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

fat around my waist. I look dreadful, but I can’t not wear it, can I? Not when she’s gone to so much trouble and spent so much money.

I root in my wardrobe and find my stretchy black palazzo pants, which are high-waisted and help, I think, to conceal some of the lumpy bits, but I still feel horribly uncomfortable as I go back downstairs, my armpits already damp, the frills at my neckline scratchy against my skin.

‘Oh!’ Mum looks wide-eyed for a moment, then seems to recover herself and smiles.

‘Well, don’t you look pretty,’ she says, but her eyes flick downwards to my stomach, to my thighs, and I feel again this new shame about my body, an acute sense of disappointment that I don’t look nicer for my classy, fashionable mother.

I’m about to reply, to thank her again for the present, to apologise, maybe, for not looking as good as I should in it, when the doorbell rings. The next few minutes are a whirl of introductions and kisses, wine being poured, and glasses clinking. When we’re all finally settled around the island, Eloise and Finley in the lounge nibbling canapés on the sofa, thrilled to be allowed to stay up for the takeaway, I wave my drink in the air.

‘A toast,’ I say. ‘To Mum, and to friendship.’

‘To Mum and to friendship!’ they all echo, even Mum with a grin, and we clink again and drink. We spend the next hour chatting and laughing. Brenda and Mum hit it off straight away with their shared love of fashion and the arts. But Barbara seems quiet, distracted, not her usual self at all. She’s listening to the conversation, her eyes fixed on Mum and Brenda as they chat, but she’s not joining in. Then she catches me watching her and seems to perk up a bit, clearly making an effort to smile and interject now and again, but she’s not fooling me. It’s pretty obvious that something isn’t right. I need to find out what’s going on, so the next time I stand up to refill the glasses I pull my stool over to sit next to her.

‘You OK?’ I ask in a low voice, as Mum regales Brenda with a story about a famous British artist she knows who had a threesome with two of his life models. I’m quite glad the children are in the lounge with the TV on, out of earshot.

‘Fine, fine,’ she whispers. ‘Just a bit tired. Long week, you know.’

‘You sure? You seem … well, not yourself.’

‘I’m fine, honestly. Just need a good night’s sleep.’

I nod, but now I’m thinking about Wednesday evening when I let her into the house to search for her glasses and then thought somebody had been moving things around in my bedroom. It had slipped from my mind but I feel like I have to ask her.

‘Did you find your glasses the other day? Were they here?’ I ask.

She rubs her nose, frowning, then shakes her head.

‘Oh, no, sorry, I should have said. Found them at home after all. I’d left them in the downstairs loo. Not sure why – I hardly ever use it. I’m so scatty at the moment. Must be my age.’

She smiles a wan smile and reaches for her wine glass.

‘Good, glad you found them. You didn’t … well, you didn’t go upstairs, did you? While you were here? It’s just that …’

But she’s shaking her head, frowning again.

‘No, I just looked around down here. Why?’

I pause.

It was probably me after all. Or maybe it was Eloise, borrowing some perfume or trying on my make-up without asking, I think. She’s at that age, isn’t she?

I pat Barbara’s arm.

‘No reason. Forget it. I’m as bad as you – head like a sieve – and I shouldn’t be, at my age. Are you hungry? Shall I order the food?’

She nods.

‘Go on. I’m not very hungry, to be honest, but the way those two are knocking back that wine they’ll be getting the munchies about now.’

I laugh and place the order, and when it arrives we eat in the kitchen, the children taking plates into the lounge to eat off their knees in front of the television. I bundle them off to bed shortly afterwards, and when I come back downstairs, Mum and my friends have retired to the sofa, Barbara a little more animated now after several glasses of wine. I sink into the big armchair opposite them, pulling at the top which is now stretched even more tightly across my full tummy.

‘Is that new? Don’t usually see you in animal print.’ Brenda gestures at my top.

‘Yes. Mum bought it for me. It’s good to try something different, don’t you think?’

Brenda looks appraisingly at me for a few seconds, then nods doubtfully.

‘Sure,’ she says.

Mum’s eyeing me too.

‘It’s a bit snug, love, isn’t it? I’m so sorry. I thought the medium would be OK. You still look lovely though, doesn’t she ladies?’

She smiles and Brenda and Barbara hesitate for a moment, looking at me in my gaudy, far-too-small top, then smile and nod too, but they look a little awkward and inside I’m cringing.

‘I think it’s me, not the sizing. Too much curry and pizza recently,’ I say. ‘Maybe the diet should start tomorrow, eh?’

‘Well, not tonight,’ says Mum. I realise she’s not disagreeing that I need to lose some weight and I feel even more humiliated. But she’s smiling encouragingly and she winks at me.

‘I’ll top us up,’ she says.

She does, and I start to feel better again as we sit there in the warm lounge, drinking and chatting. Finally, my eyes start to droop and I sink back into the cushions and drift off to sleep, empty wine glass between my knees. I’m not sure how long I’m asleep for, but I wake with a violent jump to find the room empty and quiet, just one small lamp still on. I sit there, panting, disorientated, knowing I’ve been having another dream about Lucy Allen. Lucy,