She climbed the circular staircase that led to the recent attic conversion where the girls now slept in their own rooms, with a shared shower room and toilet. The square landing area that separated their bedrooms was a cosy lounging space, designed by Jonathan, with a small two-seater sofa, bean bags, a bookcase, coffee table and TV. Did her daughters have any idea of how privileged they were? Hilary wondered, remembering the bedroom with the one old-fashioned wardrobe and chest of drawers she had shared with her sister.
They had been so thrilled when Sally had bought a dainty dressing-table unit with three oval gilt-edged mirrors that could angle. That had been the height of sophistication and they had painted their room in a creamy lemon and got new gold-coloured curtains that matched the colour of the gilt on the mirror and had been delighted with their new-look room. They wouldn’t have been able to fit a bean bag, let alone a sofa or bookcase, into their little kingdom.
She saw the remains of Millie’s Chinese meal on the table, grains of rice like confetti against the dark green carpet. The cleaning up hadn’t begun yet, she thought grimly, marching into the bathroom to pull up the blind before entering Sophie’s room. Her daughter was curled under the duvet; blonde hair streaming over the pillows, her favourite battered old teddy bear poking out from under the quilt cover.
‘Sophie, get up.’ She shook her daughter none too gently.
‘Whaaa . . . uuuuhhh?’ Sophie blinked open a bleary eye and raised a tousled head from the pillow.
‘Get up and start tidying up. Look at this bedroom. It’s a disgrace. And so is that bathroom. There’s make-up marks all over the sink—’
‘Breakfast in five. Sophie, do you want a fried egg?’ Niall appeared at the bedroom door, a tea towel slung over his shoulder.
‘Yeah, Dad. Mam, will you chill—’
‘Those girls are not coming up here unless you clean up, do you hear me? Pick those clothes up off the floor and put them in your linen basket and put a wash on and make sure there are no knickers and tights pickling under the bed.’ Hilary was in no mood to be told to ‘chill’.
‘Maaam!’ hissed Sophie and suddenly Hilary was brought back to a similar scene in her own teenage years and remembered Sally using the exact same phrase. Oh God! I’ve turned into my mother, she thought, horrified. I’m a middle-aged mother of teenagers, saying middle-aged things. Her existential shock was interrupted by the arrival of her eldest daughter.
‘What’s going on?’ Millie demanded. ‘I was trying to have a lie-in. It is Saturday after all.’
‘I told you we were doing a house clean today. You get that bathroom sorted – it’s a disgrace!’ Hilary retorted.
Niall threw his eyes up to heaven, exuding irritation with the three women in his life. ‘Millie, do you want a fried egg?’
‘Yep.’ She stretched.
‘Hilary?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Right, be at the table in five minutes,’ Niall said crossly, annoyed that there was an atmosphere to ruin his Saturday morning. Hilary followed him down the stairs. ‘Let’s all lighten up a bit,’ her husband suggested as she poured herself a cup of coffee while he began to fry the eggs.
‘That’s easy for you to say, Niall,’ she grouched. ‘I’d a very long day yesterday and when I came home from doing the shopping the pair of them were sprawled on the sofa watching TV and the breakfast dishes weren’t even washed. I can’t do everything by myself. I work too. I need support.’
‘I support you,’ he said indignantly, flipping an egg and causing greasy spatters to land on the countertop and floor.
Not enough, she wanted to say but she bit back the retort. ‘Did you phone Sue?’ She wiped the countertop.
‘I left a message but she didn’t get back.’
‘She’s going to have to pull her weight, Niall.’ Hilary couldn’t hide her annoyance.
‘I hear you, I hear you,’ her husband snapped, cracking another egg onto the pan for Sophie, who liked her egg sunny side up.
‘Well sort Gran’s clinic visit between you because I have a client consult in Drogheda that morning and I won’t be available.’
‘I told you, I’ll be in Canada.’ Niall glared at her.
‘Not my problem,’ Hilary retorted. ‘And she has an appointment with her geriatrician, her heart specialist and the optician in the next few weeks. I’ve marked the dates on the kitchen calendar. You can give them to Sue.’
‘You know something, Hilary,’ Niall said coolly as he plated up the breakfast, ‘I’ve told you before there’s no need for you to work as hard as you do, and I wish you’d ease back because you’re becoming a real grouchy pain in the ass.’
‘So you want me to be a stay-at-home housewife?’ she demanded, stung by his criticism.
‘Frankly, yes.’ He stared at her.
‘You know, Niall, it was the money that I earned that built that attic conversion, and it’s the money that I earn that means we can have that extra holiday abroad and a decent car each. Don’t forget that. And I’m contributing to the account for the college fees. All I’m asking for is some cooperation and for everyone to muck in, and for your sister to take some responsibility for her own mother, like I do for my parents. Not unreasonable, I would have thought. And as for giving up work or cutting back, you cut back and job share or something and you can be a stay-at-home husband.’ She took her plate and marched over to the dining table fuming. She
