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

he get so heavy?) carry him in and settle him on the sofa, where he proudly shows off his bandaged leg to Eloise and starts regaling her with tales from the hospital. Through the patio doors I can see the trampoline down at the end of the garden, one leg buckled, the platform at a sharp angle, and the nausea begins to rise again. What the hell happened here? I give Eloise a hug and then go and find Robin who’s in the hall, putting her mobile phone into her backpack, ready to leave.

‘Robin, did you see what happened? With the trampoline?’ I ask, once I’ve reassured her that Finley’s suffered no lasting damage.

She shakes her head. She’s in her running gear, camouflage-pattern blue leggings today with a blue vest top and professional-looking white trainers.

‘No, I didn’t see anything,’ she says. ‘I was upstairs, vacuuming the landing. I didn’t know anything had happened until your mum came in screaming that we needed an ambulance. It was awful, so scary. I’m so glad he’s all right, poor little mite.’

I nod, not wanting to ask the question but feeling that I must.

I’m sure, positive, that she’d never do anything to harm the children, but even so, she was there this afternoon, and I have to ask, I have to …

‘Robin, you didn’t touch the trampoline, did you, while you were out there with the kids today? Or before they got home from school? It’s just that when I put the darn thing together yesterday I was so careful, and I’m sure it was fine. It was solid, you know? So I just don’t understand what went wrong, how the leg could have broken like that. It doesn’t make sense to me. So did you …?’

She’s looking at me wide-eyed, a shocked expression on her face.

‘What? What do you mean? Beth, are you suggesting …? I mean, why on earth would I …?’

She sounds confused, hurt and confused, but I’m on a roll now and I can’t seem to stop myself.

‘And while we’re here, Robin, did you touch the central heating controls on Friday, by any chance? Because something went wrong with that too over the weekend and it always seems to be when you’re in the house, Robin, that things go wrong …’

Her mouth has dropped open, her eyes fixed on mine.

‘Are you serious? What are you accusing me of, Beth?’

I can see her eyes filling with tears. I should stop now, I know I should. I should apologise because of course Robin isn’t behind any of this, is she? I can see it in her face. And yet …

‘Well, it’s all just a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?’ I say, and I can hear the bitchiness, the petulance, in my voice, as if I’m listening to someone else speaking, and I am helpless to stop it.

‘And I don’t know why you’d do any of this, no idea at all in fact, but you must see why I have to ask …’

She’s backing away from me now, shaking her head, her breath coming in shuddery little gasps.

‘Beth, I can’t … I just can’t … I have to go, I’m sorry …’

There are tears rolling down her cheeks and she wipes them away fiercely with the backs of her hands, then bends down to pick up her backpack from where she’d dropped it on the floor when we started talking. She marches to the front door, flinging it open and slamming it behind her so loudly that I jump. For a long moment I stand there in the silence, staring at the closed door. And then:

‘Oh. My. God,’ I whisper. ‘What have I done?’

It’s as if the noise of the slamming door has brought me to my senses and suddenly I’m horrified, mortified. Shame washes over me like an icy wave.

I’ve just accused Robin of trying to hurt my children. What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?

Slowly, I sink to my knees on the cold tiled floor of the hallway and bury my face in my hands.

I’ve lost her now too, haven’t I? Just like I’ve lost Barbara and Brenda. This should be such a happy time and instead I’m screwing everything up, ruining it all. If I go on like this I might lose Mum too all over again, and I can’t, I can’t bear that …

I jump again as I hear a door opening upstairs on the landing and footsteps heading for the stairs. I know that Mum is coming down and I don’t want her to see me like this so somehow I drag myself up and into the kitchen. I rip off a piece of paper towel from the roll by the sink, wipe my face and pull myself together. Somehow I get through the evening by painting on a smile. I call Jacob to tell him what’s happened but tell him not to panic, because Finley is fine. I call Ruth to let her know everything’s OK too and that I’ll be back at work in the morning. But as I mechanically go through the evening routine – putting my broken little boy to bed, brushing the tangles from my daughter’s hair, throwing together a quick carbonara for me and Mum, opening some wine, and making inconsequential chit-chat – there’s a sick, hollow feeling in my stomach and no amount of positive self-talk is helping.

Normal. Act normal. Everything is fine. I’ll apologise to Robin tomorrow, ask her to stay, beg her if I have to. It will all be OK. It has to be OK.

At ten Mum hugs me and tells me she’s shattered and going to bed. I pour another glass of wine, turn the lights off, and sit there alone in the dark, the room growing cold around me. At some point my eyes close and I wake with a start sometime after eleven. A noise outside the patio doors rouses me from what is this time a dreamless sleep. As I sit there,