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

people in. That I didn’t always have to say yes to be accepted and loved.

I’m still a people pleaser, to a degree, still a little paranoid, a little needy sometimes. Still a conflict avoider. But without Rita, things would be very different now. She helped me heal, helped me become less insecure, less sensitive, less resentful. Become happier, basically. A normal person again, or as close to normal as any of us can get, for what is normal, after all?

But back then, at thirteen, I was so very different. The teenage Beth was manipulative, rebellious, callous. She looked at the quiet girl sitting next to her and she felt only scorn.

Look at her, I remember thinking. She’s so ugly and skinny and swotty and spotty. How can her mother bear to be related to her? Isn’t she ashamed?

She wasn’t though. Because Lucy Allen’s mother didn’t walk out on her daughter. Lucy Allen’s mother dropped her off at the school gate every morning at eight-fifteen and picked her up every afternoon at four-thirty. She was a pretty blonde woman smiling broadly, proudly, as her daughter climbed back into the car, chatting animatedly to her as she drove off. Lucy Allen’s mother made her packed lunches with homemade Victoria sponge and freshly squeezed orange juice. Lucy Allen’s mother sent her to school with shiny polished shoes and a jumper that smelt of Comfort. Lucy Allen had a mother and I didn’t, was basically what it came down to. And I hated her for that. Hated her. Hated the fact that although I knew my dad did his best, he had a job to do and money to earn and so I got the bus to and from Fairbridge alone, and had neighbours watch me until he came home from work, and I made my own packed lunches.

It was horrible and it was lonely, and it made me angry, so angry. But I still don’t know why it was Lucy I fixated on. Most of my friends had their mothers in their lives. It wasn’t a blessing unique to Lucy. But fixate on her I did. Fixate. And hate.

It was the hate that ruined it all, in the end. Hate for someone who had never done me the slightest bit of harm. Hate that grew, rapidly and ferociously and completely irrationally. Hate that consumed me and began to fill my every waking thought.

Hate was where it all began.

Even now, I can hardly bear to think about where it ended.

Chapter 17

‘Hey you two, Mum’s coming into town to meet me for lunch. Do you fancy joining us?’

I’ve just walked into the staffroom and Ruth and Deborah are there, sitting close together at one end of the table, engrossed in quiet conversation. They both jump as I speak.

‘Gosh, sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you!’ I say.

‘Blimey, I didn’t hear you come in,’ says Ruth, hand fluttering at her throat. She smiles.

‘What did you say? Lunch? Sounds great, yes please.’

‘Amazing! Mum’s dying to meet some more of my friends. Can you make it too, Debs?’

Deborah’s not looking at me. She’s frowning slightly, running a finger down a page of her big desk diary which is open on the table in front of her.

‘Erm … not sure. I’m quite busy today …’

I peer over her shoulder. Her diary is pretty full all morning and again this afternoon, but there’s clearly a gap between about 12.45 and 2pm.

‘Not at lunchtime though?’ I say. ‘I mean, if we go out about one? I told Mum I could only be an hour max as I’m quite stretched myself today. You haven’t got anyone booked in then, have you? Come on, it would be nice.’

Debs hesitates, looks at Ruth, and then back down at her diary. She shifts in her chair, looking uncomfortable, and suddenly I’m feeling anxious again.

Doesn’t she want to come? Doesn’t she want to meet my mother?

I tried, over the weekend, not to think too much about Brenda and Barbara and what they said to Mum on Friday night, but I’m still upset, and I was hoping lunch with my mother and my two best work buddies would help. But now …

‘OK,’ Deborah says suddenly. ‘It’s fine. I have some paperwork and stuff to catch up on but it’s not a problem; I can do it later. I’ll come.’

‘Great!’ I feel a little wave of relief.

‘OK, well shall we just go down the road to the coffee shop? I’ll ring Martha and ask her to keep us a booth?’ I say, and they both nod.

‘I’ve brought sandwiches from home though, so I might just have a coffee. Is that OK?’ Deborah says quickly.

‘Of course! Brilliant. See you later.’

I wave a hand and leave the room. I wonder if I should tell Ruth and Deborah about what’s happened with Brenda and Barbara – after all, they’d probably be as upset as I am – but I can’t face it, not just yet. It’s embarrassing, for a start, like being back at school when the girls you hang out with suddenly flounce off and say they don’t want to be friends anymore. But I have other friends, I tell myself firmly now, and vow to forget about it.

‘The Busy Bees can buzz off,’ I mutter, as I settle myself at my desk and allow myself a small snigger at my own silly joke.

The morning passes quickly, and by the time we arrive at The Hideaway, our favourite local café, I’m feeling a lot better. Work is a good distraction and how close was I to Brenda and Barbara, really, I think, as we settle ourselves in our corner booth and start studying the menu. If they were really only hanging out with me out of some sort of sympathy, well, I can do without them, can’t I …

‘Darling! Sorry I’m late, I decided to get a bus but then I had to find the way from the bus stop to here and I got a bit lost! I