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

think they must be avoiding me; I haven’t laid eyes on either of them all week, not even from a distance.

‘A cupcake for you. They’re yummy,’ I said, as I crouched down to put the bag next to Nadia’s suitcase. She was bundled up in her big padded jacket as usual; she had on a different hat this time, dark green with a sparkly metallic thread running through it. Her long grey hair was tied back, an untidy ponytail protruding from under the hat and tucked into the collar of her jacket.

‘It’s salted caramel. Do you like that? Love your hat, by the way.’

She nodded and smiled.

‘Thanks. And yes, any cake is fine by me. How are you, Beth? And …’

She hesitated then coughed a dry hacking cough and I watched her anxiously.

Is she ill? I hope not …

‘I met your mother the other day. Just briefly. She said she was meeting you for lunch.’

‘Oh yes, of course! She said she’d stopped to say hello. That’s nice,’ I said.

She didn’t reply, just gave a small nod, so I kept chatting, telling her that my dad had been ill but was out of hospital now, and about how busy work had been, and about the trampoline Mum had bought for Eloise and Finley. She looked at me intently as I talked, her eyes looking greener than I remembered them being in the afternoon sunlight. I could see the sadness in them and my heart twisted.

‘How old are they? Your children?’ she asked, then raised a finger and rubbed at a little sore on her top lip. Her hand was shaking a little and for some reason I suddenly wanted to cry.

‘Eloise is ten and Finley’s seven,’ I said. ‘I split up with their dad a while back but it’s all good; we’re still friends.’

She nodded slowly and I glanced at my watch. I needed to get back.

‘I have to go but I hope you enjoy the cake. And let me know if you need any more books when you’ve finished those, won’t you?’

I gestured to the Agatha Christie – one of mine – that was open on her knee and she nodded again and smiled, showing her stained, gappy teeth.

‘I will, thanks. Bye, Beth.’

Now as I lie in my fragrant bath, I think again about how fortunate I am, despite my nightmares and silly worries of recent weeks. People come into your life for a reason – I’ve always believed that. And I’m wondering now if Nadia came into mine to help me appreciate everything I’ve got, and speculate again if there’s some way I can help her, properly help her. I just don’t know how.

Right now I need to go back downstairs and tidy up before we eat though. It feels hot in the bathroom, I realise suddenly – uncomfortably so – so I wriggle until I’m half sitting up then fish around in the bubbles for my sponge and start quickly washing my body, running it across my chest and down my arms. Then I haul myself out of the bath, dry myself briskly and slather on some body lotion before heading back into the bedroom to pull on my favourite grey sweatpants and an old blue football sweatshirt – one that Jacob left behind. It’s got the Manchester City logo on it, the team he began to support when we were at uni there and has carried on supporting ever since. I’m not remotely interested in football, but I like this top – not because it reminds me of my ex-husband but simply because it’s soft and warm and a little too big for me, which is a rare feeling these days. Most of my clothes are unpleasantly snug. As I brush my damp hair back from my face though, I realise the bedroom is far too hot too. My armpits are already starting to feel moist and I pull the sweatshirt off again and put on a short-sleeved T-shirt instead.

Why is it so warm? Please don’t tell me the heating’s packed up now. That’s all I need …

When I walk into the kitchen, Mum’s leaning against the island, fanning herself with a magazine, a half-peeled potato on a chopping board next to her.

‘Phew,’ she says. ‘It’s boiling in here. Have you turned the heating up, love?’

I shake my head, frowning.

‘No, I haven’t touched it! It’s boiling upstairs too. Oh bugger. What’s going on?’

I walk over to the patio doors and fling them open, which will help for now, but my anxiety is rising. I do a quick tour of the house, pausing in each room, feeling the radiators and pulling my hand away quickly when I realise that each one is almost too hot to touch.

What on earth? Is the boiler about to explode or something?

I check the little heating control panel on the wall in the hall but it looks fine, set as always to twenty-one degrees. But something is clearly wrong. The house is way, way hotter than that and for a moment I think I’m going to cry. I’m useless with things like this, and previously I would have gone round and knocked on Barbara or Brenda’s door, knowing we all have the same heating system and hoping that one of them would be able to shed some light on it.

I can’t do that now, of course, and I can’t even ring Jacob because he’s at the cinema. How much will a heating engineer cost? The emergency call-out charge alone, on a Saturday night, never mind the cost of repairing whatever the hell’s gone wrong …

I take a deep, shuddering breath, willing the tears away, and wipe my sweaty forehead with my forearm. First the stupid missing trampoline tool, and now this. The day started so well and now everything’s ruined again.

‘Beth? Honestly, I’m going to expire here in a minute. Have you worked out what’s going on?’

Mum’s calling from the kitchen and for the first time since our reunion I can hear a