I was still drying my hands on the tea towel as I opened the door to Richard Pringle. I didn’t do a good job of hiding my surprise, nor my delight that he was holding a bottle of red wine. The kids were scattered in various corners of the house. Perhaps a little social visit could distract me from my misery?
I led Richard to the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine. He fingered the stem of his glass, glancing down the hall to check that the children were out of earshot.
‘We’d normally call parents into the school to talk about this, but I thought under the circumstances, it would be more relaxed for me to see you at home.’
‘Oh god. What’s happened?’
‘It’s nothing’ – he held up a hand – ‘it’s nothing to panic about. But Betsy is… Well, she’s grieving, and I’m concerned that she’s lashing out. While this is quite normal after such a trauma, we can’t let incidents of violence go unpunished.’
I pictured the eight-year-old who couldn’t resist a snuggle and had started sucking her thumb again.
‘What incidents?’
‘She’s had a number of scrapes, since she came back. This afternoon, she slapped a boy’s thigh so hard that she left a handprint. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Betsy is now on her final warning before a suspension.’
My heart sank. There was me thinking I was making progress with the kids. Richard read my thoughts.
‘It must be so hard - I can only imagine what you’re all going through. And whatever you need, I’m here to support you. We’re all feeling your loss.’
I winced, aching for my sister. ‘You and Amy were close, right? You spent a lot of time with her?’
He nodded sadly. ‘We were good friends. I miss her a lot.’
‘And Mike?’
Richard looked unsure. ‘Not so much. It’s Amy that I’m closest to. Was closest to…’
‘Was everything OK between them?’
He frowned. ‘You’re asking me if everything was OK between your sister and her husband? Like, if they had relationship problems, or money worries or something?’
So he did know something. I leaned in. ‘Tell me everything.’
‘It’s nothing like that…’ He waved his hands in denial. ‘I don’t know anything. I just always got the impression…’ He hesitated, his voice softening. ‘This is bad, but…’
I stiffened, willing him to continue. The clock ticked loudly on the wall.
‘I always felt like Amy could have done better than Mike.’
‘What do you mean—’
The phone rang behind me, making me jump. ‘Hold that thought,’ I said to Richard as I stood to answer it.
‘Izzy?’ Mike sounded far away.
‘Mike, hi.’ I watched as Richard stiffened at the mention of Mike’s name. ‘Where are you? When are you coming home?’
Richard stood, moving his chair carefully so as to not make any sound. I gestured to him to sit back down.
‘Sorry, but I’ve been held up for a couple more days. I’ll be home on Sunday evening. Can I speak to the kids?’
Richard was shrugging on his coat.
‘What? But you said… Actually, now’s not a great time. Could you call back in five minutes?’
Stay, I mouthed to Richard. But he waved his hand, tapping his watch and miming that he had to go. Shaking his head as he inched towards the hallway. I’d missed my chance and knew that I might not get another.
I sighed. ‘Never mind. Let me get them for you.’
What had Richard been about to tell me?
It rained all of Saturday and each of my attempts to entertain the kids fell flat. Lucas moped, not wanting to do anything, but Betsy was angry, even lashing out at me a couple of times. Hannah stayed glued to her phone.
Lucas sidled up to me at the stove. ‘What’s for dinner?’
I took a deep breath and forced myself to smile. ‘I’m making lasagne.’
We had invited Mum and Auntie Sue over, and lasagne had seemed to me like a simple way of feeding six of us.
‘Will you put broccoli in it?’
‘No, of course I won’t – don’t worry, silly.’ I ruffled his blond hair.
‘Mummy always puts broccoli in lasagne,’ he said in a small voice.
I was about to answer back when a memory started to form. It was so long ago that I had almost forgotten, but suddenly I could see me and Amy, in the days not long after Mum left, sitting in the kitchen eating dinner. Amy had made jacket potatoes… but with a secret ingredient. She had beamed as she told me what she’d added. What was it?
‘Marmite!’ I yelled, as the memory hit me like sunlight bursting through clouds, making Lucas jump. ‘That’s how she did jacket potatoes!’
It was one of the ‘Amy Specialities’ that she’d invented after Mum left and before Auntie Sue swooped in. I had completely forgotten her fondness for putting a twist on recipes, like adding broccoli to lasagne.
Suddenly I could picture her, aged thirteen, proudly presenting a shepherd’s pie made with banana mixed into the mashed potato. I had asked her what had inspired it. She’d replied that we had bananas left over that she didn’t want to waste and there were no grown-ups to stop us. I heard Amy speaking to me from across the years and I traced her words in my mind.
‘Who says you can’t put bananas in shepherd’s pie…’ I mumbled.
‘Exactly!’ Lucas clapped his hands. ‘That’s exactly what Mum says!’
Perhaps I’d assumed she had outgrown her penchant for experimental cooking. At some point she must surely have decided it was safer to stick to the recipe books? But judging by Lucas’s enthusiasm, it was a tradition Amy had not only continued but had passed on to her kids.
There were so many things we’d had to learn that year. With no parents and no money, we had been forced to take a crash course in adulting. It had been in the days before you could
