have to suppress my fears, or at least not give in to them - and try to be optimistic.

  Having just about got my health worries under control, my mind switched the focus of its unease to the boy. Why did he seem so familiar? Maybe he simply reminded me of Adam. I tried not to be anxious about him. I was certain he wasn’t hurt by our collision – but something about our meeting niggled.

  Yes, I was curious. Why had he concealed himself? He must have been hiding – pressed against, or crouching below, the hedge – after all, I’d have seen him if he’d been walking down the street. But it was more than curiosity. For some reason I felt protective of him.

  I was reluctant to mention it to Tom. He’d assume the lad was up to no good. He’d pay no attention to pleas from me on the boy’s behalf.

  “I have t
o be out of here by quarter-past-seven.” Sam was just in from work. I was back indoors preparing the evening meal. “When’s dinner ready? What are we having?” She rummaged in the fridge as she spoke.

  “Around six-thirty and it’s bolognaise.”

  “Mm - any chance of a lift into town – that would mean I could leave later?”

  “I could run you, but I do have preparation to do for school tomorrow.”

  “Great, cool.” Sam apparently only heard the first part of my reply.

  “How was work?” I asked.

  “Tedious,” she said, nibbling on a piece of cheese. “I wish I was still in Australia.”

  “Yes, well welcome to the real world. You need to earn some money for university in the autumn.”

  “I know. I worked in Australia too, but that was cool. Tesco is so boring!” Sam laid her pickings from the fridge on the worktop. She pushed her hair back with one hand and wound it into a knot on top of her head. With her other hand she unclipped a large hair slide from the neck of her tee-shirt and rammed it into the coil of her thick, wavy hair. Her hands were so like Tom’s with their long slim fingers. She was the only one of our children to have inherited Tom’s dark hair and brown eyes. She was tall like him too, at about five-foot-nine, a good couple of inches taller than Jenny and me. She even moved with the same long-limbed grace as he did. She was her father’s daughter.

  “It’s not for long,” I said. “You’ll be in St Andrews before you know it. I do envy you. I loved my time there.”

  “Yes, Mother, I think you may have mentioned that a couple of times. I’m off for a bath.” With that, she scooped up her snack items and left the kitchen.

  “Bring all the dishes down from your room please!” I shook my head as I thought of the clutter and disarray that was her bedroom.

  A moment later, Jenny appeared in the kitchen, carrying various garments belonging to her older sister. “Madam wants these washed. She needs them tomorrow apparently.”

  “Ah, okay, I’ll do my best.”

  Jenny shook her head and rolled her eyes. “It’s very wasteful to run the machine for just a few things.”

  “Yes, I know - but you know your sister. Anyway never mind that, how was the exam?”

  “Oh – okay really, I suppose. There were a couple of very difficult questions. I don’t know if I’ve passed or not. But it’s not essential. I’m more worried about getting an A in my music.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do that,” I said. “You sounded superb when you were practising.”

  “Mmm – I’m not up to your standard, but fingers crossed I’ve done enough. Anyway, Mother – getting back to Sam - it’s pathetic how you let her walk all over you. She needs to learn to plan ahead and do things for herself.”

  This sounded so like Tom that I burst out laughing.

  “Yeah, yeah, I sound like dad! But she can be such a lazy cow. Anyway, what are we having for dinner?”

  “Spag-bol – and don’t call your sister a cow.”

  Max came into the kitchen. “Tut, tut, Jenny.”

  Jenny put her tongue out at her wee brother. Max returned the gesture and then turned to me. “When’s dinner? What are we having? I’m starving.” Before I could reply, the phone rang.

  “Spag-bol, six-thirty. Could you set the table, please? Everyone’s in for dinner.”

  I grabbed the phone and closed the kitchen door behind me to muffle Max’s protestations about the fairness of my request. I went through to the living room to take the call.

  It was Tom. “Hi, I’m in the car – nearly home. What’s for dinner? I’m famished.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, is that all you lot think about?”

  “What?”

  “What’s for dinner? Adam’s the only one not to have asked me that in the last ten minutes and that’s only because I haven’t seen him. It’s spag-bol – nothing exciting.”

  “Are the kids giving you a hard time?” Tom asked.

  “No, not really. I’m merely wondering what you’d all do if I didn’t produce a meal one night. What if I wasn’t here or wasn’t able? It’s taken for granted isn’t it? Good old Mum keeping it all going!”

  “So get them to help more. I don’t know about you, but I’m shattered. I’ve been in theatre all day. It’ll be good to get home and relax. I’ll see you shortly.”

  Dismissive, self-absorbed, complacent, these were some of the words that came to mind as I listened to my husband. I knew I shouldn’t ignore how I was feeling. I should talk to Tom about the state of our relationship. But he was unaware there was anything wrong and would make me feel I was being over-dramatic. It also felt like such an effort to confront him and I was so bloody tired.

  Before going back to the kitchen, I paused to look out of the living room window. Our house sat high up at the top of a steeply sloping front garden so, even on the ground floor, it was possible to look straight out across the promenade and the top of the dunes over the Firth of Forth to Fife. A ferry was ploughing along the estuary, on its journey to Bruges. I always thought there was something very romantic about the ferry. I spent a minute speculating about the people on board, who they might be and why they were making the crossing to the continent on this particular May evening. I envied them, setting off on their adventure, free from routine. And then I heard my mother’s voice saying be careful what you wish for.

  Chapter Four

  Max sat at the table, knife and fork in hand, as I put the finishing touches to the bolognaise. He looked angelic with his thick, blond curls and blue eyes. I asked him to tell the others that dinner was ready.

  “I do everything round here!” he said, but he was smiling as he left the kitchen. “Hi, Dad!” he shouted, on his way up the hall. Toby barked as the front door clattered shut and Tom appeared in the kitchen.

  He held out a bottle of red wine. “It was on special offer at the off-licence – that South African red you like - a treat to cheer you up.”

  “I don’t need cheering up.” I said, thinking of Tom’s, not insubstantial, wine collection in the cupboard under the stairs. This was clearly not an occasion worthy of wine from his cellar. I also thought that what I needed was for Tom to notice me, not patronise me.

  “I’ll open it now,” he said, rummaging in the drawer for the corkscrew. “We can have a glass with dinner and the rest while we watch one of these DVDs we haven’t got around to yet. I can leave the paperwork for one night.”

  “I can’t have a drink now. I promised to run Sam into town. Then I’ve got preparation to do for school tomorrow.”

  “Why does Sam need a lift? There’s a bus and she has a driving licence come to that.”

  “She hasn’t got time to get the bus apparently,” I replied. Jenny started to say something and I threw her a warning glance to be quiet. I knew she wanted to get her tuppence worth in on the selfishness of her sister. “And there’s nowhere to park in town,” I added. “You know what it’s like in the centre of Edinburgh. I know there’s the multi-storey, but it’s not safe for her to be walking back to it alone.”

  “She’s unlikely to be alone,” Tom said. “The usual gang will be there presumably. You’re not her chauffeur. I’ll talk to her.”

  “It’s fine. I don’t mind. It’ll only take an hour or so.”

  He shook his head. I willed him to offer to run Sam, so I could get on with my school work, but it clearly didn’t cross his mind.

  At that, Sam, Jenny and Adam arrived in the kitchen. Max pushed past them and ran to the table. I started serving up as they sat down. Adam was having a tug of war with Toby over one of Toby’s toys. The Labrador’s determination not to give in brought a rare smile to Adam’s face.

  “Adam, not at the table please,” I said, as I laid down two plates. “Put him out in the hall. You know the rules for goodness sake.”

  “Yeh, yeh, I was just going to.” He got up and sent Toby to his bed.

  Soon we were all settled and eating. I tried to relax, sta
y in the present, enjoy this shared, family time.

  I was chatting to Max about his school project on Bonnie Prince Charlie when I became aware of Sam and Jenny bickering. A new, and as yet unworn, top of Jenny’s had found its way into Sam’s room apparently. I glanced over at my daughters.

  Jenny was quite wound up. She sat back, frowning and folded her arms. “Anyway,” she said, addressing Sam, “Dad wants a word with you.”

  I looked at Jenny and rolled my eyes.

  “What?” said Jenny, all innocence.

  “Ah, yes,” said Tom, turning to Sam. “Is it really necessary to get your mother to give you a lift this evening? She has other things to do. You could get the bus or take Mum’s car. Where is it you’re going anyway?”

  “We’re going to the cinema – the one at Haymarket. I haven’t got time to get the bus, I’m afraid. Actually, I’ll just text the others and let them know Mum’s taking us.” Sam got up, kissed her father on the top of his head and went to get her phone. Tom looked at me, exasperated.

  I smiled weakly and changed the subject. “Adam, how was your day? How was the exam? Jenny said a couple of the questions were tough.” I realised, as I asked, that relying on Adam to steer the dinner table chat away from Sam’s arrangements was futile. But I did want to know how he’d got on.

  “My day was okay. The exam was okay.”

  Tom looked over at the twins. “So, is that four down and one to go?”

  “Yes, it’s biology tomorrow. Then we’re free!” Jenny answered for both of them.

  Adam didn’t look up. His dejected demeanour concerned me. He’d been a tense and anxious child and these tendencies had intensified with the onset of adolescence.

  Sam returned to the table. “It’s kind of you to offer me mum’s car, Pops.” She patted her father’s arm. “But we’re going for a couple of drinks after the film. No – don’t worry!” She raised her hands to ward off any possible parental protest. “Sarah’s mum said she’ll pick us up. We’ve to phone when we’re ready. She insisted.”