The Happy Family by Jackie Kabler (electric book reader txt) 📕

later we’re settled at a window table at Sunrise Lodge, the small hotel perched on the side of the hill, its coffee lounge famous for its homemade cakes. It’s busy this morning. A steady stream of hikers and dog walkers wanders in and out, and the staff weave their way between tables, heavily laden trays held high. I’ve plumped for a slice of cheesecake, Ruth’s gone for carrot cake, and the waiter has just put an enormous piece of Victoria sponge down in front of Deborah, vanilla buttercream oozing from its middle. It’s making me wish I’d ordered that too, now.

When we arrived, I told the girls that today was my treat, only to realise when we sat down that I’d forgotten my purse, credit cards, the lot. So much for telling myself everything is fine. My head is so messed up at the moment it’s a wonder I’m not leaving the house in my pyjamas. I can’t say that though, even to my friends, so I just roll my eyes and apologise profusely for being such an airhead.

Ruth reaches over and pats my arm.

‘Shush, it’s fine. You’ve just got a lot on your mind, that’s all. Work and the kids and everything else. You just need to chill a bit.’

Deborah nods.

‘You’ve been more stressed than usual lately, Beth. Thinking someone’s following you and all that stuff? Have you thought about talking to someone, maybe? Someone professional, I mean? I know some great counsellors. Just one or two sessions would probably be enough to help you with some relaxation techniques. What do you think?’

She picks up her cake and takes a big bite.

‘Yum,’ she mumbles, and licks a blob of jam off her lower lip.

I shrug.

‘Maybe. I have been quite stressed. I’ll think about it. Thanks.’

I probably won’t, though. I’ve had counselling before, you see. Back then, back when the bad things happened. And it was fine – good even. It helped. But now?

They’d ask me to explain, wouldn’t they? They’d try to get to the root of what’s making me so anxious. It’s what they do. And I can’t do that, not now. I can’t talk to anyone about that.

‘I’ll be fine,’ I say. ‘I’ve got the house to myself today so I’m going to go home, have a lovely hot bath, and spend the afternoon in front of the telly. That’ll sort me out.’

I pause. ‘As would some of that Victoria sponge. Want to share?’

I reach out a hand and Deborah bats it away with a squeal.

‘No! Stick to your boring cheesecake! This is ALL. MINE,’ she says firmly.

‘Meanie,’ I say. I sigh dramatically and pick up my own cake with a comedy pout, and we laugh. As Ruth launches into a story about Lorraine at work and her latest menopause-brain mishap, I start to relax. It’s cosy here with the sun streaming in through the window and the smell of coffee and warm caramel in the air. I cup my hands around my mug of tea; its warmth is soothing.

Mindfulness, I tell myself. Focus on the moment.

I take a deep breath and join in with the conversation.

Chapter 7

‘Yes!’

I sink deeper into the warm water with a satisfied grunt. I’ve just managed to turn the hot tap on and off again with my toes, topping up the bath nicely without even having to sit up, and this pleases me greatly. It’s the little things sometimes, isn’t it? I slide down even further, until the sweet almond oil scented bubbles are tickling my nose, and I feel the tension in my muscles easing. I love this bathroom. It’s white and stylish, with a vase of fresh flowers on the windowsill and my favourite lotions and creams lined up neatly on the marble counter. This is my ensuite, so it’s all for me; the kids share the main house bathroom. Even now, so many months after moving in here, I feel a surge of gratitude every time I use it. It’s my own little sanctuary where it’s always clean and smells nice, where there are no plastic boats to scoop out of the bath before I get in or suspicious little puddles on the loo seat. There are definitely advantages to not living with a man.

I’ve spent most of my life living mainly with men, when I think about it. First my dad, just me and him after Mum left. We lived in Bristol at the time, but three years later, when I was thirteen, when everything started to go horribly, desperately wrong, when the bad thing, the really bad thing, happened, we needed a new start, and we moved the forty or so miles up the M5 to Cheltenham.

When I went off to uni in Manchester, I lived mainly with guys too, three of them from my business studies course plus one other girl, in a shared house. And then, of course, I met Jacob, and after a year or so we decided to rent a flat together for our final year – we were spending every night at either his or mine anyway by that point, so it seemed to make sense. From then on it was just us, first living in London and getting our careers established, and then moving back to Cheltenham to buy our own little home when we decided it was time to start a family. Jacob was from Worcester anyway, just half an hour’s drive away, so we were close to both his parents and my dad, and for a while everything was wonderful. Until Crystal and everything that happened after that, of course. But things have a funny habit of working out, don’t they? Yes, I’m feeling a little out of sorts at the moment, but when I have time to take stock, to look around me and appreciate what I have, I feel lucky. Really lucky. Jacob was generous when we sold our house, giving me the bulk of the cash to buy this place. He was, after all,