Rosie giggled.
I turned the oven off and I saw how my fingers shook. The skin of the chicken breasts was blackened. It would be inedible. Still, I moved on autopilot and brought two plates out and laid the knives and forks and poured two glasses of water.
By the time Peter came down again, there was silence from Rosie’s room.
He kissed me on the cheek, but I couldn’t look at him.
‘What’s she up to now?’ I whispered through clenched teeth, trying to control the tremor in my voice. I was raw from the after effects of rage. It still coursed through my veins, pumping my body with unwanted adrenalin. The flash of Rosie’s red wrist sent a shiver of horror down my spine.
‘She’s in bed,’ Peter said, matter-of-fact.
‘Seriously? Why does she do it for you and not for me?’
‘I told her I’d buy her a cream egg.’
I swivelled round and glared at him, our first eye contact of the day. ‘You didn’t!’
‘Of course I didn’t!’ he laughed. His well-mannered bone structure and the arresting clarity of his light grey-blue eyes were like a tonic on my soul. His pale hair had recently begun to recede. I thought it rather suited him. The peak at the front was ruffled to the side. His straight brow and long straight nose were a T-shape, lending his face grace and straightforwardness.
That face of his; how I loved it.
He reached for the bottle of Chablis in the fridge and two glasses from the cupboard.
‘Want one?’ he said.
‘I shouldn’t.’
‘A few sips won’t hurt.’
‘Go on, then. Just half,’ I said, taking the glass gladly.
‘Cheers big ears,’ he said, taking two large gulps as he checked his phone.
The chilly acidic hit was instantly soothing.
‘Why are you home so late?’ It sounded like an accusation. I was still experiencing tremors of fury.
‘M25.’
I felt bad. His commute in the car to and from his office every day was three hour round trip.
‘Sorry. That tantrum was hell on earth.’
‘It sounded like she was being murdered.’
‘Look what she did!’ I proffered my arm, showing him the red scratches.
‘Maybe you should tell her she can’t go to Charlotte’s birthday party.’
‘No, no, it’s fine,’ I said. Honestly, I felt responsible for Rosie’s tantrum. I had confiscated her diary, which I knew was the one tool she used to get herself to sleep. I should have let it go. I had done it all wrong. I was the worst mother in the universe.
‘But she’s ten years old!’ Peter cried.
‘It’s normal. I’ve read about it loads online.’ I was back-tracking.
But Peter went on. ‘If I’d treated my mum like that when I was her age I would have got a clip round the ear.’
I was unable to tell him how uselessly I had managed her, how I had trapped her wrist in a laughable struggle, how I had imagined my hand whipping Rosie across her cheek to stop her screaming. It was horrifying to have had the thought, and even worse to think that I might have done it if Peter hadn’t arrived when he did.
‘It might have been a sugar high. Mum gave them two massive chocolate muffins before supper.’
Perking up, Peter said, ‘Do you think Rosie might be sugar intolerant? I read about it in the papers the other day.’
‘You think?’
It was easier to blame the sugar.
‘And she’s under a lot of pressure at school,’ I added.
Peter looked over his wine glass at me as he sipped. ‘Yes, could be that.’
Both of us wanted to believe this.
‘Or maybe it’s the baby? We only told her last week. She might have been stewing about it.’
He laughed. ‘Remember when Noah came along, her hugs were a little terrifying?’
Then Rosie’s feet padded down the stairs. Instantly, my hackles rose.
Stay calm, let it go, I thought, taking another sip of wine, relying on it.
‘Can I just say sorry?’ she sniffed. ‘I love you, Mummy.’
I kissed her head and drew her closer. Love for her returned to my heart like magic.
‘I love you so much too, you silly thing,’ I said, believing in her remorse.
She tightened her little arms around me.
My daughter was a livewire, she was unpredictable, but she was passionate and headstrong and beautiful, with her pastel-pink cheeks and straight hair down her back, as black as the night, and her huge eyes like a clear sky. The loathing and desperation I had felt only half an hour before were so far flung, so diminished, I wondered how it was possible to have felt that way at all.
Chapter Four
TOP SECRET
* * *
Dear Mummy,
* * *
Anne Frank writes Dear Kitty in her diary. I think Anne Frank pretends that Kitty is listening to her, even though she isn’t really. I can pretend that you are listening to me too even though all you do is tell me off. What would you do if you found me writing this now? It was easy to get it down from the shelf. I just stood on my stool. Like DUH!
* * *
I wish I could fix that wreath for Charlotte. It broke when I threw it. Charlotte said that if she doesn’t get a present from me tomorrow, she won’t let me come to her birthday party. And it is a BOWLING PARTY and her mum is making her HOMEMADE CHOCOLATE FUDGE CAKE!
* * *
I wonder what it would be like to have a mummy who makes chocolate fudge cakes, like Charlotte’s mummy? Granny Helen said to me that you choose your mummies and daddies. Noah believes her but I know she made it up. It is so silly. Even mummies and daddies don’t get to choose their children. WEIRD. Would you choose me?
* * *
INVISIBLE INK ALERT: I think I would definitely choose Charlotte’s mummy. She lets her play Strawberry Killer-Cakes on her phone at bedtime.
* * *
Better go. If you catch me, you will get cross with me ERRGAIN.
* * *
Love,
Rosie
* * *
P.S. I am sorry for screaming again.
P.P.S. I hate myself.
P.P.P.S. My wrist doesn’t hurt so much now.
Chapter Five
At first, I didn’t recognise her. She was backlit by the garage sensor lights. I thought I had let a stranger in through the gates. Her hair was wet and slicked back, when usually it stuck up at the top like a crew cut.
‘Oh, hello Mira.’
‘Hello Gemma, I was just dropping by because...’ she began, but she didn’t look at me, she looked past me, into the hallway behind me. ‘I wondered if Peter was here?’
‘Yes, he’s watching telly. Do you want me to get him?’
I was desperate for her to leave, wished I’d never answered the doorbell. The last thing I needed was Mira. The noise of the gates opening and the gravel under her heavy step could rouse Rosie again, and if she started up again, I would shoot myself.
‘Oh, right.’ She paused as if listening out for him. She pulled her fleece tightly around her chest. ‘It’s just he offered to lend us the lawnmower. Ours is broken.’
‘How is Barry working without a lawnmower?’
‘Oh, most of his clients have sit-on-tops,’ she replied absent-mindedly, moving from one foot to the other, taking another peek beyond me, into my house.
‘Right. I’ll just go get him.’ I checked my watch, thinking it was rude of her to drop round so late to ask about the lawnmower. I had just put two salmon steaks in the oven, and I didn’t want them to burn like the chicken had.
‘Oh, okay, yes,’ she replied, as if she wasn’t quite sure why she was there all of a sudden.