Читать книгу The Last Family in England - Matt Haig - Страница 33

cleaning

Kate, who had taken the week off work, was on her hands and knees cleaning out one of the kitchen cupboards. She had cleaned every room since she came back from Grandma Margaret’s, and now she was starting again.

‘This house is so messy,’ she kept on telling me.

I had followed her around, trying to cheer her up, or at least offer support. But no matter how hard I wagged, the sad-smells weren’t lifting. They just lay in the air mingling with the sharp scent of detergent.

Every now and again Kate would stop, sit back on her heels, and bring her hand – the one which wasn’t holding the blue cloth – up towards her face. Each time, I thought she was going to cry but she didn’t. Instead, she took deep breaths and then resumed cleaning, even more vigorously than before.

When I heard the key in the door my heart lifted.

‘Mum, what are you doing?’ It was Hal.

‘I’m trying to sort everything out. This house is so messy.’

‘It looks cleaner and tidier than ever.’

Again she sat back, and again she raised her hand. This time, the tears broke through. ‘I just want . . . I just want to be doing something . . . I just . . .’

Hal placed his schoolbag down on the kitchen table and went slowly over to hold the raised hand. ‘I know, Mum. I know. It’s going to be OK.’

A little later and Adam came home. He went up to Kate from behind and put his arm around her stomach. ‘You smell gorgeous,’ he said, before kissing the back of her neck.

Kate winced. ‘Please, Adam, don’t. I don’t want you to . . . touch. Please.’