have to empty that, at least, for her own health’s sake.
When she looked into the fridge she found it almost bare, except for a carton of milk and a loaf. She stood with the door open for ages, staring into it, then realised what she was doing and slammed the door shut.
Only then did she see the note on the kitchen table. Paul’s writing.
Dad phoned. He’s going to be late. Got a meeting.
Me and William have gone for a pizza.
Paul
She wondered briefly where they’d got the money for a pizza, but supposed their father must have given it to them. She felt so hurt and upset by her husband’s complete betrayal of her in all her roles – as wife, as mother, as partner – that she had to fold her arms round herself to hold the pain in.
In the end she went out again, buying herself some fruit, salad and cheese, plus a huge roll of rubbish bin linersto pack her things in for the move. When she got back, she cleared a corner of the kitchen table and made a salad sandwich, then washed the rest of the lettuce and tomatoes and bundled them in plastic bags, taking her food up to the spare bedroom. If she turned off the radiator in there, they’d last the weekend. She wasn’t very hungry anyway.
Then she went into the master bedroom, which already felt like Sam’s territory, not hers, and began her preparations by going through her clothes in the walk-in wardrobe. She hung the ones she wanted to take at one side and moved her underwear out of the lower drawers into the spare bedroom.
After that, since the others still hadn’t come home, she walked round the house, looking at the smaller pieces of furniture, deciding what to take with her. The laptop, of course. Just let Sam complain about that! The second television from the conservatory, which the boys used as their den and where she was no longer welcome. How had that happened when she’d been the one who’d wanted a conservatory from which to enjoy the garden she tended so lovingly?
By the time the boys got home she’d finished her lists and was making herself another cup of tea.
They took one look at the mess in the kitchen, exchanged glances and edged towards the door.
‘Just a minute, you two. I want to know who broke my ornament.’
More glances, then Paul said, ‘Dad did it. He’s been behaving a bit weirdly, actually, ever since …’ He hesitated.
‘Since
you
opted out of doing your job,’ William finished for him.
‘I’ve opted out of being the only one to do any housework,’ she corrected. ‘I’m quite prepared to do my share of it.’
‘Well, don’t look at me. I’m definitely not domesticated.’ He pushed past his brother and clumped up the stairs.
Paul hesitated. ‘Mum – can’t we … sort this out?’
‘You mean go back to how it was, with me doing more and more of the housework and you three doing less and less? No. Definitely not. If you mean everyone taking a share, then I’m very open to that.’
He shifted uncomfortably. ‘I can’t get the others to talk about it. I’m not doing William’s share, though. Mum … did you know he’s in serious trouble at school, been suspended?’
‘
What?
’
‘They called Dad in yesterday to see the school principal and counsellor. Dad said not to bother you about it and he’d sort it, but I think you ought to know.’
‘What’s William been doing?’
‘Bullying.’
She felt sick to think of a son of hers behaving like that. ‘Does he bully you, too?’
‘He tries to. I usually manage to keep him away. Mum … can’t
you
talk to him?’
‘He doesn’t listen to me any more. Now I come to think of it, he’s been trying to bully me as well. I thought he was going to hit me the other day.’
Paul gasped and looked at her in dismay. Then he shook his head helplessly and slouched off. He didn’t offer to help clear up the kitchen, though. He might be talking to her, but he wasn’t prepared to make thatgesture – and he was probably right in one sense. It
When she looked into the fridge she found it almost bare, except for a carton of milk and a loaf. She stood with the door open for ages, staring into it, then realised what she was doing and slammed the door shut.
Only then did she see the note on the kitchen table. Paul’s writing.
Dad phoned. He’s going to be late. Got a meeting.
Me and William have gone for a pizza.
Paul
She wondered briefly where they’d got the money for a pizza, but supposed their father must have given it to them. She felt so hurt and upset by her husband’s complete betrayal of her in all her roles – as wife, as mother, as partner – that she had to fold her arms round herself to hold the pain in.
In the end she went out again, buying herself some fruit, salad and cheese, plus a huge roll of rubbish bin linersto pack her things in for the move. When she got back, she cleared a corner of the kitchen table and made a salad sandwich, then washed the rest of the lettuce and tomatoes and bundled them in plastic bags, taking her food up to the spare bedroom. If she turned off the radiator in there, they’d last the weekend. She wasn’t very hungry anyway.
Then she went into the master bedroom, which already felt like Sam’s territory, not hers, and began her preparations by going through her clothes in the walk-in wardrobe. She hung the ones she wanted to take at one side and moved her underwear out of the lower drawers into the spare bedroom.
After that, since the others still hadn’t come home, she walked round the house, looking at the smaller pieces of furniture, deciding what to take with her. The laptop, of course. Just let Sam complain about that! The second television from the conservatory, which the boys used as their den and where she was no longer welcome. How had that happened when she’d been the one who’d wanted a conservatory from which to enjoy the garden she tended so lovingly?
By the time the boys got home she’d finished her lists and was making herself another cup of tea.
They took one look at the mess in the kitchen, exchanged glances and edged towards the door.
‘Just a minute, you two. I want to know who broke my ornament.’
More glances, then Paul said, ‘Dad did it. He’s been behaving a bit weirdly, actually, ever since …’ He hesitated.
‘Since
you
opted out of doing your job,’ William finished for him.
‘I’ve opted out of being the only one to do any housework,’ she corrected. ‘I’m quite prepared to do my share of it.’
‘Well, don’t look at me. I’m definitely not domesticated.’ He pushed past his brother and clumped up the stairs.
Paul hesitated. ‘Mum – can’t we … sort this out?’
‘You mean go back to how it was, with me doing more and more of the housework and you three doing less and less? No. Definitely not. If you mean everyone taking a share, then I’m very open to that.’
He shifted uncomfortably. ‘I can’t get the others to talk about it. I’m not doing William’s share, though. Mum … did you know he’s in serious trouble at school, been suspended?’
‘
What?
’
‘They called Dad in yesterday to see the school principal and counsellor. Dad said not to bother you about it and he’d sort it, but I think you ought to know.’
‘What’s William been doing?’
‘Bullying.’
She felt sick to think of a son of hers behaving like that. ‘Does he bully you, too?’
‘He tries to. I usually manage to keep him away. Mum … can’t
you
talk to him?’
‘He doesn’t listen to me any more. Now I come to think of it, he’s been trying to bully me as well. I thought he was going to hit me the other day.’
Paul gasped and looked at her in dismay. Then he shook his head helplessly and slouched off. He didn’t offer to help clear up the kitchen, though. He might be talking to her, but he wasn’t prepared to make thatgesture – and he was probably right in one sense. It
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