Page 25 of The Wife
There’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t exactly force Hope to invite Alice. I decide instead to try to distract my daughter from her disappointment.
‘Hey, you know the Christmas decorations at the salon?’ I walk over to the cupboard and pull out a few items, bringing them over to the kitchen table.
‘You mean the reindeer and the tree?!’ Jamie cries, his eyes suddenly alight with joy.
‘Yes, and the gingerbread decorations,’ I add. Alice isn’t being drawn in by our enthusiasm yet. ‘Well, how about we make some decorations of our own? We could surprise Daddy with some gingerbread stars and Christmas tree biscuits. Look, I got some cookie cutters so we can make different Christmas shapes. And we can ice them too!’
Jamie picks through the various metal cutters, choosing his favourites. Alice grudgingly selects an angel-shape cutter, and we all get busy, our minds temporarily taken away from our anxieties. And while Alice isn’t exactly bursting with festive spirit, at least she isn’t as sad as she was earlier.
As we combine the gingerbread ingredients, sifting, mixing, beating and kneading, my mind keeps returning to Madeline and Kim. I’m not sure what to do for the best. Instead of feeling excited for the party this weekend, I’m beginning to wish I’d never suggested having it in the first place. Everything feels as though it’s coming apart. My husband is distant, my sister-in-law is avoiding me, my dad is in his own little world. And to top it all off, my sister might be back in Shaftesbury after ten years but wants nothing to do with me. The only person who seems to have my back these days is Celia. But even she isn’t taking sides. Which is probably a good thing. She’s one of those people who never bad-mouths others and always tries to see the good in them. I wish I could be more like that.
‘Okay, you two, we need to wrap the dough and put it in the fridge for fifteen minutes.’ I take a roll of cling film out of the drawer just as my phone starts ringing. Normally, I’d ignore it while I’m in the middle of doing something with the children, but it’s not showing a number on the screen so it might be the police. ‘I’m just going to take this, won’t be a minute.’
‘Okay,’ Alice replies, still absorbed in kneading the dough.
I leave the kitchen and answer the call, making my way into the living room. ‘Hello?’
As soon as I speak, the line goes dead, just a dial tone humming at me down the line. I wonder if I might have inadvertently pressed a button and cut them off. Hopefully they’ll ring back.
‘Mum!’ Alice calls from the kitchen. ‘Are you coming?’
‘In a minute!’ I decide to ring Sergeant Graham, just in case it was him with some vital information about my sister.
‘Shall we put the dough in the fridge?’
‘Wrap it in cling film first!’
I should go back in there and supervise, but instead, I put a call through to the station. The duty officer answers straight away and tells me that there’s no news yet, and that it wasn’t them who called me. I thank him and end the call.
I should probably dismiss it as a cold call, or wrong number. But a tiny part of me can’t help wondering if it might have been Dina wanting to get in touch. Maybe she heard my voice at the end of the line and chickened out. It’s frustrating, and only serves to add to my anxiety. At least I’m mildly comforted by the thought that if she called once, perhaps she’ll call again. Although I can’t help feeling nervous about what she might want, given how we left things last time. I can only hope that she’s grown up since then and changed her ways. After all, we were still teenagers when she first left Shaftesbury, our relationship awkward and immature. Even as adults, our sibling issues remain stuck in the past. Perhaps if we were able to reunite properly, face to face, things would be different. We could break the cycle. It would be amazing if we could reconnect in a good way and put the past behind us. But with a shrinking heart, I realise that’s probably wishful thinking.
Twelve
NOW
As the key turns in the lock, I experience a small beat of dread in my chest.
Toby’s home.
Normally I look forward to his return from work. But things have been hideously awkward ever since Friday. I managed to avoid talking to him too much at the weekend, concentrating instead on the children. And I pretended to have a headache for most of Sunday. But this can’t go on. I need to confront my husband about his tryst – or whatever it was – with Madeline at our house last week.
As Toby walks through the front door, Alice and Jamie shoot into the hall to welcome him, brandishing their freshly made Christmas decorations and basking in his feigned surprise that he can’t believe the children made such wonderful gingerbread biscuits; surely fairies must have delivered them to the house on unicorns. Either that, or they must have bought them at a very posh and expensive shop.
Despite my ambivalence towards Toby at the moment, we both go through the regular evening routine of supper and bath time for the kids, followed by a bedtime story and then fielding Jamie’s multiple trips downstairs for water, or not being able to sleep, and just general delaying tactics. Alice is still upset about Hope’s party, but I try to take her mind off the disappointment by getting her to read a book before falling asleep. Hopefully it’s working. I want to go up and check on her, but I’ll leave it a while longer.
Toby’s almost finished grilling the fish and boiling the potatoes, so I step in to blanch some green beans and broccoli. He tells me about his day, and I tell him about my hellish morning. To which he nods but stays silent. He doesn’t even ask any questions.
‘You don’t seem very surprised,’ I add. ‘Or concerned.’
‘Mum already told me,’ he says in a blank voice, turning off the grill. ‘Why didn’t you call me at work?’
‘I didn’t want to worry you. I’m absolutely fine so—’
‘Not the point.’ Toby moves past me, his whole body rigid. He takes a bottle of white wine from the fridge. ‘Zoe, I was shocked when Mum told me about everything that happened. I was really worried about you.’
Not worried enough to call, I think. But I hold my tongue.
‘How do you think it felt having Mum tell me all about your traumatic morning? It was so awkward and upsetting. I could tell she was surprised you hadn’t told me. I’m grateful she didn’t pry – thankfully she’s not like that – but I really want to know why you toldherand notme.’
