think of me, I mean more explicitly, would you like to live my life?’
Lydia was silent, thinking. Her mother prompted her further still.
‘A good example would be that when I was your age, I was sure that I would teach English. That was always my ambition. I’ve always loved books and I always thought I’d be a really good teacher. I got a first in English and I sometimes think it’s a shame that I’ve never put it to good use.’
‘Why haven’t you?’
How to answer that? What to say? Neutral, watered down, diluted, agreeable: she had to find the words that fitted the formula.
‘I don’t really know, Lyds. I guess life just got in the way.’
It would have to suffice as an explanation; it would have to suffice, for now. Kathryn again tried to steer the conversation.
‘Want I want you to do, Lydia, is to picture yourself in your forties. What does your life look like?’
Her daughter let out a deep sigh and lowered her voice in pitch and volume. Imagined or otherwise, it made the whole conversation smack of conspiracy. She looked at her mother through lowered lashes.
‘It’s hard because that is like so old, but I know I want to be in great shape. I’d like to look like Luca and Guido’s mum.’
Kathryn resisted the temptation to point out that with the same surgeon and if she didn’t touch a carb for twenty-five years, she could.
‘Plus, I guess, Mum, that I wouldn’t want my life to be quite as ordered as yours, you know, not quite so predictable. I think that I would like more variety. I know that I will always paint, but apart from that one constant, I’ll probably move around a bit, meet new people, go to different countries, have new experiences and fall in love a lot. I guess I think that unless you try everything, you might settle for the wrong thing and then you might be stuck. I don’t want to get stuck, Mum. I like the idea of not really knowing what I might be doing one year to the next. That would make it feel as if my life was an adventure and not just happening around me, if that makes any sense. I don’t think that I want to be married and having to look after people in the way that you look after us and Dad. No offence or anything, I mean, you are really good at it!’
Kathryn could only nod and swallow the internal tears that slid from her nose down the back of her throat, rendering speech impossible. In her head she was saying, ‘None taken, my darling, clever girl. You’re right, try everything! Go everywhere, never settle for anything that isn’t the best possible thing for you! Make good choices! Make the right choices! Have an adventure! Don’t get stuck…’
It was a massive relief to hear her daughter’s words. Kathryn knew that her little girl would be just fine, no matter what happened.
It was nearly bedtime, an hour that always seemed to come round much too quickly. In earlier years she would try and delay going up to bed, but this only postponed the inevitable and angered her husband more.
Kathryn trod the stairs, changed into her familiar white cotton garb and waited.
Mark bent down as he walked past the end of the bed and inhaled her scent.
‘Your hair smells of fish.’
She winced, remembering running her fingers through her hair after touching the salmon and knowing what that might mean. She was embarrassed. No matter how routine, it was still humiliating to receive negative and nasty comments.
‘That was an interesting revelation about Miss Mortensen earlier and I am surprised that you found it appropriate to raise it not only at the supper table, but also in front of the children.’
Kathryn knew that it was better to say nothing, although the temptation to point out that he frequently raised far more inappropriate topics at the dinner table and in front of the ‘children’, one of which she knew for a fact was sexually active and smoked like a chimney.
‘Tonight you will read to me. I know how much you like reading.’
He smiled briefly at his wife, who was kneeling and waiting in her regular pose.
While Mark showered, her heart lifted slightly at the prospect of reading, albeit aloud. She was unsure how she should react. If she showed any joy at the task, he would surely be angry, yet indifference could provoke the same reaction. She needn’t