In My Sister's Shoes (12 page)

I managed to tackle Jack to the floor and, holding him under one arm, went after Bobby, who had run in a full circle and ended up slipping on the spilt Ribena. Thankfully he was unhurt and thought that rolling around in the purple mess was great fun. Jack wriggled out of my arm and joined in. As my temperature rose a hundred degrees, I grabbed Jack and flung him into the trolley. ‘You are a very bold boy. Now, stay there or, I promise you, I will smack you very hard.’

‘Mean Kate. Mummy says no smacking,’ said Jack.

I grabbed Bobby, and as I tried to put him into the trolley, he kicked me. ‘I hate you,’ he said.

‘Well, I hate you too,’ I bellowed.

‘Kate? Is that you?’ an all-too-familiar voice asked.

Oh, God, come on, give me a break. Not now, not shouting at my nephews, not looking like a dog, covered with Ribena. Please don’t do this to me. I’m a good person – how can you be so cruel?

I decided to keep walking and ignore it. Maybe if I pretended I wasn’t me, he’d think he’d made a mistake. A hand reached out to take my arm.

‘Kate, my God, it
is
you! Hi – how are you?’ asked Sam, trying and failing to hide his shock.

I looked like hell and I knew it. I turned about ten shades of red. ‘Hi, yep, it’s me. Underneath all this gunk. How’s it going?’ I said, glancing up, and immediately regretting it. His eyes were just as green and heart-stopping as I remembered. God, he was gorgeous. Sure, he’d aged a bit, but the wrinkles round his eyes were attractive. I cursed myself for not making an effort this morning. A month ago I wouldn’t have been seen dead without makeup and nice clothes. Now I looked like a homeless person.

‘Good, thanks. I met Tara a few weeks ago and she told me you were home. I’m so sorry to hear about Fiona. How’s she feeling?’

‘Well, she had her first chemo session today so it’s hard for her,’ I said, trying to pull my matted fringe down over my face.

‘Are you home for a while?’

‘Yep. I’m looking after the boys and helping out. I dunno how long I’ll be here, probably about six months.’

‘What about your job?’

‘Oh, that. Well, I’ve been replaced so I’ll have to find something else,’ I said, trying not to sound as devastated as I felt.

‘I’m sorry, I know how much that job meant to you.’

‘Well, Fiona’s more important,’ I said, glad I had finally proven I wasn’t a heartless bitch who abandoned everything for her career.

‘Of course. I’m sure she’s glad to have you around.’

I nodded. I was afraid I was going to cry. It was all too much – Fiona, the kids, my job, Sam and – to be shallow and honest – the fact that I looked like shit.

‘Can I call you while you’re home?’ he asked.

‘Pity call, because I’ve no job, am back living with my dad, and my sister has cancer?’

‘No,’ said Sam, smiling. ‘Friend call. If it makes you feel any better my wife left me for her boss so I’m a sad case too.’

‘Bitch.’

‘Thanks for the support.’

‘I always thought she was a loser,’ I said, smirking.

‘You should have given me a heads up.’

‘We weren’t exactly pen-pals at the time.’

‘How’s your love life?’ he asked.

‘Oh, they’re queuing round the block. I’m a real catch. Thirty, jobless, homeless, penniless and looking like a freak.’

‘I dunno, there’s a
9½ Weeks
element to being covered with liquid.’

‘It’s Ribena, not hot chocolate, and there are children present. You need to get out more,’ I said, laughing.

‘So, how about one loser calls another?’

‘I guess that’d be OK,’ I said, trying to give him a flirty look via my Ribena-stained face.

‘Great. It’s a non-pity non-date.’

‘Sounds too good to be true,’ I said.

‘OK, I’ll see you soon. ’Bye, guys, be good for your auntie Kate,’ he said to the twins, then ruffled their hair and walked away.

I watched him go, admiring his bum. He’d always had a great backside.

‘Hey, Kate,’ he said, turning around and catching me.

‘What?’ I said, blushing at being caught out ogling.

‘It was good to see you,’ he said, and winked.

I turned round to hide the grin that was threatening to swallow my face and to balance my shaking legs against the trolley.

‘Auntie Kate,’ said a little voice.

‘Yes?’

‘Do you really hate me?’

‘Oh, Bobby, of course not,’ I said, kissing his sticky cheek. ‘I’m so sorry, I deserve a slap for saying something so mean. Here, slap my hand.’

Jack joined in, and while they were slapping me black and blue, all I could do was smile.

When we got back to the house, I could hear Fiona retching in the bathroom. I sat the boys down to do their afternoon sums and ran up to her. She was lying on the bathroom floor, looking green.

‘Are you OK?’

‘It came over me all of a sudden. I was fine until about ten minutes ago.’

‘Have you taken your anti-nausea tablets?’

‘Every time I tryto swallow one it makes me gag.’

‘Here, let me help you. Maybe if you tilt your head this way,’ I said, gently leaning her back against me. She managed to swallow one without throwing up. I helped her back into bed, where she curled up in the foetal position.

‘You’re all sticky,’ she said, noticing my hair and clothes.

‘Ribena accident.’

She smiled. ‘Welcome to my world. And you used to wonder why I didn’t make more of an effort to dress well.’

I nodded. ‘I apologize. I had no idea of the mess kids cause. I’m constantly covered with mush or spilt drinks.’

‘I’ll be down in a minute to help with dinner.’

‘Fiona, just put your feet up and leave dinner to me. Is there anything you think you could face eating?’

‘Not now, maybe later.’

‘I bought enough food for an army, so there’s plenty of choice.’

‘You seem very chirpy.’

I blushed.

‘What? Tell me – distract me with whatever it is.’

‘I bumped into Sam at the supermarket,’ I said, omitting to tell her that it was directly after I’d told her five-year-old child that I hated him.

‘No! What happened?’

‘He asked if he could call me.’

‘Wow! That’s great.’

‘Relax, it’s not a date. We’re going to meet up for a drink as mates.’

‘For a casual drink with a friend, you’ve got some glow,’ said Fiona, grinning.

‘You shush and go to sleep,’ I said, coming over all matron-like to hide my embarrassment.

*

Later that afternoon, Dad and Derek called over to see how Fiona was feeling. Dad strolled in, followed by Derek, who was carrying a large bunch of grapes.

‘Fiona hates grapes,’ I said.

‘No,
you
hate grapes,’ said Derek.

‘No, you dope, I like them, Fiona hates them.’

‘Bollox.’

Dad rolled his eyes, ‘Have you met my son Albert – Albert Einstein?’

‘Have you met Billy Connolly?’ drawled Derek.

‘Albert Einstein was born in Germany,’ Bobby piped up.

‘You’re right. He was,’ said Mark, arriving back early for once.

‘Ah, here’s Florence Nightingale himself,’ muttered Dad.

‘And in Einstein’s early days in Berlin, he postulated that the correct interpretation of the special theory of relativity must also furnish a theory of gravitation, and in 1916, he published his paper on the general theory of relativity,’ continued Mark.

‘And you think you pulled the short straw with me as a father,’ Dad whispered to Derek.

‘I’d rather boil my head in hot wax than have to listen to that everyday,’ muttered Derek.

‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ said Dad.

‘How is she?’ Mark asked me.

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ said Fiona, coming in with Jack hanging off her arm. She looked much better after her nap.

‘Get away out of that,’ said Dad to Jack. ‘Don’t be hanging on to your mother. Go over to your father and let him tell you some mind-numbing – sorry, I meant mind-
blowing
facts about Albert Einstein.’

I busied myself with the kettle so I wouldn’t laugh.

‘It’s great you still have hair,’ said Derek, to Fiona. ‘I thought you might be bald after today. Roxanne’s cousin had chemo and all her hair fell out – like, I mean, all of it. She had nothing
anywhere
.’

‘I think Fiona understands what you’re saying, Derek. You don’t have to spell it out,’ I said.

‘It probably will fall out over the next few sessions, so I should really get it cut short,’ said Fiona, running her hands through her lovely hair.

‘Short hair is really in now. All the chicks on MTV have short hair,’ lied Derek.

‘You’ve got great cheekbones so it’ll suit you,’ I added.

‘Sure she’d be gorgeous bald an’ all,’ said Dad.

‘Hey, I forgot to tell you. Roxanne fixed my tattoo and she didn’t charge me,’ said Derek.

‘Sure aren’t you paying her with sex on demand?’ said Dad.

‘Dad, the twins,’ said Fiona, frowning.

‘Sorry, boys,’ said Dad, with a grin.

‘So, like, do you want to see it or what?’ asked Derek.

Fiona and I nodded.

‘Now, lads,’ said Dad, to the twins, ‘your uncle Derek is going to demonstrate what a Latin scholar his lovely girl-friend is. Watch carefully.’

Derek turned round and pulled down his trousers. Roxanne had created ‘Carpe Derek’ out of ‘Carpe Deim’. You could see the I and the M underneath the R and the E.

‘Well, son, you’ve really outdone yourself this time,’ said Dad. ‘I’m speechless.’

‘Cool, huh?’ said Derek. ‘So, like, it now says, “Seize the Derek.” Awesome!’

16

Sam didn’t call the next day or the day after or even the day after that. I kept getting the twins to call my mobile from the landline to see if it was working – it was. Eventually I met up with Tara for a moan.

‘It’s not like it was a date or anything, but he said he’d call so why hasn’t he?’

‘It’s only been five days. I’m sure he will,’ she said, trying to reassure me in her best-friend way.

‘But why would he wait? It’s not as if he needs to play it cool. We’re just meeting up as friends.’

‘So you keep saying,’ she said, smiling. ‘Look, maybe he’s tied up with work. Maybe he had to go away on an assignment to cover some big sports event.’

‘I bet you he said he’d ring because I looked so awful and stressed out that he felt sorry for me and was trying to be nice.’

‘I’m sure you looked fine.’

‘Tara – I had no makeup on, I hadn’t washed my hair in four days and my jeans are so tight on me now that I look like a heifer – not to mention that I was covered with Ribena and shouting at poor Bobby. I could see he was shocked by my appearance. I really have let myself go. How is anyone with kids supposed to look good? It’s impossible! All your clothes get ruined and I’d rather have an extra half-hour in bed than wash my hair, so it’s permanently stuck to my head.’

‘How do you feel about children now?’

‘Oh, God, I’m never having any. They’re too much work. You literally have to give up your life. It’s non-stop. No wonder Fiona always looks tired. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to spend time with them and get to know them and they can be really cute – but most of the time it’s hard slog. You wash, cook, clean, collect, and then do it all over again. I can’t wait to get back to my life in London.’

‘Yeah, but Fiona loves being a mum, doesn’t she?’

I nodded. ‘Yes, she does, but she was always maternal. Not like you and me! God, I’m so dying for a night out on the town. Let’s get smashed. Come on, I need to blow off steam and it’ll distract me from obsessing about Sam not calling.’

Tara looked down at the glass of wine she had barely touched. ‘Actually, Kate, I’ve got some news. I’m pregnant.’

What? Tara pregnant? Oh, God, me and my big mouth. I knew it was ridiculous but I was totally shocked. Sure, she was happily married and the next natural step was a baby, but Tara was far too young to have kids. We were only thirty – almost thirty-one, to be precise. It was too early for her to give up her life – maybe when she was thirty-five, but not now. What about going out and having fun? What about being young and carefree? When did life get so serious and responsible and tied down?

‘Oh, wow! Was it a surprise?’

‘No,’ she said, a little defensively. ‘We’d been trying for a few months. We’re thrilled – we really want children.’

‘I’m sorry, I just can’t imagine you as a mother,’ I said, laughing.

‘Why not?’ she said, glaring at me.

‘Well, you know, you like to go out and have fun and you love your sleep and you never seemed that into kids.’

‘Well, it’s different when it’s your own. Besides, I’d never have thought you’d be able to look after twins and you’re managing.’

‘Yeah, but that’s because I hand them back every night and I know it’s only for a few months.’

‘Look, Kate, I’m thrilled about my pregnancy. I spent my twenties partying and sleeping all day, and I’m ready for the next stage in my life. I don’t care if I don’t get to go out all the time and I really don’t care if I have dribble on my clothes. Those things don’t bother me anymore. I’ve moved on. I’m dying to have kids.’

Her face was flushed. She was clearly furious with me.

‘So you’re happy never to go clubbing again or lounge in bed on Saturday morning reading, or go away for a weekend at the drop of a hat?’

‘Yes, I am. Who cares about those things anymore? Come on, we’re in our thirties. It’s time to grow up and move on with our lives. It’s a bit shallow and juvenile to sacrifice marriage and kids because you want to go out and party.’

‘I disagree. I don’t want to get old and settled. I still want to have fun. I don’t feel thirty, I feel twenty-five,’ I said, annoyed at her implication that it was childish to want to have a good time. Since when was it a crime to enjoy yourself?

‘Look, Kate, I guess I’ve moved on and you haven’t. It’s probably because you’re living the single life in London and I’m in a settled situation here. You were always more restless than me, always looking for distractions and new experiences. We’re just different. But I’d like you to be happy for me.’