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

course, which was fine, just doing some cleaning before she went to get the children. But it was just … well …’

She pauses, her brow furrowing.

‘What, Mum?’

I’m suddenly aware that my stomach is clenching uncomfortably and a bead of sweat is forming on my top lip. I wipe it away with the back of my hand.

‘Mum? Go on.’

She gives a little sigh.

‘Well … she was in your ensuite bathroom, banging around in the cupboard you have on the wall. As if she was going through it, you know? I mean, it just seemed odd to me, Beth. You don’t ask her to clean inside cupboards do you, to go through your stuff? And it’s not the first time I’ve seen her behaving oddly in your room. I didn’t mention it, but, well …’

Her voice tails off.

‘What? What do you mean? And are you sure she wasn’t just dusting the bathroom cabinet?’

Mum’s shaking her head.

‘No, she was definitely going through it. And there’ve been other things. I heard her opening drawers in your room last week, on Monday before I’d even met the kids. I was going to tell you but, well … and then on Wednesday, the day we went out for pizza, I was passing your bedroom door and she was in there again, looking through the stuff on your chest of drawers. She didn’t even have her duster with her, so it struck me as strange, you know? To be in there and doing that when she wasn’t even cleaning?’

I’m staring at her now. Wednesday? That was the night I noticed that my stuff in the bedroom had been moved, wasn’t it? I hadn’t even considered that it might have been Robin. I’d only thought of Barbara, looking for her missing glasses, or Eloise poking about. I frown.

‘That’s … that’s weird. Wednesday’s not her day to clean the bedrooms. I’m not sure why she would have been in there …’

‘Oh darling, I’m sorry.’ Mum shakes her head vigorously and rolls her eyes.

‘It’s probably just your stupid old mother being paranoid. I’m sure it’s all perfectly innocent. Ignore me, honestly. I just worry, you know? A single mother, busy working woman, it’s easy to imagine you being taken advantage of, that’s all. You probably wouldn’t even notice if the odd thing went missing, would you? Too much on your mind all the time. If you think Robin is trustworthy then I have absolute faith in your judgement. I shouldn’t even have mentioned it. Don’t worry at all.’

But I am worried now. It does sound like odd behaviour, and after all, it’s not the first time, is it? And maybe Mum’s right. Maybe I wouldn’t notice if little things went missing here and there. I’m always so preoccupied, especially at the moment …

‘Mum, look, thanks for telling me. I’m sure everything is fine, but I’ll keep an eye on her, and on my things. I will.’

She nods and smiles, and I take a deep breath.

Now. I need to ask her now.

‘Mum, while we’re chatting, this is a bit random but, well, I was just wondering … did you … did you keep in touch with anyone from Bristol after you left? Anyone at all?’

She looks surprised.

‘No. Nobody at all. I just wanted a clean break, I suppose. Why, love?’

‘I was just wondering if … well, if you ever tried to keep up with what I was doing, how I was …’

There’s a lump in my throat suddenly and I swallow hard, not looking at her now, my eyes fixed on my hands which are clenched together so tightly the knuckles are white.

‘You know, how I was doing at school or … anything else. If you knew what … what I was up to, all those years …’

There’s a little gasp and for a few seconds all I can hear is my own heartbeat, loud and frantic, and then I realise she’s speaking in a sort of strangled whisper.

‘Oh, Beth. I’m so, so sorry.’

I look up and I see that she’s crying, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, making streaks in her foundation.

‘I didn’t. I wish I could tell you something different … I’m so sorry. So very, very sorry.’

She’s shaking her head now and reaching for my hands, and I let her pull me into her arms. I can smell her light, floral perfume and I’m burying my face in the softness of her jumper and I’m crying too. I’m crying for all those lost years, for the little girl without a mother, for the mother who was so unhappy that she did the unthinkable and walked away and has never forgiven herself. But I’m crying with relief too, I realise, because she doesn’t know, does she? She doesn’t know about Lucy and what happened; she doesn’t know about what I did. She doesn’t know because she walked away and she didn’t look back. And for once, just this once, that’s a good thing. That’s a really, really good thing because now I can stop worrying and forget about it. She doesn’t know.

We sit there, wrapped in each other, for a long time. Eventually we pull ourselves together and, for some strange reason, start to laugh. And that’s it … We spend the rest of the evening drinking wine and tittering about silly little things until we’re both worn out. At ten we head for bed, and I run a deep, hot bath, tipping in a generous dollop of lavender bath gel, and then peel my clothes off, dropping them carelessly on the bathroom floor, and groaning softly as I sink into the fragrant bubbles.

I soap my body slowly, massaging my legs and stomach, arms and breasts, enjoying the sensation of the warm water on my skin and feeling more relaxed than I have in weeks. Finally, I lie back and close my eyes, breathing deeply. Bliss. I’m almost asleep when I remember what Mum said about Robin and my bathroom cabinet. I open my eyes again and squint up