Chapter Three
I sneak a peek in my compact mirror, and dab a touch of concealer under my eyes. The perpetual dark circles are darker than ever, and my eyelids are all puffy and red. I rub hard to blend the make-up in, hoping no one will be able to tell I’ve been crying.
There was a bit of an argy-bargy at home last night, revolving around tonight’s shift at the ice cream parlour. Jerry was cross that I was, in his words, abandoning him with Penny.
‘She plays up for me, you know she does,’ he complained.
‘No she doesn’t!’ I argued, indignant. ‘Penny is a good girl, she’ll do as she’s told as long as you follow her regular night-time routine.’
‘For God’s sake, I don’t have time to be warming up milk and reading stories.’
‘Well, what else are you doing?’ I demanded to know, my arms flung out at my sides. ‘What could possibly be more important than your daughter?’
He had nothing to say to that, and so he did what he always does when he’s losing an argument - he stonewalled me. The rest of the evening was spent miserably fighting for his attention while he gave me the cold shoulder. Eventually, I gave up and retreated upstairs, where I proceeded to crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep.
I’m just powdering my nose when Kat brusquely interrupts.
‘Don’t worry, you look just gorgeous,’ she teases, her eyes rolling like marbles. ‘Honestly, I’ve never known a woman so vain, you’re always preening yourself.’
‘Maybe you should take a leaf out of my book, sis.’ Sassily, I stick out my tongue. ‘You could do with a decent blow-dry, if you ask me.’
‘Ah, well it’s a good job I didn’t ask, isn’t it?’ She shoves a damp cloth into my hand. ‘Give the glass a clean, will you? Little Toby Parker dripped his ice cream cone all over it.’
As I’m wiping up droplets of chocolate-orange chip from the display counter, I run through the mental list of things left to organise for Penny’s big day, after all, it’s this weekend, and I’ve only got few days left to prepare. There’s the music to sort, the birthday cake, ooh, and the party bags! I almost forgot about the party bags!
‘Claire?’ My younger sister’s irritated voice pulls me straight out of my mithering. ‘Claire, table thirteen are waiting on their sundaes.’
‘Oh, right.’
I scramble for the lilac tray and hurry across the parlour. The couple bare their teeth in a false grin and give me a perfunctory thank you as I lay the towering sundaes before them.
‘Are you alright?’ Kat peers at me as I make my way back, her brow furrowed. ‘You seem a little distracted.’
‘I am, a bit.’ Placing the empty tray on the counter, I edge up to my sister.
‘Worrying about Penny’s party?’ she asks.
That, and a whole load of other crap. But I can’t explain all that stuff to Kat, it’s too personal, too embarrassing. Besides, if I dare to whinge about my life, people simply roll their eyes and tell me I have nothing to complain about.
‘Yeah, it’s Penny’s party. I just want everything to go perfectly for her.’
‘It will. And even if it doesn’t, she’s eight, she’s not going to notice if Jerry picked up the wrong vol-au-vents from M and S, is she?’
Smiling, I nudge her with my elbow. ‘You’re still bringing the ice cream van along, aren’t you?’
‘Of course, I wouldn’t let my Penny-Pops down.’
A surge of gratitude rushes to my heart, and I give her arm a warm squeeze. Despite the fact we’re chalk and cheese and never got on much as kids, we’re pretty close now, and she’s a wonderful aunt to my daughter. I do, however, get the distinct feeling that my presence at her business does get on her nerves at times, she tries to disguise it, but I can sense it.
I came to her months ago to casually ask for some part-time work, citing that I wanted to make a bit of extra cash to contribute to Penny’s dance classes, but I’m sure she saw through that facade like an old pair of knickers. I can keep up appearances for everyone but my sister, she’s known me all her life, and the scepticism in her eyes told me that she knew I was simply bored with my life. I needed something, anything to fill my days and make me feel useful again.
‘So, how’s the house hunt going?’ I ask. ‘Did you put in an offer on that one near the beach in the end?’
‘Yep.’ Kat tucks a red ringlet behind her ear. ‘It’s been accepted.’
With a sharp gasp, I whack my sister in the arm with the tea towel tucked into my waistband. ‘Kat! You didn’t say!’
‘I know, I know, but I just didn’t want to jinx it. Rob and I have been trying to find a place for almost a year now, and it seems like every time we find the perfect home, something always goes wrong - the seller pulls out, the offer is rejected, or whatever. This time, I wanted to keep it all under wraps until we were sure it was going ahead.’
‘Well, I’m so happy for you guys.’ And I mean it. It’s just I’d mean it a lot more if I didn’t feel so damn envious.
I know what you’re thinking, what the bloody hell do I have to be jealous of? I live in a fabulous house, spend my days in leisure and I never have to worry about money. But there are times, more often than I’d like to admit, I look at Kat and Rob, see what they’ve accomplished together, and the green-eyed monster rears its ugly head. Besides raising Penny, my biggest accomplishment in life is mastering the tree pose in yoga without wobbling. That’s a pretty depressing realisation, to be quite honest.
‘Did you tell Mum and Dad yet?’ My tone is nonchalant and casual, though inside, the pit in my stomach is blackening.
‘Nah, not yet. I’ll give them a call after work.’
‘Make sure you do, Mum will want to know.’
Kat’s about to respond when a large group of teenagers approach the counter, each of them after an ice cream milkshake. I leave her to take the orders while I continue cleaning up. Jerry wasn’t happy when I started part-time work, but honestly, it’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long while. I wouldn’t say I enjoy the work, exactly, but I do like feeling busy. I especially relish the camaraderie with the other staff members and chatting to the customers. You get to meet all sorts of people here, it’s really quite refreshing.
The shift passes in a flurry of ice cream cones and soda floats, and at closing time, I offer to lock up the parlour for Kat so she can go home early. After whizzing the mop over the floor and tallying up the day’s takings, I’m soon strolling to the car park in the moonlight.
Reluctantly, I start the engine and begin a very slow drive across town. I’m not looking forward to going home tonight, not after last nights’ big blow up. There have been way too many of those lately, and I’m bracing myself for another.
A soppy old love song comes on the radio, and I sing at the top of my lungs, playing out my own little concert in the car. Except real love isn’t like the songs, is it? Sometimes, it won’t feel like Everlasting Love, and he won’t always Stand By You - more often than not, he’d rather go for a round at the pub with his mates.
I gnaw at my lip as I turn down our street. I mean, if you think you’re going to feel butterflies every time you see your husband and every kiss will be electric, well, you’re just kidding yourself, aren’t you?
When I enter the house, I find Jerry waiting for me in the drawing room, his face as dark as thunder. I don’t even get the chance to put my bag down before he’s laying into me.
‘When are you going to give this bloody thing up?’ His arms are folded so tight across his chest, it’s a wonder his belly doesn’t burst from the force. ‘One of my buddies from work saw you on shift the other night, it’s embarrassing.’
I can’t help but scoff at his ridiculousness. ‘It’s embarrassing that I have a job?’
‘It’s not a real job, Claire, it’s part-time waitressing at your sister’s ice cream parlour.’ Shaking his head, Jerry crosses the room and clumsily pours himself a drink. ‘And yes, it is embarrassing. People will think I can’t provide for my family, don’t you realise how it makes me look?’
‘Oh, yeah, Jerry. That was totally the first thing on my mind when I asked Kat for work, how it would make you look.’
That response doesn’t please him at all, and he chastises me as though I’m his child, not his wife. ‘Don’t take that tone with me! I will be respected in my own home.’
‘It’s my home too, you know.’
‘Is it? I’m the one who pays for it, so what I say goes.’
That remark cuts close to the bone, and I have to turn away, lest Jerry notice my lip quivering. He always has to throw our finances in my face, and shame me for being something he wants me to be - a stay-at-home wife.
Always, he’ll tell me how lucky I am to be in this position, how few families can afford to live on one income alone, and all these things are true. But the thing is, Jerry doesn’t make me feel lucky, he makes me feel guilty. And now I’ve started making a little money of my own, I’m made to feel guiltier still.
Not wishing to wade into yet another argument, I leave Jerry ranting and raving behind me, and ascend the staircase to our master bedroom. I shrug out of my dress and glance at the en suite, dithering over whether I can be bothered to take off my make-up. I have an extensive, ten-step skincare routine, but right now, I can’t be doing with the faffing. Instead, I collapse onto the soft, king-size bed, no doubt staining the pillowcases with mascara.
Where did it all go so wrong? I speak the words in my mind, not strong enough to say them aloud. Where did all the love go? Was it ever there in the first place?
These are the questions I push down, way down inside, and up until recently, I’ve been doing a fine job of ignoring them. But recently, they’re refusing to stay put, they rise like bile, burning my throat and robbing me of sleep at night.
And the worst part is, I think I finally have an answer to them. It’s just not one I can bear to face.