term. Then she would break the news slowly and carefully.
Chapter 5
In the car, on the way to her mother’s, the voice of the Radio 4 presenter was overwhelmed by the noise of the motorway. Not that Bea noticed what she was missing. Her mind was on her son. These days, Ben was being less communicative than she could remember him in all their sixteen years together. He had barely mustered a grunt when she’d left, refusing to tear his attention from yet another old episode of Skins . Not even ‘Have a good time’ or ‘Love to Gran’. She left him lying on the sofa, his glass on the floor under his discarded socks, a faint whiff of sweat and feet hanging in the air.
She visualised his worldly possessions scattered in his room upstairs where they’d last been used, then buried under the T-shirts, pants and socks dropped on top of them. His wardrobe door hung open, revealing a row of empty metal hangers and shelves with various knots of tangled clothing that had somehow spread their way across to his unmade bed. Whenever she nagged him to tidy his room, he put the whole lot in the laundry basket downstairs – much easier than hanging it up again. If the door was shut, she always knocked – she had done ever since he’d shouted at her to keep out of his business. She hadn’t even commented on the last poster he’d Blu-tacked to the wall – two girls going topless, one touching the other’s breast, both slightly smiling with their topaz eyes staring out from under their strawberry blonde fringes. Ben had bought it from a boy at school last year. When she’d seen it, she’d frowned but managed not to say a word.
This morning, despite all attempts to bite her tongue, she’d been less successful.
‘I’m just off to Gran’s,’ she’d said, in her cheerful let’snot-get-off-on-the-wrong-foot-this-morning voice.
‘Right.’ Eyes fixed to the screen.
‘Darling. You will tidy up, won’t you?’
No reply.
‘If you could just try to do something with your bedroom so we can at least see the floor . . .’ The hope in her voice was met with silence. ‘Well, I’ll be back late tonight, then.’
‘Yeah. Right.’ He hadn’t even glanced round.
Since Colin had left, Bea had watched Ben turn more and more in on himself. Apart from having to deal with the inevitable teenage hormonal soup, he’d had to watch the father he’d adored go off with his PA, a woman almost young enough to be Ben’s older sister. Within a year, she had given birth to twins. Colin had never explained to Bea why he had fallen out of love with her. She sometimes wondered whether he had ever been in love with her at all. But, her own feelings aside, it had been hard to answer with any truth twelve-year-old Ben’s endless questions about why Dad had gone. Apart from the obvious one, she didn’t know the answers.
Together they watched as Colin morphed from a suit-and-tired executive into a complacent new husband and on into an even more self-satisfied but exhausted new father of two. Plumper than he had been, his skin shinier and more tanned, he oozed self-satisfaction. His hair, though greyer, was cut fashionably short; his clothes were no longer mail order (too busy to shop) but designer (‘Carrie helps me choose’). The idea of the pair shopping together made Bea laugh. The Colin she knew would no more set foot in a clothes shop than he would in a supermarket. But she had to hand it to Carrie: that girl had got Colin wrapped round her little finger in a way that Bea never had.
As soon as he’d announced he was leaving her for Carrie, Bea had known it would be only a matter of time before they started a family. Carrie would want kids and the only way Colin would keep her was to give them to her. What she hadn’t bargained for was the vigour with which he threw himself into second-time fatherhood. She hadn’t bargained for how upset she’d feel either. Colin had discovered the joys of nappy-changing, of
Chapter 5
In the car, on the way to her mother’s, the voice of the Radio 4 presenter was overwhelmed by the noise of the motorway. Not that Bea noticed what she was missing. Her mind was on her son. These days, Ben was being less communicative than she could remember him in all their sixteen years together. He had barely mustered a grunt when she’d left, refusing to tear his attention from yet another old episode of Skins . Not even ‘Have a good time’ or ‘Love to Gran’. She left him lying on the sofa, his glass on the floor under his discarded socks, a faint whiff of sweat and feet hanging in the air.
She visualised his worldly possessions scattered in his room upstairs where they’d last been used, then buried under the T-shirts, pants and socks dropped on top of them. His wardrobe door hung open, revealing a row of empty metal hangers and shelves with various knots of tangled clothing that had somehow spread their way across to his unmade bed. Whenever she nagged him to tidy his room, he put the whole lot in the laundry basket downstairs – much easier than hanging it up again. If the door was shut, she always knocked – she had done ever since he’d shouted at her to keep out of his business. She hadn’t even commented on the last poster he’d Blu-tacked to the wall – two girls going topless, one touching the other’s breast, both slightly smiling with their topaz eyes staring out from under their strawberry blonde fringes. Ben had bought it from a boy at school last year. When she’d seen it, she’d frowned but managed not to say a word.
This morning, despite all attempts to bite her tongue, she’d been less successful.
‘I’m just off to Gran’s,’ she’d said, in her cheerful let’snot-get-off-on-the-wrong-foot-this-morning voice.
‘Right.’ Eyes fixed to the screen.
‘Darling. You will tidy up, won’t you?’
No reply.
‘If you could just try to do something with your bedroom so we can at least see the floor . . .’ The hope in her voice was met with silence. ‘Well, I’ll be back late tonight, then.’
‘Yeah. Right.’ He hadn’t even glanced round.
Since Colin had left, Bea had watched Ben turn more and more in on himself. Apart from having to deal with the inevitable teenage hormonal soup, he’d had to watch the father he’d adored go off with his PA, a woman almost young enough to be Ben’s older sister. Within a year, she had given birth to twins. Colin had never explained to Bea why he had fallen out of love with her. She sometimes wondered whether he had ever been in love with her at all. But, her own feelings aside, it had been hard to answer with any truth twelve-year-old Ben’s endless questions about why Dad had gone. Apart from the obvious one, she didn’t know the answers.
Together they watched as Colin morphed from a suit-and-tired executive into a complacent new husband and on into an even more self-satisfied but exhausted new father of two. Plumper than he had been, his skin shinier and more tanned, he oozed self-satisfaction. His hair, though greyer, was cut fashionably short; his clothes were no longer mail order (too busy to shop) but designer (‘Carrie helps me choose’). The idea of the pair shopping together made Bea laugh. The Colin she knew would no more set foot in a clothes shop than he would in a supermarket. But she had to hand it to Carrie: that girl had got Colin wrapped round her little finger in a way that Bea never had.
As soon as he’d announced he was leaving her for Carrie, Bea had known it would be only a matter of time before they started a family. Carrie would want kids and the only way Colin would keep her was to give them to her. What she hadn’t bargained for was the vigour with which he threw himself into second-time fatherhood. She hadn’t bargained for how upset she’d feel either. Colin had discovered the joys of nappy-changing, of
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