‘I think you’ll like it,’ said Joanne and frowned. ‘Though it’s not as big as you’re used to.’
‘I’m sure it’ll be just fine. Thanks for sorting it out for me.’
‘Now’s the time to buy, you know,’ said Joanne, dusting something imaginary off the front of her cardigan.
‘And I will,’ said Louise, ‘just as soon as I get my place in Edinburgh sold.’
‘Are you moving in straight away?’ said Mum.
‘Tomorrow. The removal van’s due at eight-thirty but most of my stuff’s staying in storage until I buy a place.’
‘I’ll meet you there at nine to give you a hand,’ said Joanne. ‘Phil can look after the girls for a change!’ She laughed humourlessly, then marched purposefully out of the room. Moments later howls of protest echoed up the hall.
Her father’s voice bellowed from the kitchen, not sounding nearly as scary as he intended. ‘Will you wee ’ans keep the noise down in there? We’re trying to talk.’
‘I’d better go and see what your dad’s up to,’ said her mother, hauling herself to a standing position and hobbling painfully out of the room.
Louise went and stood at the door to the TV room which seemed so much smaller than she remembered it. She slipped her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, and leant against the door frame. The two younger children – seven-year-old Abbey and Oli – were seated cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV. Abbey wore a grubby candy pink T-shirt and mismatched fuchsia-coloured shorts. She insisted on choosing her outfits herself – and it showed. Ten-year-old Holly, thin-faced, with long brown hair and pale blue eyes, was draped over the sofa.
Maddy, womanly at fourteen, was perched on the arm of the sofa, texting furiously with the thumbs of both hands. She possessed a full chest, brown eyes and shoulder-length, dark brown hair streaked with blonde. She wore a short denim skirt over bare orange-brown legs and, even though it was summer and warm outside, a pair of fake Ugg boots. A fringed black and white Palestine scarf was draped around her neck – a fashion, rather than a political, statement.
‘I said it’s time to go,’ said Joanne, authoritatively. She picked up the remote, switched the TV off and threw the control on the sofa with some force. Instantly the air was thick with tension. Holly glanced at Maddy. Louise bit her lip, sensing a confrontation, afraid to watch, afraid to look away. Abbey leapt instantly to her feet, placed her hands on the place where she would one day have hips and stared at her mother, her face hard with anger.
‘Put it back on! I hadn’t finished watching,’ she demanded. Blonde hair, tied up in two pigtails, stuck out either side of her head. Her freckled cheeks were pink with indignation and her entire body shook with rage. Oli’s cherubic mouth fell open in amazement.
The muscles on Joanne’s jaw flexed. ‘I said it was time to go, Abbey.’
‘But you don’t understand. It’s not finished yet, Mum!’ wailed the child, arms held out to convey her frustration at her mother’s ignorance.
Oli stood up, a toy car dangling from his right hand, his mouth still gaping open, utterly transfixed by his cousin.
‘Mum, there’s only a few minutes left to go,’ ventured Maddy, looking up momentarily from her texting. ‘Why don’t you—’
‘That’s enough,’ snapped Joanne, pushing her hair back. ‘I don’t know why you lot can’t just do what you’re asked. Just once.’ Her voice rose to a shriek. ‘Would that be too much to ask? I work my fingers to the bone for this family and I ask you to do one thing. One thing! And you can’t do it.’
Maddy sighed loudly and turned away, her features hidden by a curtain of hair. Joanne put her hands over her face, stood like that for a few moments and then removed them. ‘You can finish watching the programme another day, Abbey,’ she said, her calm voice barely disguising hysteria. She gave Holly a poke in the leg with her finger. ‘Now come on all of you. It’s time to go. Oli needs to go to bed.’
‘It’s not even dark yet,’ said Holly huffily from her slouched position on the sofa, arms folded across her chest. Her skinny legs stretched out Bambi-like from beneath a flowered skirt.
Maddy looked up and said, ‘Holly, can we just, like, go please?’
But Abbey would not give up. ‘It’s not a DVD, Mum!’ she screeched. ‘Don’t you understand? It’s on TV. I’ll never, ever get to see it again. You’re … you’re …’ She bubbled with rage. ‘… so stupid.’
‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that young lady!’ snapped Joanne, and she reached forward and swiped ineffectually at Abbey’s legs – the child, too quick for her mother, sidestepped nimbly out of harm’s way.
Louise bit her lip and winced. Oli ran over to her and peered out from behind her legs, no doubt keen to see, as Louise was, how this fracas would play itself out.
Maddy groaned quietly, rolled her eyes at Louise and returned to her texting. Common wisdom dictated that an only child was harder work than a bigger family, the idea being that an only child, with no sibling to play with, always looked to the parents, or in Louise’s case parent, for entertainment. Louise wasn’t so sure that the theory held. She’d never attempted to hit her child like Joanne had just done. Louise wondered what was going on with her sister. She seemed to be on the verge of losing it.
Abbey looked about feverishly, spied the remote and dived for it, just as Holly scooped it off the couch and clutched it to her chest. ‘Mum said the TV was to stay OFF, Abbey,’ she said sternly, and gave her sister a devilish smirk.
It had the desired effect. Abbey pounced on her sister screaming and both rolled on the couch wrestling with the device.
‘Mum, get her off me!’ yelled Holly. ‘She pulled my hair.’
‘Give me that,’ hollered Abbey, throwing her head back to reveal a face red with exertion and two missing front teeth. ‘Give me that now!’
‘That’s enough both of you!’ screamed Joanne, her eyes bulging with rage, her face puce.
Immediately the children went silent – even Maddy paused in her texting – and stared at their mother. Joanne closed her eyes and sliced the air horizontally with a slow cutting motion, like a conductor silencing the orchestra. She lowered her voice until it was full of menace and barely audible. ‘I have had enough,’ she said, pronouncing each word like an elocution teacher.
Frankie Cahoon shouted a goodbye from the other end of the hall and the front door slammed.
‘What’s going on in here?’ came her father’s genial voice over Louise’s shoulder. He smelled of whiskey and aftershave. What remained of his hair was grey and short and his bald patch, browned by the sun, shone like a polished bowling ball. His jaw was slack with age but his brown eyes twinkled with the same good temper Louise remembered from his youth.
‘World War Three,’ said Louise without humour and she cast a worried glance over her shoulder. Her father chuckled, his whiskery cheeks crumpling into a smile. He rocked a little in his slippers, his hands deep in the pockets of his navy slacks.
‘Let me guess – Abbey?’ he said.
‘Yep.’
‘Grandpa,’ cried Holly, as soon as she saw him. ‘Abbey pulled my—’
‘She wouldn’t let me have the—’ interrupted Abbey.
‘Enough,’ commanded Joanne in a loud, forceful voice and Abbey, now seated on the floor, started to cry.
When it came to tears, their father was a pushover. ‘There, there now, pet,’ he said, shuffling past Louise into the room. He sat on the sofa, pulled the crying child onto his knees and stroked her hair.