‘Get the worst up and I’ll take care of the rest when you’ve all gone to bed.’
She crossed the kitchen to join her sister at the table, pushing aside a pile of half-term homework to put their coffee down.
‘I don’t know how you cope,’ Bea told her with a shake of her head. ‘Just watching all this is exhausting.’
‘What, the kids?’ Fran grinned. ‘The secret is to stop caring about the things that aren’t really important. Are my surfaces always fingerprint-free? No. Is there an empty milk carton back in the fridge? Probably. Did we have fish finger sandwiches for tea twice this week? Absolutely. But the kids had clean clothes on every day and they were fed and watered. I’ve learned not to worry too much about the stuff in between. I’ll have a perfect home when they’ve moved out.’ She snorted. ‘If they move out.’
‘I reckon Eleanor could learn something from you.’ Bea had always envied Fran’s simple approach to life. Her sister had never worried about whether her clothes were bang on trend, or cared about being at the top of the career ladder. All she ever wanted was to enjoy her family and be happy, and as a result it seemed as though she was. Bea didn’t necessarily want her sister’s life, but it would be nice to feel as content with the one she had.
Fran snorted. ‘Don’t say that in front of Karen, will you?’
Bea raised her eyebrows. ‘And what is that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing, just that she’s hardly my biggest fan, is she? I mean, she’s always seen herself as more of a sister to you than I am.’
‘That’s not true!’ Bea’s response was a little too fast. ‘Karen loves you, she’s just a bit intense sometimes. It’s probably the psychiatrist thing.’ She wondered if her words sounded as forced to Fran as they did to her. If Fran noticed, she didn’t pass comment.
‘Yeah, well I guess she’s got issues of her own.’
‘What issues?’ asked Bea, surprised.
There was a huge crash from the living room, followed by two voices shouting, ‘Mum!’ in unison.
‘Oh shit. Look, wait there, I’d better go and see what’s going on.’
Fran disappeared, leaving Bea staring into her coffee cup and wondering what kind of issues her sister thought Karen was dealing with. After a minute, her sister returned and began rummaging around in the cupboard under the sink.
‘Sorry, Bea, they’ve made a right mess in there, knocked over the bloody side table. I’m going to be scrubbing milk out of the sofa all night or it’ll stink like a drain.’
‘No problem.’ Bea swilled down the dregs of her drink and put her mug in the sink. ‘I’ll bail out. I’d rather watch my nails dry than watch you clean.’
‘You’re too kind.’ Fran screwed up her nose.
‘What are sisters for?’
12
Karen
Michael had arrived home that evening brandishing a bunch of flowers like a fencing sword. They’d chatted about work, and Karen had filled him in on as much as she could about her caseload without breaking her monk-like vow of silence. Three times she’d almost told him about seeing Adam with the mystery woman and three times she’d thought better of it. He’d looked exhausted; his complexion was sallow and he downed the glass of wine she had poured for his meal before she’d even dished up. The last people he’d want to talk about were her friends and their marriage problems.
‘Tough weekend?’ she asked, snaking her fingers over his shoulders, kneading out the knots in his muscles through his shirt. He nodded but said nothing, just leaned his head back so his forehead nearly touched her chin. She bent forward and kissed it gently.
Michael turned to her and buried his face in her stomach. She kissed the top of his head, then knelt down so they were face to face and kissed him harder on the lips. This was how it was between them: they let passion wash away the pain rather than talking through it. She would have laughed had it not been so pitiful – a psychiatrist who couldn’t get her own boyfriend to talk about his problems. She recognised the irony, but to push him would be to push him away, and she’d missed him too much to risk an argument tonight.
They took their troubles to the bedroom and cast them away along with their clothes. The sex was rougher, more urgent than usual. It must have been a bad weekend.