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‘But that’s good, isn’t it?’
She nodded, but the expression on her face told a different story. ‘I won’t have any time for my flute,’ she said, circling her fingertip sadly round and round on the table. ‘That’s what I hate him for most of all. More than losing the house, the holidays I’ll never get to go on now, the clothes I’ll never wear. I played for my health. For us, actually. I gave up work to focus on my health and all the while he pretended to care while pissing our life savings away with his fucking filthy habit.’
She was so well-spoken that she sounded even posher when she swore, if that makes sense.
I smiled at her, trying to show sympathy while finding it hard to see a tragedy of the gravity she seemed to think it was. ‘Oh, Ingrid, I am sorry.’
‘Why would you be sorry?’ she almost snapped before rearranging her features into the slightly pathetic expression she usually wore: head a little to one side, shoulder raised an inch. ‘It’s not your fault, is it?’
‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘No, I’m sorry.’ She shaded her face with her hand. ‘I’m still a little raw with it all.’
‘Of course you are, love. You’ve had a lot to cope with.’
There was a short silence.
‘Do you have kids?’ I asked, to try and change the subject.
‘Absolutely not!’ She shook her head. ‘All those shitty nappies, the mushed-up food and brain-dead baby talk. Enough to drive anyone mad.’ She shuddered. I waited for her mouth to drop open when she realised she’d put her foot in it, for the apology, but it didn’t come.
‘They do grow up, you know,’ I said. ‘And I know their conversation’s a bit limited in the early days, but it does develop. Especially if you stick with the brain-dead baby talk.’ I’ll admit, I put it in silent air quotes, if you know what I mean. ‘And if you read to them and that. Me and Kieron used to talk about books all the time. We’d get a stack each from the library and we’d read our own and each other’s and then we’d talk about them. I had better conversations with him than I do with my husband. I miss him now he’s away.’
It was good to see her crack a smile for once. I wasn’t smiling but she had no idea why I wouldn’t. You think Mark’s all sweetness and light, love, I wanted to add. But he isn’t. Neither of us are.
The following night, Ingrid stayed for dinner. She’d only called round to tell us her car had broken down and did we know a mechanic, but of course Mark went and had a tinker and soon got it going – probably by trying the key in the ignition, if you know what I mean – and by that time I’d made us a cup of tea so then Mark had to have one, and she was still making a big fuss of him for nothing much when the timer went off for the hotpot. It smelled so good and she’d just told me she’d been feeding next door’s cats and watering their plants while they were away, which I thought was kind of her and it also explained my sighting of her over the fence the other evening or morning or whenever it was.
‘Why don’t you stay for tea?’ I said. ‘It’s only hotpot but at least it’s hot. And in a pot.’
‘Oh no, don’t be silly.’ She waved her hand, put on a show of not wanting, not being desperate, actually, to eat with other people instead of on her own for a change, even if it was only us.
‘There’s plenty,’ I insisted. ‘I’ve done too much as usual. Can’t seem to get into the habit of making less with our Kieron off at uni!’ I chuckled, to show her it was no big deal, and busied myself putting the broccoli and spring cabbage on to boil.
‘Well, if you’re sure…’
Mark went to wash his hands – he’d splashed his face too by the looks of it when he came back. Didn’t normally spruce himself up for dinner.
Ingrid helped him set the table while I shouted Katie down from her pit. She was only just in the kitchen door when she eyed up the table with suspicion, then glared at me. ‘Whose is that place setting?’
‘Ingrid’s going to eat with us,’ I said.
Eyes like coals, she looked at Ingrid, then at her dad. Then again at me.
‘Sit down, then, love,’ I said, a bit embarrassed at her rudeness.
Katie did as she was told, but not before asking if she could have a can of Coke. I wouldn’t usually say yes during the week, but I suppose she was claiming her bribe – I’ll stop throwing daggers Ingrid’s way if you make it worth my while sort of thing. And she did lose the hostility, to be fair, once we’d sat down together. After that sticky moment, having a guest put us all on better behaviour, I have to say; even if Katie didn’t address Ingrid directly, she was halfway to cheerful.
‘Me and Thea took such cool photos today.’ She passed her phone round to show us her horror-movie shoot: her and Thea in scary make-up and fright wigs, looking like they were having a great time.
‘These are incredible,’ cooed Ingrid. ‘You’re so imaginative.’
‘Thea’s dad let us use his garage,’ Katie said, really only to her dad, smiling more than I’d seen her smile in months. ‘It was so cool. It had these rusty paint tins and massive spider webs, actual real ones.’
‘Thought kids were only interested in the World Wide Web,’ Mark said, and Ingrid laughed so much I thought she was going to have an embolism. In a rare moment of solidarity, Katie rolled her eyes at me. Ingrid didn’t see, thank God, and Mark made another joke, which she also wet herself at, though I’ve forgotten now what he said. He was on witty form rather than strictly speaking hilarious, but he was better company than he had been in ages, and I almost felt as if we were a family who knew how to eat together, how to talk and laugh with one another. How to be.
On the Friday, I had the day off. This must have been mid-July. On my days off I generally catch up on housework. I know. It’s like something out ofHello!magazine.Here’s Rachel, pegging out the clothes on her bijou lawn to the rear of her sumptuous semi-detached abode. Jogging pants by Primark, slouch T-shirt by vintage M&S menswear, plastic laundry basket by Argos.
I was hanging out Katie’s bed sheets first thing when I saw Ingrid sitting in next door’s garden having a fag, in shorts, a camisole top and a thin cream-coloured bomber jacket. At first I thought it was weird, her sitting there like an out-of-work rock star, then I remembered she was feeding their cats.
