Читать книгу THE PROMISE OF HAPPINESS - Erin Kaye - Страница 8

Sian stood on the step at the back of Joanne’s house, holding a glass of wine and looking out at the garden, relieved at being forgiven for being so late. Thankfully Joanne understood that they had to bike all the way from the other side of town – though she and Andy owned an old second-hand car, they rarely used it.

It had been nearly twenty years since she’d visited North Africa in her second year of a Geography degree course at uni and seen first-hand the effects of over-population on a fragile ecosystem – dried-up riverbeds caused by over-farming, starving livestock, ruined crops. She’d seen with her own horrified eyes what poverty looked like – children maimed at birth so they could ‘earn’ a living as beggars, others labouring like ants in a leather tanning factory from dawn till dusk, and stinking, reeking, overcrowded living conditions. She’d come home humbled – and thankful that she’d been born in a first world country where a full belly and medical care were taken for granted. And long before the phrase carbon footprint was coined, she’d devoted her life to minimising her impact on the earth. She fervently believed that, by example, she might persuade others to do the same.

She sipped the wine and looked up at the sky heavy with clouds – so far the rain had held off. The patio doors that led into the lounge were open and behind her an assortment of aunts and uncles and cousins were sitting about chatting and eating. Younger members of the family ran in and out of the room until someone hollered at them to ‘cut it out’. She eyed Joanne’s flowers – one day she’d persuade her to put in veggies too. Everyone had to do their bit. She and Andy were in total agreement on that.

She looked over at Andy, tall and slim and fit, standing on the small square of grass in the centre of the garden. A worn grey T-shirt hung on his well-defined frame and he wore an old pair of shorts over shapely legs, browned from the sun. His short sun-streaked blond hair stood up in messy tufts. She remembered the day she’d first set eyes on him. She’d attended her very first meeting of Friends of Ballyfergus Lough nearly five years ago. And there he was in shorts and a torn T-shirt looking much the same as he did today. She’d fallen in love with him immediately and they’d moved in together within six weeks.

Sian sighed and ran a hand through her tightly cropped fair hair. Not only was he the sexiest man she had ever seen, she loved the languid fluidity of his movements, his relaxed smile, his easygoing nature. In these respects he was the very opposite of her – and maybe that was why their relationship worked. He shared her passion for saving the earth but didn’t take himself, or the cause, quite as seriously as she did. He helped her to maintain perspective and, in the face of near apathy from ninety-nine per cent of the population, retain her sense of humour.

She could still hardly believe this gorgeous sexy man and she were getting married next year. Sometimes she couldn’t believe her good fortune – both her sisters’ marriages confirmed what she suspected. Not everyone found their soulmate. She and Andy were the lucky ones. And together they were invincible. Nothing could come between them, not now, not ever. They shared the same values – they both wanted the same things out of life.

Oli stood just a few metres away from Andy. The child wore clothes that looked like they’d never seen a spot of mud in their life – even his trainers were sparkling white. Sian was filled with dismay. Children should be grubby and messy and muddy, not clean and pristine like they’d just come out of a washing machine. But that was Louise all over. Joanne had proudly shown her the expensive wine and chocolates Louise had brought – whereas she and Andy had contributed organic vegetables from their allotment.

Andy smiled at the boy and the corners of his dark eyes crinkled up, his skin leathery from all the time spent outdoors. His smile was wide and genuine, and his gaze was focused on Oli as though he was the only thing of importance at that moment. Sian understood only too well why clients of the outdoor centre in Cushendall where he worked, loved him. Kids, especially, adored him.

Very gently, Andy tapped a football with the side of his trainer and it came to rest just in front of Oli.

The expression on the toddler’s face as he squared up to kick the ball was fierce – his brows knit together, his tongue protruding slightly from the left side of his mouth. Sian smiled. She had seen that expression of quiet determination before – on her sister Louise’s face. She’d always been single-minded and competitive. He took aim, swung his leg – and missed the ball.

The swinging action made him lose his balance, his foot gave way beneath him on the wet grass and he landed suddenly on his bottom. Unperturbed, he immediately rolled onto his knees and stood up, using his hands to lever himself onto his feet. Sian noted with satisfaction the grass stains on his knees and on the seat of his jeans. Oli wiped his muddy hands down the front of his shirt and Sian smiled.

The little boy stared at the ball wide-eyed and disbelieving as if some sinister trick was at work.

‘You missed the ball,’ called out Andy. ‘It’s okay. Have another go, big man.’

Oli screwed his face up in concentration, took another short run at the ball, swung his leg and this time made contact. The ball skidded across the grass and rolled slowly between Andy’s legs. He made no attempt to stop it.

‘Goal! Goal!’ shouted Oli, punching the air with fisted hands.

Andy cheered and the boy ran to him and Andy scooped him up and swung him around in the air. Then he put him under his right arm, like a package, ruffled his hair with his left and deposited the boy back on the ground.

‘Again! Again!’ he squealed, jumping up and down. Just then Abbey and Holly came hurtling across the garden and threw themselves at Andy. He fell backwards onto the grass and the girls jumped on top of him, screaming with delight. Sian threw her head back and laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’ asked Joanne, coming to stand beside her. She held a half-full bottle of white wine by the neck in her right hand, a wine glass in her left.

‘Oh, it’s Andy and the kids,’ Sian smiled. ‘They’re having a great time. Look at them.’

‘Poor Andy,’ said Joanne with a wry smile as Oli threw himself on top of the heap of legs and arms, squealing with delight.

‘Sure Andy loves it,’ said Sian.

‘He must do,’ said Joanne watching as Andy scrambled to his feet, laughing, the back of his T-shirt soiled with stains. Within seconds he’d organised a two-a-side football game. ‘You know he’s absolutely great with kids. Look at little Oli. He just adores Andy.’

Sian beamed with pride. The children made no secret of the fact that their (almost) Uncle Andy was their favourite male relative.

‘I suppose that’s what Oli’s crying out for,’ Joanne went on. ‘A bit of male rough and tumble.’

‘I guess so,’ said Sian and this innocuous comment seemed to open the floodgates for Joanne.

‘I feel awful saying this,’ she confided, ‘but I think Louise should’ve given more thought to what it would be like for Oli without a dad.’ She leant forward conspiratorially and whispered darkly, ‘I think it’s already affected him, you know.’

‘Surely not!’ said Sian, glancing over at the happy, smiling child. ‘He’s little more than a baby.’

‘Louise spoils him. Did you see his trainers? Dolce and Gabbana. I think she spoils him to make up for the fact that he doesn’t have a father, but money can’t make up for that, can it?’ Joanne tutted her disapproval, which sounded more like jealousy to Sian, and went on, ‘And he’s far too clingy. He sleeps in Louise’s bed every night, you know.’ She nodded her head firmly as if she had just divulged a shocking secret, filled her glass to the brim, topped up Sian’s, and set the empty bottle on the step.

‘What’s so wrong with that? Lots of parents let their kids sleep with them, don’t they?’

Joanne laughed cynically. ‘Only those that don’t have a life.’

‘Well, how she raises Oli is Louise’s business,’ said Sian. ‘What I object to is the fact that she had him in the first place.’

‘Because she’s a single mum?’ said Joanne incredulously. ‘I wouldn’t have put you down for a traditionalist.’

Sian shook her head. ‘I couldn’t care less whether she’s married or not. What I care about is the fact that she had him at all. There are enough kids in the world without adding to the problem.’

Joanne rolled her eyes. ‘Here we go again.’

Anger flared up inside Sian. As a child Joanne had never taken her seriously and she still treated Sian like the younger sister she was, putting her down, dismissing her at every opportunity. But this was a subject about which Sian knew far more than her sister. She would make her listen. ‘The biggest problem facing mankind is over-population. There are too many people competing for scarce resources – land, water, food. And competition ultimately leads to war. Over-population is the primary cause of most of the world’s ills. And it’s forced us to embrace dangerous technologies like nuclear power. No, there are simply too many of us – way too many.’

‘Not in the UK there aren’t,’ argued Joanne. ‘Our problem is a falling birth rate. In a few years’ time there won’t be enough young people to support our ageing population. It’s the people in the third world having ten, twelve babies that are the problem. Not us in the West.’

Sian sighed and said patiently, ‘I’m talking on a global scale, Joanne. We all have to take some responsibility for the problem. People in the West don’t realise that their luxurious lifestyles are effectively subsidised by the rest of the world. The earth simply doesn’t possess the resources to enable everyone to live the way we do.’

Joanne folded her arms, her glass balanced in one hand, and narrowed her eyes. ‘So are you saying that I shouldn’t have had three children?’

Sian broke eye contact. ‘I just wish more people were prepared to take action on a personal level,’ she said, evasively. ‘Procreating isn’t the be all and end all. Louise’s mistake was in believing that motherhood was the only route to personal fulfilment. But there are many ways to happiness.’

And Sian knew what she was talking about. She ran Earth Matters, the Fairtrade shop in Ballyfergus. She sold jewellery from co-operatives in Africa, toys made from recycled tin cans and bags fashioned from recycled rice sacks. She stocked organic clothing, Ecover home care products, washable nappies and Fairtrade rice, sugar and coffee from the third world. She worked hard in the business and nothing gave her more pleasure than the knowledge that, small as it was, she was making a difference.

Joanne stared at her and said, ‘Well, I think it’s a subject we should agree to disagree on, Sian. Anyway, now’s not really the time, or the place, to discuss it.’

‘Whatever,’ said Sian pleased that she had rattled Joanne’s cage.

Joanne cleared her throat and said, ‘Thanks for the potatoes and carrots by the way. They look lovely.’

‘Andy picked them this morning. First of the season,’ said Sian. ‘And all organic of course.’

‘I’d be disappointed if they weren’t,’ said Joanne, poking a little of what she no doubt thought was good-natured fun at her sister.

Sian decided to let it pass. ‘You know, our allotment is a fraction of the size of this garden and look at the amount of food we produce – more than the two of us can eat at the height of the season. Have you ever thought of growing your own food?’

The corners of Joanne’s mouth turned downwards, a bemused expression on her face. ‘Where would I find the time to do that, Sian? I do all the work in the garden as it is.’

‘Oh, it’s not too bad once you get it established. I would help you.’

‘But the garden isn’t big enough to have a vegetable plot, Sian.’

‘Sure it is. You’ve loads of room. Just do away with that border for a start,’ said Sian, pointing to a peony rose in full, pale pink flower. ‘It’s not doing anything.’

‘For your information it’s providing colour and interest,’ said Joanne. ‘And I like having cut flowers for the house.’

‘You’d still have a good-sized lawn and border on the other side,’ went on Sian, ignoring this observation and the sarcasm. ‘And the girls would absolutely love it. Look how excited they get when they come down to help me on the allotment. Well, Holly and Abbey anyway,’ she added, remembering that the last time Maddy had come she’d spent the whole time sitting on an upturned crate texting her mates. ‘Just think how thrilled they’d be about growing food for the table in their own backyard! And it makes sound economic sense too, not to mention it’d all be organic and so much better for you than the stuff you buy in the supermarket.’

Sian paused for breath and Joanne said, rather sharply, ‘Tell you what. The day that Phil starts helping in the garden, that’ll be the day I plant a vegetable plot.’

Sian frowned and looked over her shoulder into the lounge. Everyone had finished eating and a bottle of Baileys had appeared. Even their mother had a glass. Phil was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where is he anyway? I haven’t seen him since we got here.’

‘That’s because he isn’t here, Sian. He’s at the golf club. Phoned me just before people were due to arrive to say that he was in the clubhouse with his mates and they’d all ordered food.’

‘But what about all the food here?’ blurted out Sian. ‘You’ve enough to feed half of Africa.’

‘Don’t get me started,’ warned Joanne, waving the glass in her hand so violently that a little wine spilled out onto the concrete step, narrowly missing the toe of her jewelled, high-heeled sandal. Sian looked down at her Merrill hiking sandals and smiled – Joanne’s heels would be no use riding a bicycle. ‘I swear to God,’ went on Joanne, her voice shrill and taut, ‘if I start, I’ll never stop.’

Louise appeared suddenly beside them, face flushed, holding a glass of wine in her hand. ‘Oh, is Andy playing football with Oli?’ she smiled. ‘Oh, he is. Oh, look!’ she cried and she placed a hand on her throat and swallowed.

Just then Oli spied his mother and came barrelling across the grass. He threw his arms around her legs and cried, ‘I scored a goal, Mummy!’

Louise scooped him into her arms and kissed him on the nose. ‘That’s fantastic, Oli. What a clever boy,’ she grinned and Oli leant over and pressed his soft, rose-red lips to his mother’s. Sian felt a stab of sudden sadness. She would never know such intimacy with a child of her own. She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked away.

‘Mummy?’ said Oli, all of a sudden. ‘Can Andy be my daddy?’

Louise’s face fell momentarily and Joanne, standing behind her, inhaled sharply. But Louise recovered quickly and smiled, ‘No, darling. Andy can’t be your daddy because he lives with Auntie Sian. But we’ll see him all the time and you can play with him lots.’

Oli nodded, content with this reply, and wriggled free of his mother’s embrace. He ran over to Andy, who was now being attacked by all the children, leaving Louise with a smear of mud on her white T-shirt.

Joanne tutted and shook her head. ‘The poor child.’

‘He’s not a poor child,’ snapped Louise. ‘As far as he’s concerned a daddy is just someone you play football with and rough and tumble. And if he has someone to do that with – like Andy – he’s happy.’

‘I don’t know about that. I think he’s old enough to know what he’s missing out on.’

‘Did you get the box I sent over?’ said Sian, desperate to change the subject and avoid an argument between her sisters.

Louise scowled at Joanne and then, turning to Sian said, ‘Yeah, thanks a million. The goodies will come in really handy.’

‘One of my customers lives round the corner from you,’ explained Sian. ‘He was going that way anyway so I just asked him to drop it off. One car journey instead of two.’

‘Resourceful,’ said Louise and Sian smiled, pleased with herself. There were so many ways to avoid unnecessary car journeys. You just had to be imaginative.

‘Goodies?’ said Joanne.

‘Ecover products,’ explained Sian. ‘Biodegradable laundry liquid, fabric conditioner, cleaning products, washing-up liquid.’

‘Oh,’ said Joanne, her eyes glazing over with indifference.

‘You can get refills for everything from the shop,’ she added, hopeful that where she had failed with Joanne she would succeed with Louise.

‘Oh, really. What a brilliant idea.’ Louise’s response was enthusiastic and genuine. Unlike Joanne, she treated Sian like an equal.

Sian laughed. ‘I have to confess to an ulterior motive. I’m hoping to make you into a long-term customer.’

‘I’d be that anyway with or without the gift. But thank you so very much.’ Louise gave her a hug. ‘And thanks for finding the flat, Joanne. It’s great,’ she added, by way of reconciliation.

Joanne beamed, pleased, and the atmosphere returned to normal.

‘Joanne rejected my offers of help, you know,’ said Sian and ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth.

Joanne blushed. ‘It was a simple enough task. There was no need for both of us to get involved.’

‘Oh, it’s all right,’ ribbed Sian gently. ‘I’m only teasing. You can tell the truth. You just like being in control and doing things your way. You always have done.’

Joanne shrugged and made no attempt to deny it. ‘Is that so awful?’

Louise laughed. ‘No, not at all. You’ve been the boss in our family for as long as I can remember. Do you remember the rotas you used to write out for all the household chores? And you were only eight or nine.’

‘I think it’s because I’m the eldest.’

‘Mmm,’ said Sian, ‘I’m not so sure about that. I think you’d be just as bossy even if you’d been the youngest.’

‘Cheeky cow!’ Joanne gave her a playful thump on the arm and they all laughed. There was a short pause while they watched Andy run around the garden, the children in hot pursuit.

‘Andy’ll make a great dad,’ observed Joanne.

The assumption behind the question needled Sian. With her wedding pencilled in for next year she thought it best to put Joanne straight. ‘Andy doesn’t want to be a dad.’

Joanne tucked her chin in and frowned. ‘Has he said that?’

‘Yes. We’ve talked about it at length.’

‘But you’re getting married.’ Joanne brought her perplexed gaze to bear on Sian.

‘So?’ Sian returned a hard stare.

‘But … but the whole point of getting married is to have a family, or at least try for one. Isn’t it, Louise?’

A twisted smile passed fleetingly across Louise’s lips. ‘You’re asking the wrong person, Joanne,’ she said, grimly.

‘Well, you know what I mean,’ said Joanne, with a dismissive wave of her hand and a faint blush on her cheek. She quickly brought her gaze back to Sian and ploughed on as though she had not touched a raw nerve with Louise. ‘That’s one of the reasons most people get married anyway.’

Sian smiled patiently. ‘We’re not like most people, Joanne. You know that.’

‘But what about you, Sian? Don’t you want children?’ said Louise with a look of curiosity on her face.

As though she was the one who was utterly mad, thought Sian, and not the rest of the world. She took a drink of wine and collected her thoughts, remembering the way Oli had looked so lovingly at his mother.

‘I don’t need children to make me happy. Not my own anyway. I have my nieces and nephew, don’t I?’

Joanne shot Louise an appalled look and Sian went on, ‘Don’t act so surprised. Sure you both know I’ve never wanted children.’

‘But that was before you met Andy.’ Joanne’s voice was full of dismay.

They all looked out across the garden at Andy who was crouched down, talking to Oli.

‘And,’ said Louise, who had been quiet for some moments, ‘you used to want children. When you were a little girl you played with your dolls all the time.’

Sian sighed. ‘That was before I knew what … what I know now.’

Joanne shot Louise a cautious glance. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘There are simply too many people on the planet. And I for one would rather reduce the human population with voluntary birth control than war and famine.’

Joanne rolled her eyes at Louise, then buried her expression in a big glassful of wine.

Sian sighed, feeling belittled by her older sister yet again. ‘Anyway,’ she went on, doing her best to ignore Joanne. ‘I couldn’t possibly run the shop and look after a baby at the same time. Plus The Friends of Ballyfergus Lough takes up almost all my spare time. And I don’t see the point of having a child if you pay other people to look after it all day. Do you?’

‘Some people don’t have any choice,’ said Louise.

Sian’s reply was swift. ‘But they do, you see. They have the choice not to have the child in the first place.’

Louise shrugged, indicating that she wasn’t going to take the discussion any further. She knitted her brows together, pulled her thin beige cardigan tightly around her body and asked, ‘But don’t you have any … any maternal feelings?’

‘Nope.’ Sian shook her head.

Louise persisted. ‘No desire, no urge, to give birth to your own child?’

Sian shivered involuntarily – the very idea making her break out in a cold sweat. ‘No.’ She had meant what she said about the need to curb the growth of the human population, but that wasn’t the only reason why she would never have a child of her own.

‘I imagine seeing Abbey born put you right off,’ said Joanne flippantly.

Sian tried to laugh in response but it came out off key. ‘It was very special being there,’ she said blandly, not wanting to hurt Joanne’s feelings, and added, ‘Though I have to admit it was a bit scary.’

‘Well, I think you might be making a mistake,’ said Louise, staring at her son. ‘Having Oli is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

‘Is that why you had him? For you to feel happy?’ The words, judgemental and accusing, slipped out before Sian could stop them.

Louise looked at her younger sister with steely blue eyes and her voice in response, though defensive, had a well-practised air about it. ‘Yes, one of the reasons I had Oli was because I felt something was lacking in my life.’ A pause to let this sink in. ‘I’ve thought harder about this than most people, Sian, and you’re right, choosing to have a child is an entirely selfish act. But I’m no different from anyone else in that respect, married or single.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ snorted Joanne. ‘I’m never done doing things for my three. I can’t remember when I last put myself first.’

‘I’m not disputing that,’ said Sian. ‘As a mother you do selfless things every day but the decision to have a child in the first place is self-centred. That child doesn’t exist unless you create it. It’s not asking to be born. It doesn’t need to be born. You have it to enhance your life and make you feel fulfilled in many different ways.’

Joanne shrugged and pulled a face. ‘People usually say the opposite – those that choose not to have children are the selfish ones.’ She flashed a quick glance at Sian who opened her mouth to respond but before she could do so, Joanne turned her attention back to Louise. ‘But it’s an interesting point. I guess I haven’t ever really considered my motivation for having children.’

‘You haven’t had to. No one’s ever accused you of being selfish just because you’re a mother, Joanne,’ said Louise, effectively bringing to an end this particular thread of the conversation.

She turned her gaze, softened now, to Sian. ‘All I’m saying is don’t make any hasty decisions, Sian, and don’t leave it too late either. You might regret it.’

Sian sighed and tried to smile. The decision was far from a hasty one. In fact she was quite sure that she’d put more thought into the implications of not having a child than Joanne ever put into having hers – and at least as much as Louise. She’d come to terms with the idea that she would never be a mother and she was certain that her decision was the right one for her – and Andy. It frustrated her no end that her sisters treated her like she didn’t know her own mind. In fact, while paying lip-service to the idea of sustainable living, they treated everything she felt passionate about as though it was all some big joke. Just like they’d always done. Perhaps it was time to prove to them that she was serious.

She had tried to get her doctor to sterilise her when she was in her early twenties and again when she was thirty, but he had refused. But she was older now and about to be married to a man who felt the same as she did about having children. No doctor would refuse her now, surely?

‘Right! Time out!’ called Andy and he formed his hands, like a basketball coach, into the internationally recognised ‘t’ signal. He loped across the grass towards the women in a few athletic strides, his face beaming. He came to a halt in front of Sian and ran his hand through his hair. ‘That lot are absolutely crazy,’ he said rubbing his right elbow, and then the small of his back. There were smears of mud and grass down the front of his T-shirt. Sian put out a hand and touched his arm, muscled and brown where it appeared beneath his short sleeve. ‘I feel like I’ve just gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson,’ he went on.

Joanne laughed heartily. ‘You look like you have too! But I bet ten rounds with Tyson would be a walk in the park compared to wrestling three hyper kids!’ Everyone laughed and she added, ‘You look like you could use a beer.’

‘Please,’ he gasped, resting his hands on his thighs.

‘I’ll get it. Here, give me your glass too, Sian, and I’ll top it up when I’m in the kitchen.’ Joanne picked up the empty wine bottle and tucked it under her arm.

Sian finished what was left in the bottom of the glass and handed it over. ‘Thanks.’

Just then Heidi, a flash of black, streaked across the grass and ran three times around the garden barking manically, her tail wagging.

‘For heaven’s sake! Somebody’s let her out of the utility room!’ cried Joanne and she marched off into the house mumbling to herself. A moment later she appeared on the kitchen doorstep, waving a piece of beef jerky, Heidi’s favourite snack, in her hand. She called Heidi’s name and the dog raced over, gulped down the treat and disappeared inside the house. The door slammed shut behind her.

‘I wonder if Joanne has any idea what her family’s carbon footprint is,’ observed Sian.

‘What?’ said Louise.

‘I was thinking about the dog. Recent research estimates that the ecological impact of a large one like Heidi is the same as driving a 4.6-litre four-wheel-drive vehicle twelve-thousand miles a year.’

Louise filled her cheeks with air and blew out noisily. ‘I’m sure Joanne’s not given it much thought, Sian. She seems to have other things on her mind lately.’

‘It’s up to Joanne how she lives her life, Sian,’ interjected Andy with a gentle smile. He grinned at Louise and said, ‘Who knows, if we set a good enough example, some of it might rub off on others.’

Louise smiled and looked out across the grass at Oli, who was now happily playing chase with Abbey, their shrieks of laughter filling the air like sirens. ‘Oli seems to be enjoying himself.’

‘He’s a natural with the ball,’ said Andy and gave Sian a wink. She grinned back, marvelling at the fact that she had found him, that he was hers. ‘He’ll be keeping you in your old age, Louise.’

Louise, straight-faced, glanced across at Oli once more and said anxiously, ‘I saw a poster at the library for a class called Enjoy-a-Ball. They teach basic ball handling skills to young children. Do you think I should sign him up for that?’ She frowned and shook her head, clearly annoyed with herself. ‘Why didn’t I think of that before?’

Andy threw his head back and laughed, his Adam’s apple like a knot in a rope. ‘There’s plenty of time for that sort of thing when he’s older, Louise. He’s still a baby. Anyway, kids come to things when they’re ready. You can’t force it.’

Louise smiled tightly. ‘I guess you’re, right. I just want to do what’s right, you know. What’s best for Oli.’

‘Well by the looks of it you’re doing a grand job, Louise,’ said Andy kindly and Louise visibly relaxed.

‘Do you think so?’

‘You’re giving him the best start in life,’ said Sian, seeing suddenly how much her sister needed reassurance. ‘Not many people have the luxury of being a full-time mum, especially single ones.’ Sian’s gaze was drawn momentarily to Gemma who was standing on the far side of the garden with a plate in one hand and a fork in the other, talking to her eldest child. She’d gone back to work as a legal secretary soon after her marriage broke up and her son was only four – a tough decision, Joanne had told her at the time, motivated by necessity rather than choice.

Louise cleared her throat, drawing Sian’s attention, and let out a long heartfelt sigh. ‘That might have to change,’ she said flatly, toying with a lock of fair hair by her left ear, the way she used to as a child when she was bothered by something.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean I’m going to have to return to work sooner than I’d planned.’

‘But I thought you said you wouldn’t go back to work until Oli went to school.’

Louise looked at the ground and bit her lip. ‘That was the plan, but I’m not sure I can afford to now. I put cash away for the first three years and the plan after that was to cash in shares. But they’ve fallen so much, I’m not sure that’s a sensible thing to do right now. I’d be better off waiting until they recover some of their value, otherwise I’ll be eating into Oli’s university fund. I still have to sell the Edinburgh flat and buy a place here and that’ll involve legal fees and stamp duty.’ She shook her head resignedly. ‘I can’t see any way round it. I think I’m going to have to go out to work and full-time at that.’

Sian, surprised by this news, was momentarily at a loss for words. Louise had prepared so carefully for Oli’s birth and childhood, both practically and financially. Being at home for him, in his early years at least, had been one of the cornerstones of her dream. It was disconcerting to hear that these plans had gone awry. Sian glanced across the garden at Oli, now sitting on the grass making daisy chains under the guidance of Abbey. He would have to go into full-time childcare of some sort – a very different proposition from the one morning a week he’d done in Edinburgh and the very last thing Louise had wanted for her son.

‘Would you be looking for something in your old line of work?’ said Andy, breaking the silence.

Louise’s last job – before she’d resigned six weeks before Oli was born – had been as Tourism Marketing Director for Historic Scotland with responsibility for Edinburgh Castle, the city’s most visited tourist attraction.

Louise scratched her head. ‘Ideally, but realistically, I might have to cast my net a bit wider. There aren’t many senior jobs in tourism marketing in Northern Ireland and with this recession I doubt if there’ll be much recruiting in the field at the moment.’

Sian, suddenly inspired, said sharply, ‘Aren’t they looking for a Tourism Marketing Manager out at Loughanlea, Andy?’

‘Yeah,’ said Andy vaguely, rubbing his chin, ‘it was mentioned at the meeting last week. I got the impression they wanted the vacancy filled by the autumn. It’s going to be a world class venue, so I imagine they’ll be looking for someone with your level of experience, Louise.’

Louise put a hand to her breast. ‘It sounds too good to be true – a marketing job like that right on my doorstep.’

Sian nodded. ‘It sounds as though it might be perfect for you, Louise. You should give it some serious thought.’

Louise nodded. ‘I’ll do that.’

‘I wonder where Joanne’s got to with that beer,’ said Andy, craning his neck to peer into the lounge. ‘She’s been gone ages and I’m gasping.’

‘I’ll go and look,’ said Sian.

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Louise and they started off in the direction of the kitchen door. Just as they got there the sound of raised voices, a man’s and a woman’s, drifted into the garden through the open kitchen window. Sian held her breath and stared at Louise.

‘Does that,’ she said, pulling a face, ‘mean that Phil’s home?’

The two sisters stepped quietly into the kitchen and closed the back door. Joanne, standing behind the breakfast bar, barely glanced at them. It was strewn with dirty plates, scrunched-up napkins and used cutlery. Her chest, under folded arms, felt tight and her breath was shallow. Her cheeks burned hot. She stared at Phil, sprawled in a chair in front of the crumbled remains of the chocolate welcome home cake she’d baked, and she blinked to hold back the tears of frustration.

‘Okay, so you couldn’t be arsed coming home in time to help me. Nothing new in that. You’d think I would be used to that by now, wouldn’t you? But to turn up now – when the party’s almost over. And drunk.’ Her voice rose against her will to a high-pitched shriek. ‘That’s … that’s … unforgivable,’ she hissed, finishing the sentence. ‘You always put yourself before everyone else. You don’t give a shit about anyone but Phil Montgomery, do you?’

Phil closed his eyes and raised his face to the ceiling, an infuriating smirk fixed in place. He was incredibly handsome – dark-haired, brown eyes framed by long black lashes, a strong square jaw and tanned muscular frame under his golfing polo shirt and pale pink sleeveless sweater. Usually his physical presence was enough to mollify her, but today Joanne barely registered these physical details. She forgave him so often because her physical attraction to him was still, at times, overwhelming.

But today, something had changed. She felt sudden, cold clammy fear. She recognised something underneath his looks and what she saw, she did not like. She shivered suddenly and rubbed her upper arms roughly. Phil brought his cold gaze to bear on her, his eyes red-rimmed with drink, his stare arrogant.

‘Do you?’ shrieked Joanne.

‘Shush,’ said Louise, putting a finger to her lips. ‘People will hear. Can’t you … discuss this another time?’

‘I don’t care who hears,’ said Joanne, defiantly, not really meaning it. She covered up for Phil all the time. It was what she did.

Heidi, confined once more to the utility room, started scratching at the door and whimpering.

Sian said, ‘Mum and Dad’ll hear you if you don’t stop shouting. You don’t want to upset them, do you? You know how Mum’s been looking forward to this afternoon.’

Joanne let out a long slow breath. ‘No, of course not,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘But will you look at the state of him!’ she hissed pointing at her husband, the corners of her mouth turned down in disgust. She grabbed a used napkin and threw it at him – with no weight behind it, it fell pathetic ally short. Phil did not even notice.

‘Bla … de … bla … de … bla,’ he said, his face raised to the ceiling. He brought his head down suddenly and glared at Joanne. ‘It’s your frigging family, Joanne. Not mine. I told you I was playing golf today weeks ago and you still persisted in having people over. And then you go about like a martyr accusing me of being in the wrong.’

‘You didn’t have to stay for a meal at the clubhouse. You could’ve come home after the game.’ And then – because there was a grain of truth in what Phil said which frustrated her even more – Joanne burst into tears. Immediately her sisters ran over and stood on either side. Each placed a hand on her shoulder.

‘Phil,’ pleaded Sian, ‘can’t you just leave it?’

‘I can. She won’t,’ he growled.

‘Please, Phil,’ said Louise. ‘She’s upset.’

Joanne wiped away the tears, black with mascara, with the back of her hand. ‘I’m okay,’ she sniffed. ‘I’m used to this.’

‘Pah,’ spat out Phil. ‘Look at you. The three bloody degrees. Telling me what to do in my own home.’

‘But Phil—’ began Louise’s reasonable voice.

Joanne cut across her. ‘Don’t you talk to my sisters like that,’ she snapped. ‘Don’t you dare.’

‘I pay for this house, slave all hours to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. I’ll do whatever I bloody well like in my own home.’

‘That,’ said Joanne with a dramatic pause, ‘is exactly your problem.’

The back door burst open all of a sudden and Andy came in, his T-shirt spotted with dark splats of rain.

‘Not now, Andy,’ snapped Sian but he was pushed further into the room by a horde of giggling children, trailing muddy slicks across the clean kitchen floor.

‘Sorry,’ said Andy with a quick glance at the glum faces in the room and a shrug of his shoulders. ‘The rain’s really chucking it down, man. Hi, Phil.’

Phil nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Andy.’

‘Dad,’ cried Holly, running over to her father and throwing her arms around his neck. Maddy gave him a wary look and shot a searching glance at her mother. Abbey ran over to the table, grabbed a chocolate muffin and stuffed as much of it as she could into her mouth, moist crumbs falling to the floor. Oli followed suit. Nobody chided them.

Heidi, on hearing the commotion, started howling and Abbey cried, ‘Heidi’s locked in the utility room!’ She paused momentarily to put her hands on her hips. ‘Mum,’ she scolded, ‘did you lock Heidi in the utility room, again? She doesn’t like it, Mum. She gets scared.’

When Joanne did not reply Abbey ran over to the utility room door, opened it and the dog bounded into the room. She made straight for the table, put her front paws up on it and wolfed down a muffin, paper case and all. Then, before anyone could stop her, she grabbed another one in her long snout. ‘No, Heidi. Bad girl!’ cried the children in unison and the dog, duly chastised, shot out the back door like a black bullet with her tail between her legs and the muffin lodged firmly in her mouth.

‘Wow!’ said Oli and the children and Andy laughed.

‘That, Abbey,’ said Louise wryly, ‘is why I think your mum keeps Heidi in the utility room when there’s food about.’

Abbey shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly and said, ‘Heidi likes chocolate muffins.’

‘But they’re not very good for her, are they?’ said Louise.

‘Well, looks to me like this party’s well and truly over,’ said Phil, disentangling himself from Holly. He stood up, his tall, athletic frame wavering slightly as if in a breeze, and left the room.

Joanne turned her back to everyone and cleaned up her face as best she could by wiping under her eyes with a napkin. Then she busied herself at the cooker, scraping the remains of the chilli into a bowl. She did not want the girls to see she had been crying – she did not want them to know she and Phil had been fighting yet again. But who was she kidding? In a house with walls as thin as paper, of course the girls overheard every argument, every bitter word between them. What was all this fighting doing to them, her precious daughters? How could she get it to stop?

‘Right you lot,’ said Sian with spirit. ‘Out of the kitchen now. Or you’ll get a job to do. Who wants to help with the washing up?’

She held out a tea towel, eliciting a shriek of horror from the children and they ran, en masse, out of the room.

‘Okay,’ said Sian when the children were gone, their peals of laughter echoing down the hall, ‘I’ll stack the dishwasher.’

‘I’ll clear the table,’ said Louise quietly.

Andy got himself a beer from the fridge and, sensing the strained atmosphere, quietly disappeared.

When the door shut behind him, Joanne said, ‘I’m sorry about that. For what he said about you.’

‘It was nothing,’ said Sian. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘I’m sure he didn’t mean it,’ said Louise.

Their readiness to dismiss Phil’s rudeness touched Joanne deeply. They did it, of course, not for him but for her.

The women worked without talking then, the silence broken only by the clank of dishes, the scraping of plates and the rattle of cutlery, while Joanne gradually pulled herself together.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said when she was composed once more. ‘I just wanted today to be perfect for you, Louise.’

‘You don’t need to apologise,’ said Louise, as she stretched a piece of cling film over the remains of the cake. ‘It was Phil’s fault. Getting pissed and talking to you like that.’

‘Maybe I provoked him,’ she said quietly.

‘What?’ cried Sian. She paused by the door of the dishwasher with a clutch of dirty cutlery in her fist. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Joanne. And stop apologising for him. You’re always doing that.’

Louise glanced sharply at Sian. How long had things between Joanne and Phil been this bad? What had been going on in her absence?

‘No, you don’t understand,’ said Joanne, who looked completely wrung out. ‘I was just as much at fault as he was. He’s right. He did say weeks ago that the date clashed with his tournament but I went ahead and organised the party anyway. I guess I wanted him to put me first for a change.’ She let out a hollow, sour laugh. ‘But that backfired, didn’t it?’

Tears came again and she put her hand over her face.

Louise, filled with sudden compassion, went over and put her arms around her sister. ‘I remember having fights like that with Cameron,’ she said and painful memories came flooding back. The fights had started when she, who had given so much in their marriage, asked for something back. ‘About different things, of course. But I know how awful it feels. I was so angry with him.’

Joanne looked up, her face tear-stained and said, ‘Bet Cameron never spoke to you like that.’

‘Oh, he did, believe me,’ said Louise, letting go of Joanne. ‘Towards the end when our marriage was on the rocks.’

She remembered his exact words and they cut her to the core still.

‘If you think having a baby is more important than our marriage, then just go, Louise. I’m sick to death listening to you banging on about it.’ He’d thrown a book across the room in frustration. ‘Is that the only bloody thing you care about, for God’s sake?’

But she’d said awful things too, things she shouldn’t have – they’d both been angry.

And now she felt awful that her welcome party had led to this row, yet Sian’s comment seemed to indicate that things had not been right between Joanne and Phil for some time.

‘Time I was off, Joanne,’ said a cheery female voice and they all looked up to find a grey head poking around the kitchen door. It was Aunt Philomena, their mother’s sister, whom Louise had not seen since before Oli was born. ‘Youse are awful busy in here,’ she observed. ‘Men left you to it, have they?’

‘Funny that,’ said Joanne, with forced jocularity. ‘When there’s work to be done in the kitchen, men disappear like snow off a dyke!’

‘Some things never change,’ said Aunt Philomena with a hearty chuckle. ‘Thanks for a lovely afternoon, Joanne. It was smashing. Louise,’ she said, ‘I never got to speak to you all afternoon. Come on, love. Walk me to the door.’

In the hall, her tipsy aunt, smelling of Baileys and Imperial Leather soap, pulled Louise to her ample breast – an embrace that required some contortion on Louise’s part given that Aunt Philomena, even in heels, was only five foot three. Oli came tottering up the hall, his face smeared with chocolate frosting, and Auntie P’s eye fell on him. She leant conspiratorially towards Louise and said, ‘Oh, love, I know you did the right thing not getting rid of the adorable wee thing. Your mum told me all about how the father let you down. But that’s men for you, isn’t it?’

And then she staggered out the front door leaving Louise utterly dumbfounded. She turned to find Joanne and Sian standing in the kitchen doorway. One look at their faces told her all she needed to know.

‘Wait. Wait just a minute.’ Louise unfolded her arms as realisation hit home. She raised her index finger in the air in a Eureka moment. ‘You two knew, didn’t you? You knew about this already?’

Sian straightened up. ‘What Aunt Philomena said … that’s pretty much what Mum and Dad told everyone. They said you’d been seeing this guy for a while, got pregnant and then he left you.’

‘We only found out afterwards,’ added Joanne quickly, looking at Sian.

‘And you didn’t think to correct these … these lies?’ demanded Louise. How could her sisters let her down like that? How could they not defend her and Oli?

Joanne shrugged. ‘At the time we didn’t think it mattered. You were in Edinburgh. Correcting the story would’ve embarrassed Mum and Dad—’

‘Embarrassed Mum and Dad!’ repeated Louise. ‘What about embarrassing me?’

Joanne wiped her brow with the back of her hand. With much of her make-up rubbed off, she looked pale and tired. ‘Look Louise, they didn’t mean any harm. And to be honest I kind of agree with them. A lot of people wouldn’t understand why you chose to be a single mum – or approve of the way you went about it. A lot of people would think it just plain wrong.’

Louise took a deep breath. ‘Let me get this straight. You think it’s better that people think Oli was an accident rather than a much-wanted, planned-for child? Not to mention the fact that this ludicrous story paints me as a naïve idiot who got herself knocked up and then dumped.’

Joanne blushed and looked at Sian who said quietly, ‘I guess Mum and Dad thought they were acting in Oli’s best interests, Louise. And yours. And anyway, what does it matter how he got here?’

‘The truth always matters,’ said Louise, choked with anger. Her disappointment in her sisters cut deep. Since she’d had Oli, Louise tended to categorise people into one of two camps – either they were on her side or they weren’t. She had always thought she could count on her sisters. Now she wasn’t so sure. ‘You don’t know how I agonised about telling Oli who he is and where he came from. How I worried about explaining it to him in ways he could understand. I made the decision from the outset to tell him the truth, no matter how difficult it was. And now I find out that you lot have been spreading all these lies. Lies I’m going to have to undo.’

‘We didn’t tell any lies,’ said Sian boldly.

‘You acquiesced. It amounts to the same thing.’

Her sisters glanced at each other again – but this time sheepishly. Louise waited for an apology but none was forthcoming.

‘You’ve let me down,’ she said, her bottom lip starting to tremble. ‘Both of you.’ She felt the tears prick her eyes and bit her lip, the pain a momentary distraction from her distress. It helped her to focus her mind – and retain her dignity.

‘I’m going to take Oli home now,’ she said, walking over to the table and unhooking her bag from the back of a chair where she’d hung it earlier. The strap got tangled and caught between the bars on the back. Viciously, she yanked it free.

When she turned to leave, Sian blocked her way but Joanne stopped her.

‘I think we all need to cool off – let her go.’

Louise found Oli in the playroom with Abbey and Holly, all three quietly watching a DVD of The Incredibles. He was lying on a beanbag, his eyelids fluttering like moth’s wings, with his thumb wedged in his mouth. Overcome with a sudden fierce love for her child, Louise knelt on the floor beside the beanbag and planted a gentle kiss on his smooth brow and on his round, red cheek, so soft and hot. He was as pure and innocent as an angel – her angel, her gift from God, sent from heaven. Oblivious to just how much he had been wanted and how much she loved him.

She thought of the conversation with her aunt and anger coursed through her veins once more at the thought of how her parents had denied his origins. And in their denial they had made Oli’s story a shameful one, something to be hushed up, avoided, condemned and criticised. Louise looked into the face of her child and determined not to let him be affected by such prejudice. Not her darling boy.