And then, when she had first brought Paul home from the hospital and discovered how difficult it was to cope with an energetic toddler and a new baby, he had taken charge of not just the washing-up and the vacuuming but the washing and ironing as well.
She remembered how it had reduced her to silly emotional tears to see his big hands gently trying to smooth out Cathy’s little dresses and Paul’s tiny baby clothes as he’d struggled to iron them, the frustration and helplessness in his eyes as the fiddliness of the task had threatened to defeat him. But he hadn’t given up, and if his ironing had not been up to the standard of her own it had still moved her unbearably to witness his love and care for her and their children.
It had been after that that the first threads of tension had started to pull and then snarl up their relationship.
Paul had been a difficult baby, colicky and demanding, clinging to her and refusing to go to anyone else. He had even gone through a stage when he was two when he had actually screamed every time Joel went near him.
He had grown out of it, of course, but Joel had never been as relaxed or loving towards him as he was with Cathy, and that had hurt her.
Sometimes it was almost as though he actually resented Paul and his demands on her time and attention, seeming not to understand that Paul was a child and that there were times when his needs had to come first.
She knew Joel was worrying about his job and what was going to happen to them if he was made redundant, but why take it out on her and the kids? It wasn’t their fault.
At two o’clock, when her shift ended, her feet and back ached. The last thing she felt like doing was going home to tackle the housework and the ironing. No doubt Joel and the kids would have left the kitchen in its usual mess this morning. Wistfully she imagined how wonderful it would be to go home and find the kitchen spotless, not a dirty plate or cup in sight, the sink cleaned, the floor swept and washed, everywhere smelling fresh and looking polished.
Like her sister’s home? Only Daphne had a cleaner three mornings a week, a small, nervous woman whom Daphne bullied unmercifully and whom Sally privately felt sorry for.
‘I don’t know why I have her; she never does anything properly,’ Daphne had once complained within the woman’s hearing. ‘I’m constantly having to check up on her.’
Sally remembered that she had been as embarrassed for her sister and her lack of good manners and consideration as she had been for poor Mrs Irving, her cleaner.
Not that Daphne would have understood how she felt. It amazed Sally sometimes that her sister wanted to remain in such close contact with her; after all, they had little in common these days other than the fact that they were sisters, and Daphne made such a thing of their upmarket lifestyle and their posh friends that Sally was surprised that she didn’t drop her and Joel completely.
‘What, and lose out on having someone to show off to?’ had been Joel’s acid comment when she had remarked on this to him. ‘Don’t be daft. I’ll bet not many of her posh friends would let her get away with putting them down the way she does you.’
‘She doesn’t put me down,’ Sally had defended her sister. ‘And it’s only natural that she should be proud of their success and …’
‘And what?’ Joel had demanded bitterly. ‘Get a real kick out of rubbing your nose in it and making it plain that she doesn’t think you’ve got much to be proud of? Oh, I’ve seen the way you look round this place when you come home from there.’
‘Joel, it isn’t true. I love our home,’ Sally had protested, but it was true that sometimes she did feel slightly envious of Daphne. She only had to think of the benefits Daphne could give Edward that she and Joel could never give their two, especially not now.
Tiredly she pulled on her coat. Joel had bought it for her last winter, just before the company had cut all overtime. She had protested at the time that it was far too expensive, but she had loved it so much she hadn’t been able to resist it.
They had seen it in the window of a small exclusive shop in the city, marked down in price to make way for the early spring stock. It was a clear, soft red that suited Sally’s dark colouring, three-quarter-length, in a style that would never be outdated.
She didn’t normally wear it for work, but she had forgotten to collect her mac from the cleaners, and because it had been a cold morning she had decided to wear it.
Her six-year-old basic-model car had gone in for a service and it was cold standing at the bus stop so early in the morning.
She was on her way out through Casualty when someone called her name. She stopped automatically, her face breaking into a smile as she saw Kenneth Drummond coming towards her on his crutches.
‘Kenneth … Mr Drummond,’ she corrected herself. ‘What are you doing here? I thought Wednesday was your day for seeing Mr Scott.’
‘It was, but there was some emergency and so they asked me to attend Mr Meadows’ clinic this week instead, lucky for me. Oh, and by the way,’ he added as he smiled down at her, ‘you got it right the first time.’
When Sally looked puzzled, he said softly, ‘Kenneth, not Mr Drummond.’
Oh, heavens, she wasn’t really going to start blushing, was she? Sally wondered shakily. She hadn’t missed, either, the significance of that deliberate ‘lucky for me’, nor the way he had looked at her when he’d asked her to call him Kenneth.
She had always liked him, of course, laughing with him and teasing him, listening to him and talking to him, but somehow it was different now that he was no longer one of her patients and instead of her looking down at him he was the one now looking down at her. He was a big man, nearly as tall as Joel but not quite as broad across the chest. As he touched her arm lightly she noticed that his hand felt smooth, not like Joel’s, whose skin was rough.
‘Are you just off?’ he asked her now.
Sally nodded. ‘Yes,’ she agreed ruefully. ‘I’m on my way home to the housework and the ironing.’
‘I was just going to have a spot of lunch; I had hoped I might be able to persuade you to join me. I still haven’t totally got full control of these things,’ he told her wryly, gesturing towards his crutches.
Sally frowned hesitantly. ‘Dressed like this?’ Sally gestured to the uniform she was wearing beneath her coat. ‘We aren’t supposed …’
‘We’ll ask them to find us a quiet corner and you can keep your coat on. Please …’ he wheedled.
Sally laughed, she couldn’t help it.
‘You don’t fool me,’ she told him, laughing. ‘I know exactly what you’re up to.’
His face sharpened, his voice deepening slightly as he gave her a look that for no reason at all caused her heart suddenly to beat a little faster.
‘You do?’
‘Yes, you just want me with you because of these,’ she told him, gesturing towards his crutches.
She really shouldn’t be doing this. She had a pile of ironing waiting for her at home, a hundred and one small jobs she needed to do, but why should she always be the one to do them? she decided rebelliously.
‘Come on,’ Kenneth instructed her, taking charge so easily and adeptly that they were out in the car park and heading towards his car almost before she knew what was happening. When he stopped next to a huge BMW saloon car and unlocked it Sally stared at him in consternation.
‘Is this yours? How on earth do you drive it?’
‘It’s automatic and I’ve still got one good leg,’ Kenneth told her, laughing. ‘Come on, get in. I promise you I’m perfectly safe … as a driver …’