Although, if the truth be known, sleeping alone, even if it is on a second-hand couch, where no matter how she lies a spring sticks into her ribcage, is preferable to lying beside her husband right now. The admission saddens her, but these past few months it’s felt like every night has been a war zone which she’s had to navigate her way through, judiciously avoiding the grenades that Simon throws at her.
‘What is it you do all day exactly?’ he had tactlessly said when he came in from work the other night to find Lego on the living room floor and a pile of dirty laundry on the landing.
She used to wonder that herself, especially when she’d only had one baby to get up, change, feed and put back to sleep again. Some days, she’d not had time to shower, or even get dinner ready for when Simon got home.
But ironically, the more children they’d had, the more efficient Lauren had become with her time and Simon’s money, as she learnt to stretch both to their full capacity. She’d mastered multi-tasking, and had become a wise shopper, searching out the best deals on meat and vegetables and eking the most out of every meal.
When Simon was working, the pressure eased off a little, as Lauren didn’t need to worry so much about where the next penny was coming from. But on the occasions he was laid off, which as a labourer on a building site were often, both their purse strings and Simon’s moods, Lauren noticed, were more difficult to manage.
‘I cannot wait to see how this all plays out,’ says Simon, still grinning, although his eyes are fixed firmly on the road. ‘It’s almost a shame that he’s not here to repent his sins. I’d love to see how he’d wriggle his way out of this one.’
Lauren’s chest tightens. She’s not going to respond, but she doesn’t suppose that’s going to stop him saying what he wants to say.
‘Can you imagine your mum?’ he goes on. ‘She’s going to go fucking ballistic if this all turns out to be true.’
‘Don’t use that language in front of the children,’ says Lauren, although what she really wants to say is, Don’t you dare talk about my family as if we’re just some sideshow put on for your own amusement.
‘They’re asleep,’ snaps Simon, without checking.
A car pulls out in front of them. ‘Careful,’ calls out Lauren, dramatically slamming her hand onto the dashboard, hoping that the diversion will dispel the increasingly uneasy atmosphere. Simon honks his horn unnecessarily, but it doesn’t distract him from his train of thought.
‘Either way, I think we should all take some time out,’ he says.
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning,’ says Simon, turning to look at her for far longer than feels comfortable, ‘that we should take this opportunity to back off a bit.’
‘Back off what?’ says Lauren, her patience wearing thin.
‘From your family!’ he exclaims. ‘With all this going on, there’s really no need for us to be getting together every Sunday. We should wait for all this to calm down.’
Lauren can’t believe what she’s hearing. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Of course I’m serious. We only go through this farce every week to appease your mother, so that she can fawn over the kids and play the doting grandmother. But it seems that there’s one or two bad apples in your family and until we find out exactly how rotten they are, it’s probably best if we keep the kids out of it.’
‘This has got nothing to do with the kids,’ Lauren snaps, knowing that he’s probably only saying it to rile her and get a reaction. She wishes she were strong enough not to give him one.
‘I don’t want them in a toxic environment,’ he says.
Lauren lets out an involuntary snort of disbelief. Can he hear himself? Does he honestly believe that being with her family for Sunday lunch is more damaging to their children than the ominous black cloud that is hanging over their parents’ marriage?
‘You’re being ridiculous,’ she says, as forthrightly as she dares. ‘The children enjoy seeing everyone and it’s important to give them a sense of family.’ She refrains from adding that between his own alcoholic father and his mother’s penchant for corresponding with prisoners, her family is, by far, the least dysfunctional, even in light of Jess’s appearance.
He grunts derisorily. ‘Who are you trying to kid? You can cut the atmosphere between you and Kate with a knife. You honestly think that gives the kids a true semblance of family?’
‘But—’ she starts defensively.
‘I don’t know why you bother,’ Simon says over her. ‘There’s not exactly much love lost between you two, is there?’
As much as it hurts to hear the words out loud, maybe he’s right. Why do she and Kate keep up the pretence that they get on? That they have things in common?
‘She’s my sister,’ says Lauren.
‘Well, now you have another one,’ says Simon snidely. ‘Maybe you’ll get along a bit better with her.’
Lauren’s stomach turns over as she thinks back to the events of the past hour. When Jess had walked into the dining room of her parents’ house, she’d known instantly who she was. She’d been rooted to the spot as she looked into eyes that were so like her own. She’d felt the air being sucked out of her as she watched the way Jess, startled like a rabbit in headlights, had overused her hands to combat her nervousness; a mannerism so like her own.
She’d wanted to go to her, to tell her the truth; instead of sending her on a wild goose chase, looking for a man who doesn’t exist, but Kate had stepped in. As Kate always does, looking to take control.
For the first time, it occurs to Lauren how Jess’s appearance will have affected her mother. She’d seemed shocked, as if it was so far removed from reality that it couldn’t possibly be true, but surely she can’t
