He emerged from the bathroom and pulled open the curtains. The weight of his argument with Diana was sitting on his chest like an anvil. Maybe he needed a session with his weights to flush it out of him. Or maybe a day in bed with Netflix was what he needed. As he stretched and yawned, he thought he saw movement towards the bottom end of the garden. He leaned towards the glass. Probably Helen coming out of the pool house or Clive snuffling in the grass.

There it was again. Definitely someone at the pool house, but it wasn’t Helen.

He smiled when he realised who it was.

Interesting.

Sometimes you really didn’t know the people you lived with as well as you thought.

22

THEN

I had actually forgotten about their trip, what with Tracey staying over and everything, but Sunday brings with it the joyous news that my parents are leaving today. There is an unusual amount of activity. Suitcases being carried down, rushing around, instructions bellowed out.

I sit in the kitchen, listening to it all unfold around me. Wondering if they’ll remember to say goodbye. I don’t actually know how I feel about it. I will enjoy not having to tiptoe around, worried about whether my mother has had enough coffee today, or not enough; whether her bath was too hot and made her cranky; or if my dad’s tone on the telephone was dismissive; whether I can jump away quick enough before her rings catch my face or the back of my legs.

Martha bustles in and out, fetching this, carrying that, her cheeks ruddied, her hair ruffled. Eventually, there are shouts of, “The driver is here!” I stand in the kitchen doorway, willing them to see me, but also hoping they forget. Just one more thing to add to the list I can discuss with my therapist in future years. One more transgression to hold up and say, “See? This is why I am the way I am.”

But my mother is coming towards me, her arms outstretched. She is animated, excitement at the decadence of her trip putting colour in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eye. Unless she’s taken something to help her cope.

“Darling, do be good for Martha. I know you will. You always are.” There’s an air kiss on each cheek, a brief hug. Not too close; not too long. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Have fun, Mother. Say hi to New York for me. Bring me back a t-shirt.”

“Make sure you study when we are away. Martha will be keeping us informed of your progress,” Father says, but doesn’t come closer than the doorway.

“Straight A’s all the way, Father,” I say. Then I rush at him, throw my arms around him. “I’ll miss you, Daddy.”