Skeletons (9 page)

‘I’d resign, if he did.’

Jason laughed. ‘Yeah, right.’

Even though Jen was making up her dilemma, she was a little offended at Jason’s response. Implicit in it was the fact that she had settled years ago, that she had no ambition. He was right, of course, but that wasn’t the point. At
least, she
had
always had an ambition, and that had been to create a family. She had always told herself that once Simone and Emily had both left home, she would have time to pursue her passion. If only she had a passion to pursue.

‘I might surprise you one day.’

‘Oh, Dad’s on
The One Show
tonight, by the way. Feature about national service.’

‘Oh, right,’ Jen said, unsure what else to say.

‘I’ve set it to record, in case we forget.’

‘Great.’

At eight minutes past seven, they were in front of the TV, inevitably. Plates on their laps, glasses of wine on the coffee table in front of them. Jen’s father-in-law ambled through a pre-recorded feature on post-war compulsory military
service. Some kind of significant anniversary had apparently occurred earlier in the year – fifty years since it had ended, something like that – and Charles had tracked down (that is to say, the show’s researchers had tracked down) a few old boys who had done their stint in the
1950s.

Short film over and back to the studio where the two presenters tried to feign interest. Charles was sitting on the sofa opposite them. He looked just as he always looked: thick shock of near-white hair
combed just so, his slightly too orange tan and his jaunty, brightly coloured shirt that contrasted oh so beautifully with his dark grey suit. The idea of a woman so much younger than him – so much younger than her, in fact – looking at him and thinking ‘phwoar’ was
incomprehensible, Jen thought, as she watched. Flattering him by hanging on to his every word and telling him his liver spots made him distinguished and therefore sexy. It didn’t bear thinking about. She shuddered.

‘So,’ the male half of the duo said, ‘what’s your feeling, Charles? Should we bring it back?’

Charles smiled his ‘I’m on TV’ smile. ‘Well, it certainly didn’t do me any harm.’

‘Do you think it made a real difference to society, though?’ the female presenter asked in a bored voice. The regular hosts were both on holiday, and the two stand-ins were struggling to act as though they cared about anything except
the fact they were getting prime-time exposure.

‘Oh, definitely. I think we were taught to have proper values. Young lads nowadays have no idea how to hold down a job or keep a family together, because they’ve never experienced real discipline.’

‘He’s a natural, isn’t he?’ Jason said proudly.

‘He certainly is,’ Jen said. ‘You really feel like he means it.’

‘You do.’

Jason thought she was paying his father a compliment. She wasn’t.

They watched the rest of the show in silence. Jen wanted to fill it, but she suddenly didn’t know how. It struck her that their default topic of conversation may have left home with their daughters. She had never realized before how much of
their common ground revolved around the girls’ movements. And whatever gossip there was from the rest of the family, of course, but that now felt like a topic she wanted to avoid. Surely they had had more in common than that? Years of a shared – and she had thought happy – life. She
felt suddenly light-headed, as if she was standing on the ledge of a tall building. She closed her eyes, breathed in slowly.

She tried to think if anything funny had happened at work, but the only thing that kept coming into her head was an image of Charles and Cass Richards. It clogged up her brain like duckweed, refusing to budge, blocking out all other thoughts. So
she stayed silent. She was scared of what might come out if she opened her mouth.

Every year, the whole Masterson family got together to celebrate Jessie’s birthday at the end of October. Not that her birthday was actually
at
the end of October. Nothing with Jessie could be that straightforward. It had begun when
she was nine and, incensed that she had been born on Boxing Day and so, however hard her parents had tried, the two celebrations tended to merge into one, she had announced that from now on she was going to have an official birthday two months earlier, on the twenty-sixth of October.

To all intents and purposes the rest of the family had forgotten when her actual special day had been. Except for Amelia, that was, who still liked to regale them all with the story of the time she went into labour while she was cooking Christmas
lunch. Usually when she was in the middle of preparing some other family feast, leaving them all to try to block out the image of her waters breaking all over the lovely terracotta tiled floor.

Ever since she had been old enough to demand it, Jessie had had a family party on the nearest Saturday, and everyone was expected not only to be there but to stay over too. No excuses. None of them even bothered to check it was still happening,
they just kept that weekend clear in their diaries. It was a fact of life.

Not that Jessie was a natural host. Far from it. She left all the planning for the celebration to her husband, Martin, and everything else – meals, washing up, bed-making – to the rest of the
family.

‘It’s my birthday,’ she would say, with all the maturity of someone who was turning eight, rather than thirty-eight, if anyone suggested she so much as switch the kettle on. For some reason, they all allowed her to get away with
it. Almost certainly because they couldn’t face the tears and sulks if they didn’t. This year, because her first baby was due in a couple of weeks’ time, she would undoubtedly be even more demanding and they would all respond in kind, by being increasingly indulgent.

Jen’s birthdays, growing up, had always been quite quiet affairs. At least, after Rory had left. There had once been a party with a couple of her school friends. Well, Elaine had called it a party – it had really been a slightly more
elaborate tea than usual (chicken and egg sandwiches, and on a Tuesday, positively daring). But Jen had found her mother fussing around them too humiliating, her anxiety that they all have a good time palpable. She had never wanted to repeat the experience.

Elaine would usually appear at the foot of her bed, early in the morning, wrapped gift in hand.

‘Morning, birthday girl.’

Jen, sleepy-eyed and only half awake, would open her present, which was always something she wanted, something sensible and practical. She had invariably guessed exactly what it was likely to be in the weeks before.

‘Thanks, Mum.’ She would accept her mum’s offer of a hug, and that would be it. Celebration over.

Then she would go to school, or out on her bike, and Elaine would go to work or to do the weekly shop. The first thing Jen would do when she got home would be to check if anything had arrived for her in the second post.

It never had.

She had always felt resentful that her big day would, by and large, pass without a fuss.

She felt bad whenever she remembered that now. She’d been too young to understand that her dad upping and going was just as – or maybe even more – devastating for her mother as for her. Another thing for her to feel guilty about. Add it to
the list.

Jen and Jason usually drove down to Jessie and Martin’s in Petworth on the Saturday morning – more room this year now neither Simone nor Emily would be with them, although she didn’t want to dwell on that one too much – hopefully in
time to spend a couple of hours in the pretty little town centre before the party, and then travelled back on the Sunday, after lunch, talked out and exhausted. It had always been one of Jen’s favourite weekends of the year.

Until now, that is, of course. Now she would have volunteered for a stint in Afghanistan to get out of it.

‘I hate the way she just assumes everyone else has as much time as she does,’ she heard herself moan as they set off, fraught and in bad spirits. ‘I mean, it would never occur to Jessie that, for some of us, the weekends are
precious.’

‘I thought you loved it,’ Jason said.

And Jen had to say, ‘Yes, I do, I’m just knackered.’

‘It’s a family tradition. What are you going to do?’ He shrugged.

Jen’s family didn’t really go in for traditions – unless you counted the days-of-the-week meals, or the regularity with which Elaine told Jen they were much better off without her dad. Usually crying as she said it, which didn’t
really give the point the reinforcement it needed. Jason’s, on the other hand, was dripping with them.

‘That might be true, but it’s a family tradition that she invented when she was little so that she would get more presents. It hardly counts.’

‘What’s up with you?’

‘Nothing. Why does something have to be up?’ She snapped at him, knew she was sounding petulant, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

‘It’ll be fun,’ he said, as if that was that. There was no point Jen pursuing it – it wasn’t as if Jason was about to say, ‘Well, let’s not go, then, if you’re tired. We’ll shoot off to Paris on the
Eurostar instead.’

This had always been Jason’s way of dealing with things. He refused to be drawn into an argument. Couldn’t see the point. They had had fights occasionally – of course, they had – just not very often, and never very serious. She could
have counted on one hand the times they had raised their voices at one another. Jason was reasonable and reasoned, level-tempered and level-headed. And Jen had always loved that about him, had worked hard to be the same. She had always counted it as one of her successes, the fact that they
rarely fought.
She had no idea why she was suddenly sniping at him now, of all times.

‘I know it will,’ she said, reaching over and squeezing his knee. ‘I’m just letting off steam.’

Safety in numbers, that was her plan. Don’t be alone with anyone, and don’t even think about the rot at the centre of her in-laws’ marriage. She just had to get through this weekend first. This weekend was about Jessie’s
birthday, about the family enjoying celebrating with her, about Amelia loving having them all under one roof. Jen was going to have to stick her head firmly down into the sand, and keep it there, until it was over.

The truth was, she was dreading it. Dreading seeing Charles, knowing what she knew. Dreading seeing Amelia, knowing how big an unexploded bomb was buried under her life, ticking away, waiting to go off. Dreading giving herself away.

For the next forty minutes they drove in the strange new silence that seemed to have entered their relationship. Eventually, Jen decided to call both Simone and then Emily on the hands-free phone, on the pretext of trying to pin them down about
what they might want for Christmas. Simone, as always, had no idea.

‘Just give me the money,’ she said, as she did every year.

‘No. You know that’s not allowed.’

‘I can pay off my overdraft –’

‘If you can’t think of anything, we’ll just choose something ourselves,’ Jason piped up.

Jen felt the tension ease.

‘You like Justin Bieber, don’t you?’

‘
Da-a-ad
 …’ Simone said, elongating the word so that it sounded like it had three distinct syllables.

Jen laughed. Simone was so easy to tease.

Emily had very definite ideas about what she would like, as Jen had known she would.

‘I need a Kindle. Everyone else has one. I’m the only saddo still lugging real books around.’

‘Wow, that must be really awful,’ Jen said, and she was gratified to see that Jason smirked.

‘I mean, I have to carry this great big bag. It’s tragic.’

‘Gosh, yes,’ Jen continued. ‘God forbid you should be expected to lift some textbooks. It’s practically slave labour. I’d sue.’

‘Ha, ha,’ Emily said. ‘You’re so funny, Mum.’

‘I know, it’s a gift.’

‘I wish I could be at Auntie Jessie’s party,’ Emily said.

Jen felt the hollow at the pit of her stomach contract. This would be the first year neither of her daughters would be there.

‘Me too,’ she said. ‘Do you think you might be able to get home for a weekend any time soon?’ She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice, could almost hear herself channelling Elaine, hated herself for it.

‘I’ll try. I don’t know, there’s so much going on … Christmas, though. Oh, and Granny and Grandpa’s anniversary party, I should be OK for that.’

Oh God, the anniversary party.

‘OK, sweetie. Love you.’

‘You too,’ Emily sang back.

Jason chimed in cheerfully, ‘Me three.’

Emily laughed. ‘You sound like Grandpa.’

Jen didn’t even want to think about that one.

‘It’s good that she’s having such a great time,’ Jason said, when she had hung up.

‘I know. It is.’

‘And the party is only a few weeks away.’

‘Five weeks.’

‘It’ll go by in no time. And remember, we’ve got Oxford before that.’

Oh God. Oxford.

Amelia was waiting at the front door when they arrived (having called when they were five minutes away, as they always did). Soft, sweet, warm and apparently secure in the unconditional love of her family. Seeing her standing in the doorway of
Jessie and Martin’s cottage brought a lump to Jen’s throat. A cottage was how Jessie always referred to it, by the way. It had a thatched roof. That, in Jessie’s eyes, gave it cottage status. To the rest of the family it was a palace. A rambling, rather ramshackle palace,
but one which could accommodate both Jen’s terrace and Poppy’s flat and still have room to spare.

‘You made good time,’ Amelia said, beaming.

‘M25 was deserted,’ Jason said, sweeping her up in a big embrace so that her feet almost left the floor. Jen tried to imagine picking her own mum up and twirling her round. She’d probably snap in half. She’d certainly
think her daughter had lost her mind. They had never been demonstrative.

Amelia laughed and pushed him away, hugging Jen
into her in one smooth movement. As ever, she smelled of something clean and citrusy. Jen squeezed her tightly.

‘You look lovely, dear.’

‘You too,’ Jen said, because Amelia did.

Amelia always looked lovely. Not always groomed – sometimes with a bit of stray tomato puree in her hair – but lovely, nevertheless. Just a bit tired around the edges. She cared more about making her family a nice cake than having her nails done.
Which, to Jen, had always seemed like a good thing. Maybe she’d been wrong.

She leaned down and buried her face in her mother-in-law’s hair. Her smooth blonde-white bob smelled of lemons. Fresh, wholesome. Jen squeezed the familiar soft curves. She didn’t think she had ever known Amelia do any exercise beyond
the long walks the whole family used to take at the weekends, along the river or up through Richmond Park. No ‘Legs, Bums and Tums’ for her. That was more Charles’s domain. Although it wasn’t necessarily his own that he was interested in. Her brain offered up a
snapshot of Cass’s well-toned calves. She brushed it aside.

‘I’ve just put the kettle on,’ Amelia said.

Over her mother-in-law’s shoulder Jen could see Charles appear in the doorway. She kept her eyes down, putting off the moment.

‘Jessie’s in the kitchen.’

Jen nearly said, ‘What’s she doing in there?’ because she had never seen Jessie lift a finger, but then she realized that Amelia would have been in there with her, spoiling her rotten, until the rest of them arrived.

‘Hello, sweetheart,’ Charles said, and grabbed her in an embrace.

She felt sick. She knew she mustn’t look him in the eye, because she would surely give away the fact that she’d gone from considering him the closest thing she had to a father, to thinking he was a despicable creep, who might as well
be wearing a grubby mac with a pocket full of toffees. Nought to sixty in record time. She stood rigid and waited for it to be over.

‘Hi, Charles.’

He was wearing some kind of a cravat affair, tucked into the open neck of his shirt, she noticed. Before, Jen would have thought how sweet, how adorable that he still made such an effort. Now she just thought he looked ridiculous. An ageing
fop.

‘How’s my favourite daughter-in-law?’ Another long-running in-joke.

‘Good, thank you. I’m good.’

Jason was brandishing a box of six bottles of sparkling wine. ‘Supplies,’ he said, handing it over to his father. ‘Where’s Martin?’

‘Doing something in the basement,’ Amelia said. ‘Fixing the washing machine, I think. Of course, it’s decided to go on the blink when there’s a house full. Go down and find him.’

Jason ditched their case in the hall and hurried downstairs like an eager child. The men attached to the Masterson women were so used to being outnumbered by females that they grasped every chance they got to take part in a bit of full-on male
bonding.

‘Play nicely,’ Jen called after him.

Amelia fussed around with the kettle and the teapot while Jen settled herself at the kitchen table with Jessie. Charles had thankfully disappeared. Jen imagined he was in the living room, relishing
playing barman in a different setting, lining everything up so that he could offer everyone a drink.