Revenge of the Middle-Aged Woman

Early on Sunday morning, I fumbled into consciousness. I had been woken by the sound of footsteps in the hall and someone mounted the stairs.

It was Nathan coming up with the breakfast. As he always did on Sundays. ‘This is our time,’ he said, when the children were big enough to make their own breakfast and then so big that breakfast had become a vague memory. ‘fust you and me.’ Sometimes, he did not wait for me to finish but took away the tray. ‘Our time.’ Lately, conscious of my early-morning face, I had retreated under the sheets and he had found me there.

The air in the bedroom felt sour and despairing, and I no less so. I lay without moving, without curiosity, even, fear absent. If it was the mad axeman about whom Poppy had had nightmares my death at his hands would be easy. No more than a gentle sigh of acceptance and a plea to do it quickly.

‘Mum?’ Sam peered round the door.

Briefly happiness streaked through me and I struggled upright. ‘Sam… you’ve come.’

‘Of course.’ He advanced into the room, bent over and kissed me. ‘I couldn’t let you be on your own. Dad phoned me last night and told me of his extraordinary decision. I couldn’t think what else to do. Except something stupid, like bringing you flowers.’ He looked down at me bleakly. ‘I had no idea.’

‘Join the club.’

He reached over and took one of my hands. I clung to him. ‘You must have got up at the crack of dawn to get here,’ I said.

Sam would have set the alarm in his bachelor bedroom in his elegant town flat, slid out from beside the sleeping Alice, dressed so quietly that she did not stir. Perhaps he had not even told her where he was going. Perhaps Alice had not been there.

Sam was never at his best with high emotion, and he patted my leg awkwardly. ‘You look awful. When did you last eat?’

‘I don’t know. It must have been yesterday, but I attacked Dad’s whisky… OK,’ I admitted, ‘not good, but it won’t become a habit. And I felt entitled to a glass too many.’

He sighed. ‘I’d better get you breakfast.’ Parsley head-butted her way into the bedroom. Sam picked her up and placed her in my arms. ‘Here, take your dysfunctional cat.’ He moved round the room, pulling back the curtains and piling my clothes on to the chair – uncharacteristically I had scattered them on the floor. Damn them, I had thought, fighting with my jeans and sweater, which I had seemed unable to remove last night. Maybe clothes have a point of view too – maybe they’re protesting at my fate.

It was not a good idea to think too much about the previous evening, and I buried my face in Parsley’s warm fur and battled with a heaving stomach. ‘Sam, don’t make me any coffee.’

‘You drink far too much of it anyway.’ He went out and closed the door.

Parsley rebelled at the straitjacket, and I released her. Her green eyes questioned my trustworthiness before she settled down beside me.

Sam returned, bearing tea and toast on a tray. The tea had slopped into the saucer and the toast was spread with the thinnest scraping of butter but my heart melted.

‘Eat now,’ he commanded.

The toast fragmented on my tongue. I thought briefly of other breakfasts – thick, white toast, lashings of butter and an icing of bitter marmalade – which I had shared with Nathan. Already, they seemed to have taken place way back in another life. ‘Was Dad all right when you spoke to him?’ I asked.

Sam’s brows snapped together. ‘Not too bad.’ He was trying to shield me from anything that might cause me additional misery. At the same time he did not want to hear any fierce, hot words against his father.

I shut my eyes and tried to summon the perfect loyalty to Nathan that only yesterday had been so easy, so automatic. I did not want Sam to shield Nathan. Greedily, I wanted to claim all of my children’s loyalty and affection. Circles of light slid across my vision, and my breath sounded harsh and laboured in my ears.

‘Mum,’ he said, ‘please don’t look like that.’

I pulled myself together. ‘Sam, c-could I have some more tea?’

After I had got dressed, I made my way downstairs and went into the kitchen. Sam was flicking through the Sunday Times, keeping half an eye on the bacon he was grilling. Sam liked a cooked breakfast. So did Nathan. Except on Sundays, of course. A little dizzy, I leant on the doorpost and observed Sam for a moment or two. A turn of the head, the flicker of a muscle, and he looked just like his father.

Sensing my presence, he swung round. ‘I didn’t have time to eat.’ He hooked out a chair from under the table with his foot. ‘Come and sit down.’

I sat and watched him as he demolished bacon and toast, then put down his fork. ‘I just want to say that I don’t know what Dad’s doing, but please don’t think of him too badly’

That was just like Sam. From the word go he had been such a fair, modest person, with an innate sense of natural justice. Even when Poppy had been born and displaced him so thoroughly, Sam had got on with his little life and quietly accepted that he was no longer the prime focus of attention.

‘I don’t know what to think, Sam. Or, rather, there’s too much to think about and I can’t take it in yet. For one thing, I feel shamingly foolish. Stupid, even.’

‘You really had no idea?’

I shook my head.

‘It could be that he’s woken up this morning and realized he’s made a monumental mistake.’

‘Your father told me that he wanted some freedom, and he meant before it was too late. Of course, it’s perfectly natural to have thoughts like that but -’ My voice broke. Sam frowned and I realized that, at this time in his life, Nathan’s ambitions made no sense to him and he would not understand. I bit my lip. ‘It’s going to take a bit of forgiving.’

‘That suggests you think he might come back.’ I shrugged and Sam asked earnestly, ‘Would you like me to talk to him?’

I shook my head.

Sam shoved away his plate. ‘You’ll have to deal with Minty.’

‘I’ve thought of that.’

He smiled grimly. ‘I wouldn’t like to be in her shoes.’ He got up and slid an arm round my shoulders. ‘I’m pretty sure Dad’s going to find out that he’s made a mistake.’

Sam’s championship reminded that there were important, unchanging things amid this mess to which I could cling. I had been lucky. Some families did not have that glue of memory.

‘Give me Poppy’ Nathan steadied himself on the path that led precipitously to the beach. ‘I’ll take her.’ He handed me the picnic basket and swung Poppy into his arms. She gave a little cry of excitement and flopped against him. ‘Stay still, wriggler.’ He kissed her neck, and began a careful descent.

The path was treacherous. I bent over Sam: ‘Keep close to Dad.’ Clutching his spade and bucket, Sam padded behind Nathan, placing one sandal carefully in front of the other, negotiating the loosened stones and pot-holes. I flung the rug over my shoulder like a plaid – a Jacobite soldier off to war, said Sam – and brought up the rear, with the Thermoses rattling in the picnic basket.

‘I’m in front,’ yelled Poppy.

The weather had been dry and hot, and in places the path had crumbled away. Tufts of thrift and wild marjoram pooled across the slopes on either side and, high above, the swifts called to each other. We edged down until we reached the stony lip of beach. At the last minute the path vanished, and we had to jump.

‘Go on, then.’ Nathan swung Poppy to the ground and, a sprite in yellow shorts, she raced across the stones towards the sea, which glittered in the summer sun. Sam jumped and looked back at me to make sure I had witnessed his prowess.

‘Rosie?’ Nathan turned back. I had been about to launch myself at the beach but he caught me and swung me down. In that brief moment of contact, I heard the thud of a steady heartbeat. My own raced with exertion. ‘Light as a feather,’ lied Nathan.

The heat pulsed off the rocks, too much so for comfort, and we chose to sit by one draped with cool, insulating ropes of seaweed. Nathan spread the rug and I anchored it with stones. Poppy’s skinny white limbs waved like an insect’s as I pulled off her T-shirt and shorts. She escaped me and, stark naked, hopped around trying to insert a leg into her swimsuit. I captured my giggling daughter and covered her with kisses. Over by an adjacent rock, Sam had made a base camp for his possessions and he came over to request that they were not touched. I assured him that