The Skeleton Tree by Diane Janes (reading women TXT) 📕

see Jamie approaching, hand in hand with Mrs Webster, mother of his best friend. Jamie’s face was smudged, as if he might have been crying.

‘Jamie, what’s happened?’

‘It’s quite all right,’ Andrew Webster’s mother assured her. ‘It’s just that you did promise to collect Jamie at four o’clock, and when it got to nearly five he became a bit anxious so I brought him along. You see, Jamie, I told you it would be all right. Nothing bad has happened to Mummy, she’s just been delayed, that’s all.’

Wendy gathered up her son, red-faced, apologetic and more than a little ashamed of herself, while the expression on Mrs Webster’s face conveyed better than words that some mothers would never forget to collect their own children.

‘Come on, Jamie.’ Having wiped his face with a tissue from her pocket, Wendy took his hand and, thanking Mrs Webster one final time, led him up the drive and into the kitchen.

‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ Jamie sniffed.

‘Don’t be silly, darling. I had a visitor and lost track of the time, that’s all. Look at the clock! You sit down there and I’ll get you some orange juice, and then I must sort something out for tea.’

Bruce arrived home soon afterwards and found Wendy kneeling in front of the freezer. ‘Hi,’ he said, as he dumped his briefcase on the kitchen table and turned to the fridge for a drink. Looking up, she noticed that his shirt was sticking to his back, where it had been compressed against him by the seat of the car.

‘Are you getting some ice out?’ he asked.

‘Actually, I’m looking to see what I can give everyone for dinner. There’s been a menu change because I forgot to defrost the chicken joints. Here’s the ice.’ She passed the tray across to him as she spoke. ‘You’ll never guess who came to the door today.’

‘You’re right. I won’t.’

‘A lady called Joan Webb. She was old Mrs Duncan’s niece. She used to spend a lot of time here as a child and she asked if she could look around the house.’

‘Bloody cheek! I hope you sent her packing.’

‘Of course I didn’t. She stayed most of the afternoon. She’s been telling me all about how things were when her aunt lived here. It was absolutely fascinating.’

At that moment Katie appeared at the kitchen door. ‘I’m too hot,’ she said.

‘It must be the hottest day so far,’ Bruce said. And then in an altogether different tone, ‘Good God! Come here, Katie.’ He turned her round. ‘Look at her shoulders!’ he ordered Wendy. ‘You’ve surely not let her run around outside all day wearing just a swimsuit?’

‘Oh dear.’ Wendy inspected her daughter anxiously. ‘You are rather burned, pet. Does it hurt?’

Bruce thumped the glass he had been filling on the worktop. ‘She should have put on a T-shirt hours ago. Why on earth didn’t you make sure she did? You know how easily she burns.’

‘I’m sorry, Katie,’ Wendy said. ‘Don’t get upset, darling, come up to the bathroom and I’ll put some aftersun cream on for you.’

By the time mother and daughter returned to the kitchen, Bruce had talked with Jamie and heard all about his abandonment at the Websters’ house. This did nothing to improve his mood. ‘As soon as Tara gets in I’ll fetch a takeaway,’ he said. ‘Since you couldn’t manage to remember that we’d all need a meal tonight as usual.’

‘Please calm down, Bruce. It’s not the end of the world. It only happened because I got a bit distracted by what Joan was telling me.’

‘Naturally, complete strangers take priority over the needs of your own children.’ He stalked out of the kitchen and along the hall.

It’s the heat, she told herself. This run of hot weather was hell for people who had to sit in an office all day. At the same time, she knew that she had failed badly on the domestic front. Amends ought to be made. She followed him to the sitting room where he had taken up a position behind the newspaper.

‘Why don’t I take the car down to Asda and pick up some things so I can put together a nice salad? That would be better for everyone than a takeaway on a warm evening like this.’

‘I’d rather wait for Tara, then fetch something. It will be quicker. Particularly if you get waylaid en-route.’

‘I won’t get waylaid. How on earth could I get waylaid?’

‘Distracted then.’

‘I won’t. Oh, please don’t be annoyed with me, Bruce. I’ve said I’m sorry.’

‘And I’ve said I would rather have a takeaway.’

Unfortunately, Wendy had also forgotten that Tara had told her she wouldn’t be back in time for tea. It was well after seven o’clock before she returned, announcing that she’d had a wonderful day at the beach.

‘At last,’ Bruce said, when Tara finally drifted in. ‘Now we can all eat.’

Wendy refrained from pointing out that her salad plan could have been brought to fruition a good deal earlier, with a portion plated up and put in the fridge for Tara.

‘Sorry,’ Tara said. ‘Have you guys waited? I didn’t expect you to wait for me. Mam, I told you I’d be late.’

‘It isn’t your fault,’ said Bruce. ‘Your mother has completely lost her marbles since some nosy old bat arrived, wanting to see over the house, of all things. We can’t expect her to remember little matters like what time any of her family are expected home.’

Wendy’s attempts to lighten the mood as she unpacked and plated the containers of sweet and sour chicken, beef chow mein and fried rice mostly fell on deaf ears. Katie and Jamie were subdued and Tara picked up on the atmosphere and contributed little to her mother’s tentative attempts at conversation. Wendy decided that it was not a good time to talk about Joan Webb’s visit.

They had eaten so late that she sent Jamie up to get into his pyjamas while she cleared everything away. She had just finished when the telephone rang, and since Bruce made no