A Good Mother by Patricia Dixon 2

Chapter 19. Gina.

The solar lights dotted around the perimeter of the garden gently lit the rockery and alpines that nestled between Gina's tasteful water features and the not so tasteful colorful gnomes the children insisted on. Above in the blackened skies that shrouded the village in darkness, stars pinged into life, diamonds poking through a suave of velvet.

By her side lay, arms behind his head, eyes closed, and a smile on his face, and when she looked at him, the only thought Gina had was, "He's beautiful." Behind them, Max and Mimi were sleeping in the tent. An online purchase that had thrilled them and her other big kid, too. The excitement when the sleeping bags and camping stove arrived was off the scale, and the second the four-man tent was erected, Max and Mimi took up residence. When Babs related the story about Bry's gazeos, it had given Gina the idea to create a makeshift campsite in her own back garden. They'd had empty nights under the stars, and the only thing that prevented them from bending to their children's iron will and living the outdoor life permanently was Jimmy's bad back and his husbandly requirements that weren't being met inside his sleeping bag.

Gina had given him a gentle slap for that, but his comment made her so damn happy because he still wanted her. Any niggles that popped into her head about being a stop-gap or him making do were barred entry. Not that she would tell a soul for fear of sounding crass and uncaring, but the Morgan family lockdown had been idyllic, an escape from the horrors of the world. If she had to use one word, Gina would choose cemented because that's how she felt her marriage was in that moment in time. They'd found their groove, a routine that wasn't the norm, but had become it. A way of existing together as a family in harmony against the odds. Staying safe, staying sane, staying together.

And in his usual, ingenious way, Jimmy had added a string to Gina's bow when he suggested she expand her online consultancy by setting up a Facebook page with ideas for upcycling bits and bobs around the home. People were bored out of their heads and looking for something to do, and it was her thing, saving the planet. Her special cupboard for recycled plastic was Jimmy's favorite tease because Gina hated waste of any kind. So, not only was she the leftover queen, she was also his takeaway carton princess. Her reluctance to waste food came from a childhood of doing without and making damn sure you scraped your plate when a meal was put in front of you, just in case. The rest was born from watching telly with Willow, where David Attenborough scared the crap out of anyone who cared about the world and all the species that inhabited it.

Gina had mulled Jimmy's suggestion over for a day or two. Lack of confidence was mostly to blame for her initial dying and then an attack of paranoia and too much reading between the lines. Was he hinting that she was lazy or perhaps getting on his nerves? Because while he was still busy working from home, once she'd done the housework, basically all the stuff Babs used to do, and put in a few hours on her column for the magazine, Gina was semi-redundant. Jimmy, however, was loving homeschooling Max while she entertained Mimi, who, to be fair, pretty much toddled about in her own world of toys, and as long as she was fed regularly, got her daily dose of CBeebies, and had an afternoon nap, was a dream child. "I bet he's wondering what I do all day. I'm a lazy cow having a cleaner. I bet he sacks poor Babs. The sooner I get back to full-time work, the better. Then she can stay. Have I been hiding behind the stay-at-home mom job description? Am I kidding myself that I'm a homemaker? Is it even a thing? What if being a kept woman isn't such a good look? Makes me seem boring. I am boring. Oh god, I need to do something right now."

Once she got stuck in, Gina was on a roll. The editor at the magazine loved the idea and offered her a weekly slot on their Facebook page and blog, where readers were encouraged to show off their upcycling while Gina's job was to inspire. She began by sorting out the neatly stacked pile of stuff at the back of the garage. Tidiness was also Gina's thing after living in Dirty Debbie's hovel. And the stuff destined for the recycling section was pimped and jazzed up. The wooden gift box that once held a bottle of fancy wine was sanded, painted, and transformed into a window ledge herb garden. The pretty but mismatched china plates found in the kitchen of Swallows Nest became cake stands. Soon readers were posting photos of their hidden gems that had been given a new lease of life. And Jimmy's spark of an idea soon became Gina's little triumph.

The only cloud, the one thing that she had no control over, was her inability to see Willow. And even though Gina spoke to Robin every few days, it wasn't the same as seeing her best friend in the flesh. It had become part of her weekly routine, spending time at the vicarage, a place as familiar as her own home. On the days when Mimi went to playgroup, Gina would drive straight over to keep Willow company and give Robin a break, especially when she went away for a few days, visiting her old friend Francesca. It had become a regular thing, that and the odd spa weekend or country retreat here and there. Robin accepted that Edmund had no interest in the type of holiday she wanted to go on, so they drifted further apart and took breaks separately. Even though Gina thought it was sad that Robin traveled alone, she assured everyone of her modern woman's status, that she was capable of taking a train and would enjoy a few days of tranquility. Gina could tell it did Robin good, and she always came back looking so much happier. And who could blame her? Living with Edmund couldn't be much fun. You didn't have to be a marriage guidance counselor to know that Robin and Edmund barely communicated and were putting on a front for Willow. Knowing what she did about him, Gina sometimes wished Robin would up and leave the dirty old git. Surely there was someone out there who could make her happy.

Still, Edmund's affair with Dirty Debbie remained a secret, and Gina hadn't told Jimmy, mainly because she was too ashamed. It was something she'd thought about a lot. Marriage, holding one together, and how Robin's life would pan out for Willow and her husband Nate because now Willow was sick. What would become of their relationship? They already slept in separate rooms. Nate was a lovely guy, handsome and funny, kind and clever, and even though he'd lost so much, still put one foot in front of the other, taught at the college, and remained loyal to his wife, sharing the load with Robin as they cared for Willow round the clock. But how long would that last? Would his patience run out? Would his basic instincts, needs, and dreams slowly erode the love he had for Willow? Would he leave her lost in a world of angels and torment and at the same time leave Robin in the lurch? It was too awful to contemplate. But these things kept Gina awake at night, turning them all over in her head. And throughout lockdown that stretched on and on, the news feeds hard to watch. It struck Gina that if someone or something chooses to pull the proverbial rug from under you, it will. And the irony was that lockdown, a period in her life that had struck fear into the hearts of millions, was coming to an end. And this prospect terrified Gina. This meant getting back to a new kind of normal where Jimmy would be free to roam unguarded. And that thought was killing her.

And then she found the key. A couple of Jimmy's suits needed cleaning. So as she patted them down, ready to give to the laundry service when they called, Gina felt something in the inside pocket of his pinstripe. A Yale key. Attached was a tag and on the reverse a word. Alarm. And underneath a number. She knew immediately where it was for. The discovery had floored her, but she picked herself up, hid the key, then carried on with pretending. It had, however, affirmed her resolve that going forward nothing could be left to chance and the best things in life should be grabbed and held on to so tightly your knuckles went white. And that was exactly why for weeks Gina had been keeping a close eye on the young farm, running past every single day, not taking any chances that she had snuck back into the country. Gina prayed they'd never open the borders again or that the farm would burn down, so there'd be absolutely no reason whatsoever for any of the family to come back, least of all her. In fact, in Gina's very unhinged moments, usually after she and Jimmy had made love and he'd slipped into sleep, she'd lie there wondering if he'd had sex with Bella, if it was on the cards, and if they had, how she measured up. Sometimes Gina imagined what it'd be like to set her and the farm on fire. Watch the glow as flames lit up the sky. She'd planned it all down to the finest detail, how and when. She told herself that thinking about murdering someone wasn't a sin, only doing it was. And sometimes, as Jimmy snored the night away, and the gloom of the wee small hours wrapped around her, dialing anxiety up, lighting the gas on her carefully concealed rage. She hated Bella Young so much she might actually be able to do it. "Kill her, then everything would be okay." Turning her gaze from the stars up above, she looked at Jimmy, watching his chest rise and fall, breathing in, breathing out, knowing underneath his t-shirt beat a heart she once thought pure. Maybe it still was, which was why she had to protect their bubble. Nothing could be allowed to pop it. And once again, Gina asked herself the question and dared herself to answer. "Would you really kill for him?"

Chapter 20.

Of course she would. She was sure of it. She would smother that [ __ ] in her sleep with her bare hands, then set her house on fire and destroy the evidence. It would be for the greater good, for her children, so they'd never know the heartache of a broken home. Nothing was too good for them. No act out of bounds. Max and Mimi were her life, her reason for being the best she could be, the antithesis of Debbie. And Gina was nothing like Don either, who didn't fight for his wife and child, and instead just walked away. He should have forgiven Debbie for the sake of his daughter, put her before himself, been a better man. Then Debbie wouldn't have cheated. He should have stayed. That was why Gina was better than both of them. Because she would do all of those things for her children, anything at all. Even if Jimmy had cheated or continued to do so, she would put up with it and fight to get him back with everything in her arsenal. She would never give in. Everyone thought she was weak, but she wasn't. Gina knew how to take control, and proving her point, she never let her food thing go so far it would be a detriment to the children. See, that took strength. The hidden stash of laxatives waiting silently in the spare room were her equivalent of diazepam. Just having them there, resisting their allure, was a feat in itself. Gina allowed herself only one dose to purge her body of every last ounce of poisonous food from her system. The process cleansing her mind, allowing it to focus on banishing the hunger pains. Control and strength also came in the form of resistance, fighting the urge to call her mother and build bridges, see if she'd changed, let her back in her life. See if Debbie wanted Gina in hers. But Gina had erected solid boundaries around her heart and was confident that giving even an inch would herald disaster. So instead of giving in to such urges, the sentimentality that had crippled her during the baby blues, she overcame them. That was how tough Gina could be.

And then another thought surfaced. What if the end of lockdown was a turning point? The perfect time to change. Act like the crest on her school blazer had reminded them every morning. Carpe diem – seize the day. Not just for Gina, either. For everyone. People like Robin, too. What if it was the time to set her free? Tell her the truth. Rip off the plaster. Then open the doors of her cage and let her fly away. But where would she go? And who to? Robin had made her life in Little Buddington, so who was Gina to take a hammer and smash another woman's world to pieces? Robin was devoted to Willow and would never leave her, and to her marriage vows that she wouldn't break, no matter how vile Eddie was. He'd been responsible for so many down points in Robin's life. The way he'd shunned Tom and Chris and forbidden Willow to follow her vocation and then the things he said when she tried to. Gina couldn't think about all that. What happened? It made her so sad. Focusing her attention back to Robin, Gina thought back to one Saturday morning when she and Willow were helping dress the pews for a wedding. She and Willow had play-acted walking down the aisle, and even though they were having fun, two silly girls getting giddy, Robin had stopped what she was doing and ruined the moment. It was so out of character that it stuck in Gina's mind. She stopped sweeping the stray buds and leaves from the aisle, a hint of melancholy in her voice. "It's all well and good joking, but when it's your time to walk down the aisle, think very carefully about the words you're about to say before God. Because if you don't believe them 100% or that you'll be able to keep them, don't even step through the church door. If you do, well, you'll have to live with the consequences in more ways than one." At the time, Gina and Willow just looked at each other, both a bit disconcerted by the somber turn of events. And while Willow rolled her eyes, Gina was glad when they were interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. Hopper. Gina always thought Robin meant they should take the day seriously, that it wasn't just an excuse to wear a beautiful white dress and have a party. But in the light of recent events with Bella and further back, Eddie and her mom, even Chris and Tom, she wasn't so sure. Was Robin thinking out loud, even though she'd made her solemn promise? What if it bound her to Edmund? And deep down she wished she could escape.

Gina resolved to do a bit of digging the next time she saw Robin. See if she gave away any clues or she could ask Babs. But without giving anything away, the last thing Gina needed was Babs having ammunition to shoot dirty Eddie with. No, it had to be subtle. Babs didn't do subtle. Not really. At least she was the one person Gina didn't have to worry about because Babs was fine, thriving, in fact. Still moaning about her a lot, but that was her way because she loved them all to bits. Babs really was the perfect mother. Everyone's rock, even Gina's. A role model, if ever there was one.

Gina's ponderings were interrupted when she was brought back to the present by Jimmy, who'd given her a quick nudge. "Penny for them. You were miles away, and you look cross. So, come on. What have I done this time?" She turned on her side to face him and he followed suit, their voices lowered so as not to wake the sleeping monsters inside the tent. "You've not done anything. Not yet. Well, as far as I know." That little nugget escaped Gina's brain via her lips. And seeing Jimmy's raised eyebrows, she hurriedly explained, "I was thinking about the past, Robin and Willow and the business with Chris and Tom, and how horrid Edmund is, and why Robin never left him. If you're really unhappy with someone, you'd just go, wouldn't you? Like Don did when he caught Debbie. And surely you'd be able to tell if your husband or wife fancied someone else. I don't know how I'd cope if I was in their shoes." Once the words were out, she couldn't take them back or ignore the bewildered look on Jimmy's face. "Flipping heck. And there's me watching for shooting stars so I could make a wish. And you're raking up bad history. Why do you do that, Gina? Worry about the past. Stuff that won't happen or happening to someone else. I'd wish you'd stop letting the past strike you down. You have to believe in yourself instead of striving to be the opposite of your mom. You're not her and never will be. You can do or be anything you want. An independent, successful, confident woman if only you'd give yourself a chance."

It was the last line that had Gina's hackles rising, and the whiff of suspicion swirled around the garden like early morning mist. Why had Jimmy changed his tune? Weeks before, he'd been happy with her domestic goddess status. So why was he pushing her to be independent? What had altered? Was he preparing her for the future? One where she'd have to manage without him? It made perfect sense. The little ventures he'd concocted for her, having faith in her abilities when actually he was laying the ground so she wouldn't be a burden. A gin-soaked social security scrounger with bad nerves. He didn't want to be forking out shedloads of money to his clingy ex-wife. Gina's mind was on a roll, like one of those big cheeses they chucked down a hill, and her insecurity was running like the clappers behind it. She was angry now, but losing her temper wouldn't get to the truth. Resisting the urge to stomp inside, Gina forced a passive reply while aggression pulsed through her core. "I'm sorry, love. It's my default setting, and you know what I'm like when things change. And let's face it, everything's going to alter next week. Max is back at school. You'll be out more. The world around us will start turning again. I've got used to it being the four of us. But surely you've missed seeing people like Babs and your mom's world's friends and Willow. Now the rules are relaxing. You'll get to see other faces, not just this rather handsome and totally irresistible one." He gave her one of his cheeky winks and stroked her arm as he spoke. "So please don't have a wobble, Gina, because that'll spoil all the fun we've had and how happy you've been. Nothing major is going to change. I'll still work from home, but I also need to get back on site when building starts again."

"And what about me? What about you?" Jimmy looked confused, and that irritated Gina. Everyone, including him, was about to get things moving, picking up where they left off, and that's what pissed her off the most. Who he might be picking things up with. She couldn't show her hand though, so bluffed kind of because "I'm stuck in a groove and I don't know how to get out. Whether to do the right thing for us, the kids, me. Will anyone be hiring right now? Boris wants everyone to work from home if they can. And the last thing I want is to catch the virus. And what about you? We've all stayed safe and now you'll be off gallivanting all over the show."

"Gina, stop." He paused, gave her the look he used when she worked herself into a tizzy about poo stains on the carpet or squashed disgusting things down the back of the sofa and with the monsters. There had been plenty over the years. "I'm going to be extra careful. I'll be meeting clients outdoors on site. I won't socialize. No taking clients for drinks or anything like that. It'll be baby steps and until everyone has learned to navigate through whatever post-lockdown looks like. You should stay here where you feel safe and comfortable. And then when you're ready, you can make the big decisions or not. It's your call. Okay. Now, promise me you'll stop worrying."

Gina watched as he pulled her to him, kissing her hand as he did so, then wrapping her in his arms. With the warmth of his body against hers, his breath on her hair for a moment. Everything was all right. "Okay, I promise. I'm sorry for, you know, being a stress head." He pulled her closer. "And no more apologies. Let's just lie here and enjoy this. Watching the stars, the monsters sleeping, the simple things. Tomorrow can take care of itself." Gina nodded and snuggled closer, closing her eyes and reassuring the crazy woman within. "You're wrong. You're mad, too. You have to trust him. Believe in the Jimmy you love. Nobody could fake this. His words holding me close, stroking my hair, making me feel good and safe. There is no Bella. There is no them. Just us, me, him, Max, and Mimi. Stop with this stupid paranoia and bloody daft plots. I mean, as if you'd actually kill someone. This isn't a book or a film. You're not a vengeful psycho. [snorts] You're Mrs. Gina Morgan, who got into a tizzy, so relax. Remember to breathe in. Breathe out. Nobody is going to die. Breathe in. Breathe out. 'Cause she's not coming back. Breathe in. Breathe out. It's all going to be fine."

Chapter 21. Babs.

"Make hay in May. For you may never know what June is coming with, and you may never know what July will present. When you see May, make hay." Ernest Yuboa. Babs read the meme on her timeline and muttered to an empty kitchen. "Talk about stating the bloody obvious." Memes got on Babs' nerves, especially those silently making a point. Telling someone who'd pissed you off that they had pissed you off by a deep and meaningful passive-aggressive meme. Attention-seeking. That's what it was. Like poorly posts. They really did Babs' head in because no, she did not want to see the pus oozing out of someone's ingrown toenail or know how many limb sips they'd taken that day. But what sent her over the edge were pity posts with the sole purpose of winging about something so trivial and benile and utterly flagrantly desperate that on many occasions she'd had to stop herself from bashing out a comment saying so. And then the nosy buggers who couldn't resist the lure of gossip and wrote, "You okay, hun? Inbox me." People needed to pull themselves together, focus on important things like she looked around the kitchen at the morning mess, the Kellogg's box that some imbecile had ripped open, and now the flap didn't close properly, and Pete, the general all-round knobhead, had filled his mug to the brim and left a trail of coffee splatters from the kettle to the table. He did it all the time. The marmalade and lurpak was still on the side. This would be Isaac. And yep, she knew it as soon as she looked inside. Toast crumbs in the melted butter. And what boiled her blood was that because they'd actually managed to wash their own dishes. Big round of applause for the Finch family. The rest of the kitchen would somehow, as if by magic, clean itself. Well, not today, Jose.

Grabbing her keys, she called up the stairs to Demi, who'd just come out of the shower and was therefore absolved of sin. "Demi, do you fancy going out for breakfast?" Babs listened. A door opened and footsteps preceded a reply. "Where can we get breakfast? Nothing's open yet." Demi peered over the banister. Babs loved it when she was in the know. "Ah, well, that's where you're wrong because Costa drive-thru has reopened, so we can go there." "But mom, there isn't a Costa round here." Demi moved to sit on the top stair, pulling on her socks as she spoke. Babs smiled and raised her eyebrows. "There is in Real. Real? You want to go all the way to Wales to get a coffee and a toasted sandwich?" "I most definitely do and fish and chips later on once we've had a wander along the beach and worked up an appetite. I'm going back to work soon and I fancy a day out. Let's make the most of the new rules and freedom, not to mention some nice nosh. There was an article online all about how takeaways had thrived during lockdown. And there's a list of places that are open and a photo of a chippy on the seafront at Real. So come on, chop chop." Demi laughed. "Okay, then let's go to the seaside. Shall I wake Sasha up?" "No. She's got online interviews this afternoon with an agency, so she can stay here and bag herself a job. I'm not giving her any excuse."

Babs was about to fetch her bag when a voice shouted, "I heard that." To which Babs replied, "Good. So get out of bed, lazy ass, and make yourself look employable, even if it's from the waist up." Demi was grimacing even though everyone knew it was true. Sasha was bone idle like her dad. So without further ado, Babs grabbed her bag, gave a jerk of the head in the direction of the door, and smiled as Demi's footsteps thundered down the stairs. It had been a spur-of-the-moment idea to go out, but Babs was looking forward to a day by the sea with Demi. It would be a nice change, especially as she was dreading going back to work out there again in the land of cobwebs and lube brushes and germs that could be lurking anywhere. But she wouldn't dwell. Today was going to be a good day. Hers and Demi's. Then before she closed the front door, Babs remembered something and popped her head back inside, yelling in her jolly mum voice, "Oh, and Sasha, be a sweetheart and give the kitchen a once-over. Your father and brother left it in a right state. Terra, love, best of British with the interviews." And on that note, she slammed the door.

Babs sipped her coffee and thought about the meme she'd read a couple of hours earlier. "If this wasn't making hay, I don't know what was." By her side on the sea wall, Demi chewed on her toasty, a photo of which had been posted on Snapchat, along with numerous shots of her vanilla latte, and the sea that was currently so far out it looked like a pencil line on the horizon. The pale yellow sand was dotted with walkers, yappy dogs, blobs of seaweed, and a couple of brave souls taking an early morning dip. It was just gone 10:00 a.m. and already the sun was warming her face. And as she closed her eyes, Babs breathed in the sea air and listened to the obligatory sound of seagulls overhead. Today was going to be a good day.

"Do you want your muffin?" Demi gave Babs a nudge and was holding out the paper bag containing their breakfast feast. Dipping her hand inside, she pulled out the blueberry delight as Demi did the same. And for the next few minutes they ate and people-dog-and-bird watched in amiable silence until Demi asked a question. "When are you starting work again?" Babs puffed her cheeks and sighed. The whooshing sound as air left her lungs surprised even herself, like an audible clue to how she really felt at the prospect. "I've got two clients booked in. Some haven't got back to me yet. They're probably a bit torn between having a potential germ spreader in their home and wanting their house clean and germ-free. Imagine the dilemma." Demi raised her eyebrows, picking up on her mom's sarcasm. "So, I take it you're not looking forward to going back to work then." "Not really, love, but I reckon there's lots of people feel the same way. I need to earn a living. Simple as that. I'm really going to miss you being at home and our walks and exercise routine. It's been fun." Demi continued to eat, her legs crossed, her eyes focused on the horizon. Touched by Demi's words, Babs could feel a lump forming in her throat. For the past few months, she'd thought Demi was just humoring her or joining the online classes out of boredom. "Well, that's made my day. And so is this muffin." Demi laughed, then became serious. "Why aren't you looking forward to it? You'll love your job, and you never complained. And let's face it, you can moan about everything lately, especially dad."

This observation took the wind out of Babs' sails. Was she turning into the grumpiest mom in the world? Choosing to gloss over the dad comment, Babs focused on work. "I used to like it. Some clients more than others, but over the years I've weeded the annoying ones out. So now I've got nice houses and nice people to clean for. I can't say it's my dream job, though, or something I'd thought I'd end up doing. I suppose I just get on with it for a quiet life." Babs put the last of the muffin in her mouth and chewed it and her words. "So why don't you change your job then?" Demi had turned to face Babs. She was being scrutinized, which made her nervous and also a bit ashamed by the truth of the matter. "But what would I do? I've been a mom all my life, and the qualifications I have just about got me into college to train as a nursery nurse. I only went there for one day a week. The other four days were spent wiping bums and toddler tears. So, not exactly a scintillating CV, unless you add being a dinner lady, which I bloody loved, by the way. And my current career." "So why did you stop being a dinner lady if you loved it?" Demi brushed her hair from her eyes and focused them on her mom. Babs sighed, "Money, simple as that. It didn't pay enough and we wanted to move house, so I got a job with a cleaning agency. Then the owner moved away and left her workers and clients in the lurch. So me and a couple of other girls went solo. It fitted in with home life, and at first I enjoyed being my own boss. Told myself I was running my own little empire." "You are, but what now?" Babs chuckled at her own delusions of grandeur, then shuffled. Her bum was aching a bit, and wondered how honest she should be with her daughter. Demi didn't need to hear how fed up she was. Then again, "I hate it. There, I said it." And before she lost the courage or the audience who, for once, was actually listening, expanded on life in the world of Babs. "I can't put my finger on what it is, who or what to blame for how I feel inside. But it's like all the things I accepted as part of my lot aren't acceptable anymore. Which, as you just pointed out, makes me complain all the time. My age. The flame in menopause, to be precise, which isn't helping my mood swings, which are worse than the pirate ship at the fair, the one Sasha was sick on, remember?" The atmosphere lifted when they both convulsed into laughter. The carnage caused when a hot dog and a stick of giant candy floss made a reappearance all over the heads of anyone who sat before Sasha on the good ship vomit. Never had Babs felt so ashamed when all the people got off picking carrots out of their hair. But as soon as it arrived, the mirth quickly vanished as Babs admitted how she felt. "I just get so angry, Demi, about everything. I even get angry with myself for being angry. I hate the sound of my voice when I moan about three pairs of trainers being dumped in the hall and then I shout at myself for making a song and dance over nothing." There was a lapse while Babs calmed herself and held in the scream that would scare the birds and everyone on the beach if it escaped. Her calming app advised that in these situations she should breathe in for three, out for six, and one more time for good luck. "I'm sorry, love, for the moaning, and if you think I'm grumpy with you and your dad, so I'll try to keep a lid on it." "Mom, there's no need to apologize. It gets on my nerves how everyone takes you for granted. Especially Sasha, who is a lazy cow, and our Isaac is just an embarrassment. I mean, seriously, he'd rather live in a box room with his girlfriend than get a place of his own. It's a joke. And it gets on my nerves how dad just expects. I mean, I love him to bits. I really do. But he's got it so cushy. It's like the whole house revolves around him and he's got you trained." She stopped, her voice trailing off as one does when they put their foot in it. "He's got me what trained?" Babs felt the sting of tears and shame and wished it was colder so she could blame her watery eyes on the weather. Feeling the urge to walk, Babs stood and picked up the paper bag, then set off along the beach, trying to squash down the ball of hurt in her chest. In fact, she had the incredible urge to run and run and run and not stop, to switch off thoughts and sounds. Even Demi, who was behind, trying to catch up, calling out her name. And this time, instead of heeding her maternal instinct, the one she'd obeyed for years and years and years, Babs kept on walking.

Chapter 22.

When Demi eventually caught up, she pulled Babs to a halt. "Mom. Mom." Babs turned, reminding herself of a surly child, so not adding another fault to the growing list, tilted her head upwards to meet Demi's eyes. "Mom, I'm so sorry. I swear I didn't mean it in a nasty way or an insult to you because I think you're perfect. I really do. Please don't be angry." Bab shook her head. "I'm not angry at you, love. I'm annoyed with me. Oh god, I've made everything worse now." "Okay, what I should have said is that Dad has got us all trained with his chair that nobody is allowed to sit on. Like he's the king on his throne. And the little things bug me, like we can't have cheesy pasta because the smell makes him sick. And if we dare, you go around spraying air freshener like something's died and rotted under the table. He's in total charge of the remote and basically watches shite. I mean, total mind-numbing crap about mad old men persuading madder old men to part with junk they've had in their garages for 700 years. He sends us to buy you your presents because he doesn't know what you like. When actually it's because his life revolves around football and pool and his mates. And it should revolve around you, Mom. You're his wife. You should come first always." Ouch. That was all Babs could think. And as she reeled from a verbal slap and the bitter taste of home truths, she took both of Demi's hands and grappled with how to react to an accurate analysis of home life. "What on earth has brought this on? It's not like you to be so critical. I hope I've not been making you fed up, banging on because it's all part of a married life and after a while you just get on with it." Demi venomously shook her head. "But mom, that's not right. I didn't really notice or let it get to me so much before lockdown until we were all stuck inside together. I suppose it's because I'm at school, then get on with my homework whenever I can find some peace and quiet and spend most of my time with earplugs in, mostly to drown out the sound of Sasha. Or I'm out with my friends. I come and go. We all do. But the person who's always there is you. I've had time on my hands to think about it all and compare. See how not to end up. And I don't mean you either. I mean be like Sasha and Isaac."

Babs was hurting because Demi was too. But perhaps there was a positive in all of this. Demi was taking stock, learning from mistakes, and at least in a warped way, it had made Babs's cock-ups worthwhile. Then something occurred. "What do you mean, compare?" Demi had the grace to look a bit uncomfortable and then explained, "I compared you to my friend's moms. Lots of them have jobs, but they also do things, you know, by themselves or just for them, but you do everything for us and put yourself at the back of the queue." At this, Babs relaxed a notch. "For a minute, I thought you might be ashamed of me." Demi didn't give Babs a chance to continue. "No, I've never been ashamed of you ever, so don't think that for a second. I tell everyone what you do. All my friends know, and I'm proud of you for earning your own money and running your business. I swear I am, and I'd rather have you any day over anyone, and that's the God's honest truth. You're my rock, and I love you." Babs gave Demi a squeeze and held tight for a while, smiling when she released her. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. So, basically, me being a pushover is starting to get on your nerves. Is that it?" She received a nod and reassured Demi with a nudge and a wink. "Well, here's the thing. It gets on my nerves, too. And you're right. It's got to stop. And it will. I promise." "Seriously? When and how?" Demi didn't look convinced. Babs wrapped her arm around Demi's shoulders as they resumed their walk. "I haven't got a bloody clue, love. It's a work in progress. I'm going to start by telling your dad I'm definitely 100% not going on holiday with the gang. They can sod off. He can go and you can, too. But no way am I sitting on a plane surrounded by god knows who or what to endure another holiday with that lot." Demi stopped then stared at her mom open-mouthed. "I thought you liked them." "I do not. They get on my wick. I asked your dad if we could go somewhere on our own, the three of us. And you'd have thought I'd suggested going to a nudist colony or something. Apparently, it'd be boring with just us. Me." That's what he meant deep down. It's me he doesn't really want to be with. Saying it out loud to Demi and the seagulls actually hurt Babs more than she'd expected it to, and that surprised her that she cared. Demi responded with a loud tut before falling silent as they continued along the beach, stepping over shallow pools, eventually breaking the silence. "That was mean of dad. And just so you know, if you don't go, neither will I. The gang do my head in too. They're just a bunch of posers." Babs giggled at Demi's analysis. But before she could protest and insist Demi had a holiday, she was hit with a big question. "Mom, do you love dad?" Demi kept on walking while Babs kept on thinking and then stalled for a time. "Bloody Nora, you're not holding back on the deep and meaningful today, are you?" Demi didn't respond, and Babs knew she wanted an answer, and it had to be the truth. Now was the time. "Okay. Do I love your dad? Truthfully, yes, I do. But in a way, you'll love a friend, someone you've known for a long time. We're a part of each other's lives, bound together by you three, a house, a mortgage, and a heap of bills and history. We plot along, we get by, we make it work. But it's not like it used to be and hasn't been for a long, long time. And that's sad. And I'm really sorry because it's not how I wanted it to be." "Is that what you meant earlier when you said you were fed up with your life? Did you mean dad, too?" Demi kept her eyes fixed on her trainers that were speckled with wet sand. "Yes, I think I did mean that. But like everything else, I've resigned myself to getting on with it because I never want to hurt him, no matter how unhappy I am. He might do my head in, but he's not a bad person. I don't even think he realizes, even though I drop enough hints and, as you say, grumble a lot. It's like he's tuned me out and I'm just background noise. He might even be putting up with me like I put up with him. So, we need to work it out somehow. Me and your dad, find our way back. It's as simple as that. So, there's no need for you to worry. It's just a blip that lots of couples go through."

They'd reached some wooden sea defenses in the sand, and ahead she could see the steps leading into town. Babs suddenly felt weary, maybe from walking, but more from talking, and guilt that she'd shared her innermost thoughts and feelings with her child. That was wrong. Demi didn't deserve that. The urge to sit suddenly overwhelmed her. So Babs unhooked her arm and instead of continuing up the beach, plunked herself on the wooden groin. Demi followed suit. "Anyway, enough about me. Today was supposed to be fun, not a therapy session, so we should book up. Let's talk about something else now. Nothing." So Babs soldiered on. "Tell me, how do you feel about your exams? Or should we say lack of them. I hope you're not worried about school estimating your grades. You're the Finch family clever clogs, so I know you'll smash it." Babs hoped her voice sounded confident and full of the joys of May and that her optimism would rub off on Demi when she replied. [snorts] When she did, Babs admitted defeat because her words were flat. Flatter than a cartoon character being squashed by a steamroller. "No, I'm not worried. I've worked hard over the last two years and my predicted grades are all 11s and 12s. Still, I'd like to have the opportunity to show what I can do with my exams, but it's not going to happen. So, what's the point in moaning about it? I'm focusing on September now and going to college. I'll get my chance to prove myself when I do my A-levels, so it's all good."

Babs was confused because Demi had it all figured out and yet still sounded downbeat. She had to infuse some excitement into her and the day. Otherwise, they could have stayed at home and been depressed by Sasha and her non-existent job prospects. "And then in a couple of years, you'll be off to uni. How exciting will that be? That's when the fun will really begin and you'll be proper grown up. My last little bird to fly the Finch nest." As soon as she said it, Babs knew what Demi was going to say. Just by the way, she sat up straighter and her shoulders stiffened as though preparing for battle. Demi turned her head, a steely look in her eyes. The question that came out of her mouth no surprise. "And then what will you do, Mom, when I start my big adventure? What will happen to you? That's what I want to know and what you need to start thinking about because you can't go on like this. It's not fair. And it'll make me sad leaving you behind if I know you're unhappy."

Babs was dumbfounded just for a second or two, but [snorts] shook away Demi's rather forthright words and miraculously found her own. "So, what do you want me to do?" A sigh, long and loud, and probably born from sheer exasperation, preceded Demi's reply. "I want you to think about your future, Mom, not mine. I've made my plan, and I'm sure as hell going to stick to it and not end up like Isaac, the mad ass shadow, or Sasha, the professional layabout. I want you to be happy in any way that makes you smile and feel fulfilled, and to do it for yourself, not us, and certainly not Dad, because he will always look after himself first and foremost." Demi took her mom's hand in hers and held them tightly. "The thing is, I've had time to think about everything, not just you and me. About how our lives changed over the last few months. We lost control. We're forced to stay home and do what Boris told us to. It made me realize how quickly life can be taken away and how plans got trashed and everything we took for granted became something we missed and craved. Simple stuff like seeing our friends and family. Can you believe that? I watched you, saw how you started to change. You kind of glowed like you were free to be you and jiggle about in the front room in your pink pants and that bloody rainbow headband. You made rules and actually got our lot to do their bit. You made new friends online and it's like my mom found her confidence again. I don't want you to lose all that. Now you're going back to work, back to being the 'before' Babs. Does that make sense? So after all this lockdown madness has faded away and we get back to normal, I want you to promise you won't fade away or lose momentum. And talk to me about anything. Will your mom for me? For us both."

Babs nodded and sucked in a breath, begging the tears not to flow, but they did because Demi was right and also because she'd never loved her girl more than in that moment. Pulling herself together, she nodded. "Okay, I promise. In fact, I'm going to ring the doctor and get an appointment because my mood swings are dreadful. And I've tried vitamins and herbal tea, but they aren't working. I have to be proactive, if only about my health and bloody sanity. And best of all, I have an ally." Babs clung on to Demi's hand. "It'll make me stronger having someone to talk to when I have a wobble. And by that, I'm not talking about my bum."

This made Demi smile at last. But it's not right, is it? I'm your mom and I shouldn't burden my child. I feel so bad bothering you. I'm sorry, Demi. I really am.

Demi whipped her hands away and rested them on Babs's shoulders, giving her a stern look as she spoke. Stop that right now. I mean it. You've been there my whole life and now it's my turn to be there for you. And I'm almost an adult, so I'm allowed to give you advice and support. And even though I don't want to share my innermost secrets with my mother, we can still be friends, you know.

Babs merely nodded. Demi gave her a wink. Good. So, it's a deal. We go into the future together, and one way or another, whatever is in store, we'll work it out. fight the good fight and all that. Deal.

Babs lent forward and hugged her wonderful daughter, not caring who walked by and saw them. Demi broke away first and stood, holding out her hand to her mom. Right, Mar Finch. I think that's enough soulsearching for one day. So, let's walk up to the harbor and look at the boats. And oh, what about the miniature railway? Remember, we used to go on the trains when we were kids. Let's go see if it's open.

Babs did remember like it was yesterday. Standing, she rubbed her achy knees and then brushed down her jeans while Demi took photos of a seagull resting on the rocks, ignorant to the fact he would soon be a Snapchat star. The ping of her phone told Babs she had a message. So, pulling it from her bag, she checked the screen. Perhaps it would be Sasha, saying she'd bagged the job as head of the BBC. anything that would make three years at uni, debt, and a media degree worthwhile.

Instead, she saw Gina's name appear and read the words underneath. Hi, just checking in. Do you know what day it is? It's the anniversary. Should we do something? Go see Robin and Willow. Let me know later on. We can call this evening if you want. No pressure. G. kiss.

She'd forgotten and Babs immediately felt dreadful. Reading the words again and despite the seriousness of her conversation with Demi, thinking of Robin and Willow and how they would be feeling brought her situation into sharp perspective. So without hesitation, she sent a message straight back. If Robin says it's okay, I'll come with you in real at the moment. We'll be back early evening. Let me know what time. Babs kiss.

Shaking off the cold hand of sorrow that had settled on her shoulder, Babs grabbed the warm hand of her daughter, and as they stepped over the groins and headed up the beach, gave thanks for all she had and for the future Demi had before her. Babs then painted on a smile and put the visit to Robins on hold. The next few hours were for her and her own little girl, making special memories they could keep forever.

Chapter 23. Robin

Robin watched from the bedroom window as a trickle of parents and children walked past St. Mary's, heading into the village towards school. It was such a shame, though, that so many others were missing out on their education, a proper one, instead of being taught remotely at home. It was driving Nate mad because the college where he worked was like a ghost town and he missed teaching real students in the classroom. It was the same for Arty in France and even he was missing the little buggers. Maybe soon all the children could go back. Robin hoped so.

She wondered what was going on in the heads of the adults who held the hands of their children. She managed to smile for those who might be glad to have their little darlings back in the classroom. And then her heart constricted. The familiar sense of loss when grief reminded her of all the things they'd miss out on. Like holding hands in the rain. Wellies splashing in puddles as they raced to school trying to beat the bell.

May 12th. Today was a turning point in so many lives as lockdown began to ease. Yet Robin had already faced up to the stark reality that for her life would stay the same. She came to this conclusion at 6:08 a.m. when she heard the hum of the milk float, and then a whistle as Bobby trudged up the path, the bottles clinking as he deposited them on the step. She'd closed her eyes, not wanting to face the next 24 hours, or see the date on the calendar that was pinned to the kitchen wall. Today was Mayor's anniversary.

Moving away from the window, Robin let her gaze fall on her sleeping daughter, and she felt grateful for her current state of oblivion. She'd brought her a cup of tea, as she did each morning, knowing it would go cold, and she'd make another later, but routine gave Robin comfort. It saw her through the day. Before she left the room, Robin paused by the dresser and rested her palm on the little white box, then moved silently away. As she closed the door behind her and made her way downstairs to the empty kitchen, she wondered if there would ever be a turning point in Willow's life. A turning point that would confound all of them so they could laugh in the face of fate who'd been so cruel, callous in the extreme.

Sometimes Robin couldn't bear to think of that day, and then other times she found herself going over it, reliving each moment for no other purpose than to see it clearly. except that as much as she wished it, there was no going back. Instead, they had to live and cope with the consequences. That and caring for Willow. It was her job as a mother and one of the things you do for love. In the quiet of the kitchen, only the sound of a ticking clock out of love and respect to her granddaughter, Robin remembered.

It happened in the center of Macklesfield. Robin and Willow had taken Mayor into town for a spot of shopping and some lunch. It was a mild day in May. Cloudy overhead with a hint of sun. Mayor was 4 months old, and they took turns pushing the pram, a trendy thing, light and easy to maneuver. They'd had such a lovely time and were on their way back to the car park when Robin remembered she needed some bread. After spotting a bakery, she left Willow and Mayor on the main street and nipped inside. She heard the sirens approaching as she waited in the queue. There were two people in front of her. The clock on the wall told her it was 2:58 p.m. and as she glanced at the pastries inside the glass cabinet, decided to buy some for Edmund and Nate. One more person in front. The sirens were getting closer, so she craned her head to look for Willow, but she was out of sight somewhere further along the street, windowshopping. By the time the sirens were on top of them, the wailing, piercing ears and brains, Robin had reached the front of the queue and was about to be served when it happened. The dreadful screech of tires, the sound of metal hitting metal, screams and a thud of something plowing into brick, the shattering of glass, and then more screams. She could still hear them every time she thought back to that day.

At some point, as she rushed onto the pavement, terror gripping every part of her body, Robin's screams merged with those of onlookers and pedestrians who'd managed to dive out of the path of the speeding car. The car had skidded out of control during a police chase. The spaced out teenage driver careering through the metal fence by the crossing, then into anyone who was standing on the other side. It came to a halt in front of the news agents. Robin knew. Knew instantly when she saw the crumpled lump of metal impaled into a smash shop window. Saw the bricks and glass scattered everywhere. because what she couldn't see was Willow's face in the crowd or hear her voice calling out, telling Robin she was okay. Her legs ran into the road and around the scene of carnage to the other side. Even though she knew she screamed their names, all she heard was a pounding in her ears so fierce that it drowned everything else out. Then she saw it. Mayor's upturned pram pushed against the crumbling shop wall and then a flash. the horrific image of it flying through the air before it came to land. From that moment, everything happened in slow motion as Robin dragged her eyes towards Willow's legs protruding from a coat. A huddle of strangers kneeling by her side. Two women sobbing into their hands. The yellow and black of police officers rushing, pushing, shouting to the crowd and into their phones. The sight that met Robin when she reached her daughter's side was lost in a black hole. It swallowed her whole and in some ways spared her from the true horrors of that scene. But Willow hadn't forgot. And neither could she forgive herself for surviving, for not taking the impact and saving her baby, for standing where she did and not getting out of the way in time. Robin knew because Willow had told her many times in the hours when she held her daughter tight during the longest days and nights that Willow wished she'd died too. Unlike Edmund and Nate, Robin understood, because there had been moments since, during what felt like a hundred years had crawled by when she wanted the same. And had the devil approached her first before he took his prize, Robin would have willingly offered herself in Mayor's place. Hell held no fear. Not when you'd watched your child suffer the way Willow had. Still did.

Robin was also no stranger to guilt, regret, deep remorse, and such immense frustration. The shopping trip was her idea. Had she not gone for bread? Had the man in front wanted his ham slicing thinly, then hummed and whared about pickle or salad cream? Had that stupid woman not counted her change onto the counter like there was all the time in the world? Each time she trod the path of memories that brought them to this point in their lives, seeing it in snapshots, turning each one over in her head, the guilt and the outcome remained the same. Willow wasn't physically damaged. She escaped with cuts and bruises from flying debris, but her mind, that was a different matter. She never recovered. A trigger was pulled. A bullet loaded with pain had exploded inside her, and the blast shattered her psyche into a million pieces. Fragments of happy memories floating beside the most sorted images. The remnants of her life broken beyond repair. Haphazard thoughts colliding with confusion. Deep sorrow bouncing off atoms of despair. Shards of anger slicing through the darkness. Blinding flashes of hate. Then an explosion followed by the boom of loss. That's how Robin imagined the turmoil in Willow's head. A burning star cascading across the universe, screeching through the atmosphere before plummeting to Earth. and she'd vowed to catch Willow whenever she fell, and she had a few times.

Standing, Robin wearily took her cup to the sink and began to wash it, her eyes focused on the bubbles, her mind lost in the past. Nate had done his best to help Willow amidst his own grief. Then, as weeks turned to months, it became clear that whatever had lured within Willow for so long had her firmly in its grip. Nate was struggling to cope with her night terrors and the rages where she would attack him or try to hurt herself, pulling at her hair and scratching her skin. Most of the time she was silent and wouldn't eat or speak, let alone wash. Robin had done her best, gone round every day encouraging, praying, silently raging inside. And then in the early hours of a Tuesday morning, Robin took the call from Nate. He was panicking because Willow had disappeared. He'd woken to find her gone. The duvet pushed back and when he ran downstairs, the front door was open, the car missing from the drive. They'd found her eventually, or the police did, sitting on the motorway bridge, ready to jump. It took over an hour to talk her down. When the marvelous, kind young officer finally managed to coax her into taking his hand, then into the back of the ambulance, Willow's fate was sealed.

Chapter 24. Willow

Willow spent 6 weeks in hospital, the longest of Robin's life, imagining her child with strangers, disorientated, frightened, her little girl alone without her mom, the person she had relied on since birth. It felt like she'd lost Willow as well as Mayor. Shuddering at the memory, she grabbed the tea towel and began to dry the pots on the draining board, remembering the day they were allowed to visit. She and Nate had gone alone. Edmund was appalled that Willow would even consider taking her own life, which he saw as a sin. Robin could still hear his words that night as the ambulance sped into the distance. Each syllable burned into her brain, repeated as an excuse when he refused to visit her at the hospital. I can't bear to see her right now. What she was about to do, it goes against everything I believe in, everything I've taught her. She knows that life is a divine gift to value and respect. No human has the right to take his own life or the life of another. I am so thoroughly disgusted and disappointed with her.

During the first visit, Robin and Nate may as well have been invisible. Ghosts chatting to another ghost, a faded gray image of the willow they knew, who didn't even acknowledge their existence. Instead, she stared out of the window, silently mouthing the words of a conversation nobody else was privy to. Slowly, though, they made progress, and little by little, Willow had come back to them. She smiled occasionally, ate food of her own accord, remembered how to wash and dress. It was progress. And even though Willow was not whole, not Robin's technical, vivid child, she was a child who was present, who Robin could touch and hold and comfort. She hadn't lost her. They still weren't out of the woods. Not by a long chalk.

Willow was diagnosed with persistent depressive disorder or dthyia, a continuous long-term chronic form of depression. While Robin had sat there stunned, the consultant explained Willow's condition succinctly, and as he spoke, it was as though her young life was laid before them, but a different version than the one Robin remembered, like she was seeing it all again through new eyes, acknowledging and ticking off the symptoms one by one. The patient loses all interest in normal daily activities, feels hopeless, lacks productivity, has low self-esteem, and an overall feeling of inadequacy. That was an accurate description of Willow since Mayor's death, followed by a sobering warning. These feelings can last for years. This is a major depressive disorder, also known as clinical depression, and it affects how one feels, thinks, and behaves, and can lead to a variety of emotional and physical problems. She may have trouble doing normal day-to-day activities, and sometimes may feel as if life isn't worth living. A flashback to seeing her sitting on the motorway bridge had chilled Robin's blood, and she silently vowed to never let Willow out of her sight again.

From what you've all told me, I suspect that Willow's depression began in her teens and early 20s, but it could have struck at any age. From the notes provided by her GP and those from the university practice, my team have been able to piece together how her condition may have gone undetected or certainly diagnosed incorrectly for years. However, the medications she has taken intermittently over the years strongly suggest she's been struggling for a while. This has been corroborated by the therapist she saw at Cambridge, who was most helpful while adhering to patient confidentiality. The slap in the face stung, flat palm, full force, on target. Robin had no idea, and neither did Nate, who sobbed in his chair, inconsolable in his own shock and grief and whatever else he was feeling at that moment. Robin asked herself one question. Why didn't she notice? It was so obvious. All the things she'd put down to teenage angst or premenstrual mood swings, being highly strong, overly sensitive, it was always there.

The consultant then reinforced his theory with facts Robin knew to be true. However, factors that seem to increase the risk of developing or triggering depression include certain personality traits such as low self-esteem and being too dependent, self-critical or pessimistic, and more recently a traumatic or stressful event and the death of a loved one. Oh, yes, Willow was dependent, all right, on everything Edmund had forced down her throat since she was old enough to understand his rules, his ethics. the most critical man on earth, who expected everyone to meet his high standards, Robin and the children included. Willow had strived to impress him, seeking his praise. And when she failed, it was as though she'd failed in a world that was too dark for her, too hard. An example sprang to mind of how Edmund's behavior hadn't helped their daughter's hidden low esteem and overcritical nature. Willow studied theology and the philosophy of religion at Cambridge, coming out with a very decent 21-1, even though Edmund had grumbled that with her background it should have been a first. Robin was astounded and wanted to throttle him, then push him in an empty grave that had been dug for a funeral. When after her graduation, Willow announced that instead of teaching, she'd set her sights and heart on becoming a priest, Robin rejoiced. Although her dreams had been denied, the door to the priesthood was now open to women, and Willow had the chance. Oh, the irony of having a daughter so devoted to the church, her beliefs, and her parents, only to be lumbered with a father who couldn't see past his own bigoted ways and ambition, was totally incapable of supporting or allowing Willow to follow her vocation, and hell hath no fury like a vicar scorned. Edmund was and remained firmly against the ordainment of women into the priesthood, as was the bishop and his cronies. Therefore, Willow's intention would have placed Edmund in a wholly disagreeable position. How could she do this to him? Robin had taken Willow's side, told Edmund to back off, but Willow wasn't strong enough to stand up to him, to reap the rewards of her hard work and devotion, to follow her vocation. And Robin had been weak, too. Should have done more. But what? In all of it, her greatest regret was not realizing how fragile Willow actually was. Not until the consultant had laid the past bear and shown Robin every single sign she'd missed. And then, what could be worse than the trauma of losing your baby right there in front of your eyes? Erasing that image, Robin decided she needed something to do to keep her mind and hands busy until Willow woke, so chose ironing, fetching the basket of laundry, where on top lay one of Nate's work shirts.

When Willow was discharged, she and Nate had moved into the vicorage. It was the best solution. Away from Mayor's bedroom where Willow would sit for hours in a trance, holding the little casket of ashes in her arms, or sobbing until her eyes were so swollen she could barely see. Robin couldn't bear it. Where had her happy little girl gone, who embraced each day like the start of a great adventure? She loved the snow, thunderstorms, the seaside, singing hymns, swinging higher and higher at the park. She loved school, her teachers, Gina, all God's creatures. Why had Robin not seen the shadows? Because to believe in God, should one not accept that the devil exists? That he lurks in those dark recesses of our souls, in our subconscious, waiting for his chance to strike, to creep in unnoticed and take a prize. And what a prize. A child of God, a wannabe bride of Christ, the devoted, the pure of heart, the daughter of a vicar. The shadows must have crept in when Robin wasn't looking at first, perhaps manifesting themselves into sorrow. When she was 11, Willow found a dead sparrow in the garden, and couldn't understand the cruelty of the cat who'd mowled it, or the mummy bird who'd thrown it out of the nest, and why God or Jesus hadn't saved it. Robin had tried to explain the circle of life that it was nature's way, but for days Willow sunk into herself, barely eating, staying in her room and being, as her teacher, Mrs. Turnuk, said, rather belligerent. Then Willow emerged, a little sunbeam, as though nothing had happened. So Robin moved on until the next time, and the next. It had been easy to put her mood swings down to growing up. Her intense reaction to a flood in Pakistan or an earthquake in Turkey would render her speechless, sucking it all in, then spewing horror at the unfairness of it all. Willow dealt with her confusion and disappointment in God's inaction by balancing it with action, rallying Gina, making cakes, raiding their toys and books to sell on the village green, then donating the money to charity. She always forgave God, though, because of Edmund. Whenever Willow wobbled, Edmund, via the power invested in him, would set her straight, and because she was fragile and needed strength, she grasped onto those words and assurances like a life raft. She became dependent on her father's every word, and sought his approval and counsel above others.

While she waited for the iron to warm up, Robin experienced a similar warmth, the heat of her anger towards him reaching boiling point, and had she a handy button to press, steam would be released from every pore of her body. The steam, real, not imagined, billowed around the ironing board as Robin set about the pile of laundry, imagining Edmund's face each time she pressed down really hard on Nate's shirt. Even he had succumbed to the legacy of tragedy. He was pulling away from his marriage, closing down his feelings for Willow, and Robin understood why. The wife he knew was no longer there. Then other times, she was so angry with him, for giving up because he had. Robin saw it in his eyes. It was so sad. The loss of love, hope, a future, their child. Wiping her brow, Robin could feel herself descending. focus on good things for pity's sake. Okay. She was blessed to have some good friends, people she could rely on, like Francesca, who drifted out of their social circle many years ago, but had in her way remained useful as an alibi for when Robin met Arty. Edmund always thought Francesca Trit, and probably never gave her a thought, which was good. Sandra D's sidekick now lived on a residential caravan site in TMBBI with her third husband who grew marijuana and did a bit of this and that. At least Franchesca was happy and high by all accounts. They kept in touch by text and the odd phone call, but hadn't seen each other in the flesh for many years. Then there was Gina, who used to visit Willow often, reading to her, or they'd watch television. An old friend's box set was their favorite. Sometimes they'd go for a drive and a walk around the park if Willow was up to it. Robin adored Gina and Babs, an absolute diamond. Her chatter and positivity lifted Robin up. Her little whirlwind whooing in full of gossip and funny family dramas. Robin envied Babs with easygoing Pete and her feisty brood who she adored and cared for like a cluckucky hen. and her big summer holiday with her group of friends where they drank and ate too much and lay by the pool doing bugger all. It sounded like bliss. But Robin also had things to be grateful for. A roof over her head, food in the cupboard, her health, because all of those placed her well, allowed her to dedicate what was left of her life to Willow. And that was where she was. While everyone else was getting to grips with the new way of the world, she would simply nurse her child. Forever. And that word was like a punch in the gut. Did forever also mean her and Edmund fighting the good fight? Her against him? Separate? No longer a team? The only reason she slept next to him was because all the bedrooms were occupied and she needed to hear Willow if she called out. Robin eyed the pile of ironing and realized that she didn't just miss Babs's incessant chatter. She missed her housekeeping skills, too. And she realized how mindblowingly sick she was of the vicorage and Edmund. And that she missed Arty so much. Too much. She needed company, not just a chat and a glass of wine at the graveyard wall with Babs surrounded by bones and headstones. And facetime with Chris wasn't enough either because she wanted her son there, not a thousand miles away because his father was a pious [ __ ] She needed something, anything to break the monotony of being her. A glimmer of hope for Willow, to see Artie's face and be able to touch it, touch all of him. Was it too much to ask? Maybe for a bit of help, even a miracle.

When her phone began to vibrate, a text message pinged onto the screen. Squinting her eyes, she read the name. It was Babs, being Babs, lifting a wing, offering a place of safety to nestle on the hardest of days. A friendly ear and a hand to hold if she needed one. They would be round later, her and Gina, if that was okay. If she wanted company. As tears blurred her eyes, Robin typed a message back. One simple word. Yes.

After 14 months later, July 2021.

Chapter 25. Gina.

The sound of Henry the Hoover being dragged along the landing should have made Gina smile, but it didn't. Neither did the sight of the tea tray laid out with the biscuits she's got in, especially for Babs. She'd thought having her guardian angel come housekeeper back would be a source of comfort. The familiarity of Babs's presence, and their easy routine had always been so. Instead, it had heralded another era, a new order in their lives where most of the restrictions had been lifted and they'd been told to get on with their lives. And Jimmy had out the door like a rocket and eager to get back on track. And she could understand why he and much of society were embracing their refound freedoms after the most dismal of times. Parts of the country had been put into bands, forced back into isolation, and when that didn't work, everyone endured a stripped back Christmas and two more lockdowns. Who could blame anyone for wanting normal? Even she did, would if it hadn't been for her discovery? Her dogged determination to seek the truth and obsessive desire to prevent a catastrophe went hand in hand. You couldn't have one without the other, and she wished she could have turned a blind eye, feigned ignorance, and carried on regardless of what her gut was telling her.

It started just after Jimmy began venturing out. The odd trip into the city for a socially distant meeting, more frequent sight trips in the open air. But for the main, he kept his word and worked from home, and Gina was able to breathe, believed that it was going to be okay. She'd monitored the news channels for the whole of the previous year, rejoicing when travel corridors were closed and most of Europe swapped and changed lists green to red, amber to green. Gina would have been glad if all the world had been painted red, and a barrier of barbed wire erected around the coast of the UK to keep everyone out, especially anyone returning from Italy. And she'd got her wish. The big man upstairs had been listening. But now, thanks to vaccinations and PCR tests, the populace was on the move, and inevitably one in particular headed in their direction. Gina had been vigilant on all fronts, making the home a happy, loving place from which no man would wish to wonder. The bedroom, where she'd put a concerted effort into ensuring all of Jimmy's needs and desires were met. In between ring fencing her life, Gina ventured out every day to patrol the perimeter of it. Running along the lanes, circumnavigating the young farm, checking for signs of life. The day she saw the car on the drive, Gina thought her legs were going to give way. She steadied herself on the stone wall sucking in air, trying to steal her booming heart. Bella was back and even though common sense told her it could be anyone, a neighbor checking the house, a relative staying over. Gina knew it was on the fourth day she saw her with her own eyes for sure, no doubts at all. As Bella came out of the front door, tanned and looking radiant as she unlocked her car and then zoomed up the drive. Gina had panicked, thrusting herself into the undergrowth and crouching behind a tree, feeling foolish as she scrunched her eyes like a seven-year-old playing hideand seek. But it wasn't a childish game. And as she stood brushing dandelion fluff from her legs and ignoring the sting of nettles on her hands, she was overcome by a sense of foroding, ignoring the voice of reason that told her she was overreacting. No, I'm not. The threat was back and so were every single one of Gina's demons. That had been 2 weeks and 5 days ago.

The text came 3 days after she'd seen Bella at the farm. A simple missive, but enough to trigger what Gina imagined a cardiac arrest to be like. She'd been checking Jimmy's phone and emails ever since she'd been alerted to the threat. And because he trusted her far more than she trusted him, she had access to his laptop and phone. Gina was nothing if not rigorous and methodical in her snooping which she carried out when Jimmy was in the bath. He loved a good soak, did Jimmy. So while he and Alexa wled away an hour, Gina snooped and like every stupid person gone before, was ridiculously unprepared for the moment they actually found something earthshatteringly, chestcrushingly incriminating. Hi, I'm back and tentatively wondering if you want to pick up where we left off. Still up for it if you are. No pressure. I'm back in Blighty for the foreseeable. You know where I am. Ciao for now. Winky face. Hi. I was wondering if I'd hear from you. Welcome back. And yes, I'll come over as soon as I can get away. Sooner the better. I'll be in touch soon, Jay.

And there it was. Proof she hadn't imagined it. Proof that he'd been biting his time for over a year. Proof that Gina had been nothing more than a convenient stop gap and a source of sex and entertainment while he waited for his lover to return. What a mug she'd been. The sooner the better. Christ, he was gagging for it. And yes, her husband knew where Bella was. All right. 2.7 miles up the road, ready and willing to show him what he'd been missing. As she'd sat there on the swivel stool, staring at the foam which lay on the kitchen island, Gina swooned. The floor flipped, the edges of the room blurred, and invisible hands gripped her throat, preventing her from breathing. Cold dread engulfed her body, and in the midst of pseudo heart failure, all she could hear was Jimmy singing in the bath.

By the time he wandered back into the kitchen, having learned how to live with the fear and knowing how to mask the stain it left behind, Gina faced his deceit head on, the only way she knew how, with more of her own. Slipping his phone into her pocket, out of sight until she could stuff it back down the side of the sofa cushion where she'd found it, Gina sucked in air and steadied her trembling body. You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost. You haven't, have you? Jimmy pulled his robe tighter around his body and feigned a terrified look, then made his way to the fridge. No, of course not. I think I'm getting a migraine and came over a bit queasy. In fact, my period's due, so it'll be that. I think I'll have an early night. Gina slid off the stool and tested her legs. Yes, they still held her up. Jimmy prattled on. So, you won't fancy a beer? Shall I make you a brew? No. No, it's fine. Gina spoke to his back as he grabbed a mug and flicked on the kettle, her voice trailing off as she threw his phone onto the couch, then made her way towards the stairs, not wanting to look at his face or hear his voice for a moment longer than necessary. You go to bed, love, and I'll bring one up and some toast to settle your stomach. Take a paracetamol. a swim in the cabinet in the bathroom. She heard the fridge door open and the sounds of rumaging as he raided the shelves for his obligatory pre-bed snack. He was totally oblivious to his wife's true state of distress as she wearily climbed the stairs. That night, Gina didn't look in on Max and Mimi or remove her makeup and brush her teeth. Instead, she dragged off her jeans and climbed straight into bed, not caring if her bra was uncomfortable and her t-shirt would make her hot. She just wanted to sleep. Close her eyes and then maybe in the morning it would all be Don't be so ridiculous. It's not a dream and it won't all be better after a big sleep. You're not a child, so face facts. It's all going wrong. And you know what? It's going to get a whole lot worse.

Chapter 26.

The stomping of babs in her slipperclad feet as they made their way back down the stairs forced Gina out of her mortal state. She plastered another fake smile on her face. However, she'd forgotten that today's masterclass in let's pretend wasn't for her distracted Randy husband's sake. She had a wrapped audience, and as always, Babs didn't miss a trick. as she wiggled onto the spinny stools, as she called them, and rested her very weary feet. Babs gave Gina one of her looks and wasted no time in explaining it. "So, what's up with my skinny mini? I can tell something's bothering you, and if I'm not mistaken, you've been crying." Babs then cast her eyes downwards as if giving Gina time to think, taking the pressure off while she busied herself with the wallpaper and fabric swatches scattered across the island. Gina scrabbled for something to say. Anything but the truth. Oh, I like this one. It's got sparkles. What's it for? Babs held up a square of wallpaper flock embossed with gold. Glad of the momentary diversion, Gina explained, "I've been asked to prepare a mood board from a magazine editor. She has a friend in London who wants her whole house redecorating and she put my name forward, but I'm not sure if I want the commission even if I get it. A halftruth would have to do because Gina had already decided she wouldn't take the job. Would not be going to London on the train and staying overnight or meeting the client for dinner. In fact, the whole lot was going straight in the bin as soon as Babs went home. She hadn't even told Jimmy about it because he'd be mega enthusiastic and shuffle her out the door like a shot so he could have a night with shag bag Bella. She wasn't stupid. Well, she was, but not a total pushover.

Babs helped herself to a chocolatecovered marshmallow and began to unwrap the foil, then gave Gina a beused look. Why on earth not love? It'd be lovely to get out and about, especially a trip down to London, and I thought you were looking for a bit of part-time work when Mimi starts nursery. This might be perfect for you." Gina sucked in a deep breath and forced down the swell of panic that the mere thought of leaving the house, the village, Jimmy, the kids brought on. However, in a rare moment of clarity, or perhaps for want of a better excuse, she made a confession to the only person who she thought would understand. Yes, I was. But I don't think I'm ready, you know, to get a job and face people, and I'd worry about germs and being around strangers. So, I think I'm going to email her and tell her to find someone else. And anyway, why do I have to go to work? Jimmy said, "I don't not yet." So, there's no rush, and these are just a bloody waste of time. And before she could stop her hands from scraping together the swatches, or the tears and the sob that escaped as she stroed over to the bin and stamped on the pedal, she'd stuffed them all inside. Seconds later, she was back at her spinny stool. Silence descended as she accepted the tea towel Babs offered, and while she wiped her eyes, wish she could stop bloody crying and erase the mess in her head by telling someone about her Jimmy. But once those words were spoken out loud, they would sound the death nail on their marriage. Of that, Gina was convinced.

Gina, love. Hey. Babs reached forward and took Gina's free hand. I get it. I really do. I was absolutely blooming terrified of going back to work in case I got the dreaded virus. And if it hadn't been for the fact I'd have looked like a bloody Teletubby, I'd have brought some paper overalls. But I'm getting used to it now. And if you're sensible, Gina cut in, shaking her head as she spoke. It's not just that though, Babs. It's me. how I feel inside about leaving the security of home and being away from the kids. I don't have the confidence to go out there and meet new people. I can't do it. I know I can't. Babs let go of Gina's hands and paused for a moment before asking a question. Do you think you've got claustrophobia? For a second, Gina was nonplusted, then realized, "You mean agriphobia, I don't think so because I can go to the shops and out for a run, but sometimes I have to force myself out the door. So, who knows? I might be getting it." It then occurred to Gina that it would actually be a solution to be afflicted by the same condition her bone idol mother pretended to have. But never ever did she want to be likened to that waste of space, no matter how desperate she became. I don't think so, love. It sounds to me like you're suffering from lack of confidence, and I reckon lots of people will be feeling the same right now. Gina nodded, whereas Babs was on a roll and settling into counseling mode. Okay, then tell me what you want to do, what your plan for the future would be if you could concoct one. I'd want my husband to not be having an affair. To love me like he used to do and for Belly Young to [ __ ] off back to Italy and never come back or die. Yes, actually I would want her to die. Instead, she looked straight at Babs and said, "I'd want to be just like you." Me? Babs's hands flew straight to her chest, a look of utter surprise transforming her previously worried face. Why on earth would anyone want to be like me?

With the attention on Babs, Gina was able to relax slightly and lean forward, resting her elbows as she fiddled with the soggy tea towel. Because you're the best, the best mom and wife and friend. I've known you almost all my life, and to me, you're like a shining example of what a proper mom should be. You've always put your family first and worked around them, and they love you for it. So, if I could be someone, I'd be you. Oh, love, that's such a nice thing to say. I've come over all the duda now. Babs fanned her cheeks as she spoke. But love, I'm not perfect or a shining example. That I can promise you. Gina shook her head. To me, you are. You know, when I was growing up, I used to pray, I mean really pray, that you'd adopt me and then I could live at your house because I loved going there. It was a proper home. My idea of family life. And I was always so happy when for whatever pathetic reason she gave, mom asked you to babysit. I remember feeling light as a feather when we headed to yours for tea. Like a lump of lead when it was time to go home. Oh, love. I never knew that. You poor booger. But there's always room for one more around my table, especially if it's you and not one of our Isaac's bloody annoying girlfriends. Babs winked and then grabbed the tea towel to dab her leaky eyes. Her remarks somewhat lightening the mood and jollying things along. Just like good moms do, Gina thought. But you can't waste your degree in all that hard work staying here for the rest of your life. And you're so talented, Gina. Babs turned and waved her hand around the kitchen. Just look how beautiful you've made this house. And I've seen your lovely sketches and mood board thingies on your laptop. And what you can do with a tatty old cupboard is amazing. So please don't give up. Give it some time and some thought. Maybe once Mimi is in nursery, you'll get fed up with just having me for company and be climbing the walls. Desperate to get out. And please don't end up like yours truly. A grumpy old nag. Mrs. frustrated Finch who's left it all too late.

The best Gina could manage was a weak smile. And then something occurred. What do you mean frustrated? And what have you left too late? I thought you were happy running your little cleaning empire around the Finch family. You never said otherwise. I mean, yes, I know you do grumble about them a lot, but you're only joking because you love them really, and you always seem so fulfilled. busy but happy. Babs regarded Gina for a moment and looked deep in thought as though she was pondering how honest to be. But when she rallied, it was to give support and a bit of a confession. Yes, I am busy, but I can't say I'm fulfilled, and that's my point. I did what I did for my family, my babies, and my husband. I made a home they'd want to come back to, food they like to eat. And I'm proud of all that and being self-employed and knowing that my clients need me as much as my family do. I work hard and don't have a bad life. But lately, I've had a bit of a wobble of my own and thinking a lot about the past and where it might have gone wrong. Things I could have done differently and funnily enough, how I can change the future. you know, perhaps do a few things just for me.

This revelation had taken Gina by surprise and hadn't turned out to be the security blanket or get out of jail card she'd been expecting. I didn't know you felt like that, Babs. So, what would you like to do? You know, if you could, cuz maybe I can help. Oh, love, you've done enough already. especially pointing me in the direction of all those online classes and groups and this job because you pay me above and beyond what the others do. And all the little treats you sneak over in the air, like those gorgeous candles that make this place smell like paradise, and the bits and bobs you reckon you ordered by mistake and can't be bothered to send back that always seem to fit me just right, or that lovely posh bedding that you weren't keen on when it arrived. Gina just smiled, knowing she was busted. You look after me the way a daughter would and do it in a way that's kind and sensitive. That means such a lot to me. It really does. Sometimes it was best not to say anything. And Gina knew they were in one of those moments. So let Babs continue. At the same time, she calmed the swell of love that threatened to burst its banks and leak from her eyes. I've made a bit of progress even during lockdown, which is a miracle because I'm fitter, healthier, and a bit happier, too. I've made lots of new virtual friends who I chat to all the time. I'm in book groups, cookery groups, menopause groups, exercise groups, cute pet owner groups. You name it, there's a group for it. And I don't feel so alone now. But I don't want you or either of my girls feeling like I have. So, we need a plan and you need to speak up more about what's going on in your head and then I can help you. Okay. Okay.

Then a question pinged into her head. Babs, why are you in a cute pet owners group? You don't even have a pet. Babs chuckled. Oh, that's just a technicality, love. All you needed to join was your pet's name. So, I made one up and boom, I was in. Then I found a lovely kitten photo on Google and bunged that on the comments. Everyone loves Poet. That's her name. And I love looking at all the lovely animals and their funny stories. You're Potty. You know that, don't you? Yep. And an imaginary pet kitten called Poet is loads easier to look after than a real one. Babs winked and shuffled off the stool, then made her way to Gina, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. There, at least I got a smile out of you. So now, my little bag of bones, can we make a pact? Gina relaxed against Babs's shoulder, enjoying the warmth of her body and the embrace. Uh-oh. Should I be worried? No, love. It's nothing bad. I just want you to put any ideas about going back to work on the back burner for a bit because you're clearly not ready. But you do need to talk to your Jimmy and tell him how you're feeling. And I think this is going to be the toughest one of all. We need to get to the bottom of why you're so thin because I was shocked when I saw you. Oh, the shame. That's what Gina felt in that moment about it all. her life, her failure to keep

Her husband, to be a good enough wife and lover, to conquer the demon that was eating away at her flesh and causing Bab's distress. To the request, Gina could only nod, signing a pact in silence.

"Right then, now I'm going to hoover the lounge while you, my love, are going to make us a nice booty for lunch. And while we eat, we can have a good old natter and see if we can't cheer ourselves up. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a great idea. I'll get cracking and rustle up something nice. I'll surprise you." For this, she received a peck on the forehead before Babs bustled off, humming something unintelligible and tuneless, yet surprisingly upbeat.

Babs's pep talk still hadn't lifted Gina's spirits, and neither would a sandwich that she'd have to force down and dispose of later. And Nata. The diversion of picking apart Babs's unfulfilled life wouldn't solve her problems either. Gina knew what was happening. Her life was unraveling, and so was she. She had to find a way to stop it, and it had to be soon.

Chapter 27.

Babs, seeing as she'd only had Gina's house to clean that day, and in a determined effort to stick to her healthy living regime, Babs had decided to walk there and back. September had brought with it an Indian summer, and as a consequence of the chat she'd just had, Babs was glad of mild weather and the time alone to think things through. Not just the pickle that Gina appeared to be in, but the predicament she was wallowing in, too.

As she walked, Babs unwrapped a Marsbar. It was important to keep her energy levels up after a vigorous morning of cleaning and a long walk home. While she ate, Babs' thoughts returned to Gina, who definitely benefit from a Marsbar. In fact, a multiack, because from the look of it, she was struggling with her eating disorder again. It was such a shame that every now and then it surfaced, and for the life of her, Babs couldn't understand why. Even though they'd known each other so long, and Gina was more like family than a friend, there were just some things she felt were out of bounds, and that was one of them.

Babs tried to think back to the last time she'd seen Gina so thin, and it must have been before she was married. Yes, that was it. During her pregnancies, she had been a picture of health and really did blossom, but that was because she put her babies before herself. The poor lamb did fall prey to the baby blues, but after that, she'd seemed fine. For some reason, every time Gina should have been happy, for instance, before her wedding, something caused her to self-destruct and ruin what should be a happy time. It had been a lovely day, especially because Demi had been a bridesmaid with Willow, the chief, and thankfully they'd not had to endure Edmund officiating, because that would have made Babs sick, seeing that hypocrite join Gina and Jimmy in holy matrimony. Babs had been worried that having him do the honors would be a curse. Yet Gina had unwittingly saved the day by insisting he came as a guest and asked her old university chaplain to do the honors. She was a lovely lady who made everyone smile all through the service, and many of the parishioners who sat near the back were heard to comment what a breath of fresh air it had been. No bloody wonder. Sometimes Babs was really pissed off with God, who she didn't actually believe in, because he needed to get his finger out and do nice things for nice people.

Realizing she was wandering off subject, Babs refocused. It was the image of Gina nibbling at her sandwich that set more alarm bells off, and Babs had wondered whether Gina had kept it down once she left. Might it be worth ringing Jimmy and having a discreet word with him? Surely he'd noticed how frail she looked. He was such a lovely man and devoted to his wife and kids, so Babs couldn't fathom why he'd not acted because anyone could see Gina looked ill. Then it dawned on her, oh no, it couldn't be that, could it? That Gina was properly poorly with something terrible and that's why she'd been crying and couldn't tell Babs because it would upset her or they hadn't had the results yet. All that about not wanting to go back to work was a smoke screen to avoid the truth. It was obvious now she thought about it. Please let me be wrong. Please let it be anything but that. You're putting two and two together, so stop it. It's not that. It's a eating disorder, and you're blowing everything out of proportion as usual. But what to do? That was the biggie. She needed to speak to Jimmy. It was as simple as that. One way or another, she had to say something, and if it meant poking her nose in or hearing something dreadful, then so be it. She would ring him later once she'd got home and sorted out whatever needed doing there.

Feeling relieved she'd made some kind of plan, Babs scrunched up the Marsbar wrapper and popped it in her bag, then pulled out a bottle of water and took a gulp to steady her nerves. Fortified, Babs picked up the pace and strode on as her thoughts turned to home and her current dilemma. It had been a huge shock when there Sasha actually managed to find a full-time job, working at an online call center. The only problem was that the call center was situated in her front room or the kitchen or Sasha and Demiy's bedroom wherever it was quiet. Hence, Babs' dream of having an empty nest even for a few hours a day wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

Then there was the Fiona problem because even though it was July and there was no real reason why she couldn't go back home to her parents, there was no sign of her budging. To be fair, having Fiona live with them had been a revelation because over the past few months, she'd shown herself to be a lovely person, devoted to Isaac, and willing to do her bit around the house, a hard worker, too. She'd been putting in extra shifts, and from what Babs had gleaned, was saving the extra she earned for a deposit on a flat. Sometimes Babs had guilty thoughts that Fiona could do better than Isaac. And for a mother to think that of her son must surely be some kind of sin if he believed in all that malarkey. It was true though because she'd had time to observe her workshy, self-obsessed, ungrateful son. Unfortunately, in Fiona, Isaac had found another willing servant, albeit 30 years younger, and a lot more attractive than the one he'd trained up since birth. That's what really irritated Babs. Not that she'd been replaced. In fact, she was relieved. Yet, at the same time, she'd begun to feel protective over Fiona. She didn't even mind her calling Isaac Zach anymore. In Fiona, Bab saw an eager young woman trying ever so hard to be the perfect girlfriend, potential spouse, good daughter-in-law, and it made her feel so bloody sad. Or was she just projecting her own insecurities and frustrations onto someone who was happy being them? After all, it was Fiona's life, and Babs had no right to interfere or judge. But she couldn't help herself, otherwise Fiona would end up with a Pete clone for her husband, and Babs wouldn't wish that on anyone.

Pete. Now, there was where the true deeprooted problem lay. And as she passed St. Mary's, glanced across in the hope she might spot Robin. Babs had to wrestle with a choice. To think about her husband and their marriage or stuff it into the recesses of her handbag with the Marsbar wrapper and the spare Twix she carried for emergencies. It was too late. The niggle had been set free and was determined not to be ignored. So with a sigh, Babs gave in. They were at the end of the road, her and Pete. There was nothing there. They may as well have been brother and sister, siblings who annoyed the hell out of each other, but would come to the rescue out of familial duty and love. The kind of love you have for a friend, not what you should have for your spouse. Did she feel sad? Yes. Did she think it could be salvaged? Maybe. Did she want to try? No. And that was the shocking crux of the matter, that over the past months, in the weirdest of circumstances, Babs had begun to find herself. She used to think that saying was cringey. But it wasn't because she and many other people did get lost. Lost in their lives, their jobs, buried under paperwork and piles of ironing, dirty nappies, and potato peelings. beneath the duvet. They wanted to stay wrapped in all day, hiding from the black cloud that hovered over their heads because they'd simply lost sight of themselves and a way out sign. Babs was desperate to find the exit.

Pete wasn't a bad person. He was just selfish and ignorant. He loved his kids as long as they looked after themselves and didn't expect anything from him apart from a Christmas and a birthday present. Pete wanted to live life his way and was happy to let you live yours as long as it didn't interfere with his. In his head, he was an easygoing, good bloke who provided and therefore deserved on paper and to his mates down the pub at pool and football. He passed the test. Whereas, if anyone asked Babs, she'd say he'd failed miserably. And lately, he'd become a bit mean. Babs was the catalyst. She accepted that. But how she was, how she felt was not of her own making. It was the consequence of a chemical imbalance going on inside her body. Something she had no control over. It hurt like mad that he didn't understand that. He hadn't even tried to. Bab saw the menopause as nature's cruel joke. When you're little more than a child, menration hits. And in her case, it really did feel like a curse having to endure painful periods for years. So your body is preparing, becoming a useful vessel to procreate. Good job. Well done. And then suddenly your body and the universe no longer needs that magical part of you. And all those hormones that kept you useful for half your life start to leave your body with no regard or respect. You begin to dry up like an old crinkly leaf. Not just your skin on the outside, but on the inside, too. Your bones shrink and crumble. And just for a laugh, a cheeky encore in case you're not already truly pissed off with life. Nature sends you half mental, too.

Not that she'd said all that to Pete, but she had tried to explain to him how she felt, that she was struggling with her mood swings, that it wasn't her fault if she disturbed him in the night after a hot flush, then had to get up and have a shower and change her nighty in the middle of winter, or that sex was really painful and made her sore for days after. And it wasn't that she was going off him either. She wouldn't want to make love to anyone, not even George Soding Clooney. He'd taken the huff over that. Not the sex bit, the fact he never knew she fancied a man she was never likely to meet ever, let alone drag him under her secondhand duvet set. His answer to her problem was simple. Go to the doctor and get some pills. Apparently, he'd heard about them on the radio while he was driving. There was stuff for women like her, and it worked wonders. Thank you, Dr. Pete, for that kindly given advice.

Bab's power walked along, the anger at remembering the conversation fueling each stride. Well, unbeknown to dear, well-informed Pete, Babs had finally seen the doctor, a very nice young man with a kind face and manner that she'd actually burst into tears in his surgery. Such was her relief at his understanding and sympathetic nature. And yes, Pete, she had in fact got something for women like her, and gradually they'd made her feel so much better inside and out. Not that she had any intention of telling him that, because there would be no more bunkups. Not with Pete, and if she was honest, not with anyone. Hanky Panky was the last thing on her mind. What took precedence over everything was what to do next about her life, the future, and Pete.

Chapter 28.

They were in the kitchen. She was seated at the table while Pete made himself a pre-t ham sandwich, and Bab's feigned interest in what he was saying. She was more interested in not smudging her nails and admiring the cherry blossom pink varnish that Fiona had bought her. Currently Babs had very nice nails and she was determined to keep them that way. She'd bought extra thick maragolds for that very purpose.

"So I said to Calvin, 'Calvin, mate, we need to get this holiday thing started whether Barry and Cheryl want to go or not. Just because he's too scared to go, I don't see why we should all be penalized.'" Pete looked at Babs, who stared back in belligerent silence, but he still plowed on, ignoring her lack of input. "Anyway, Calvin said he agreed with me, and after what we've all been through lately, especially the likes of us key workers, we deserve a bloody good holiday in the sun. And he's right. So, he's going to have a word with Barry and see if he can persuade him. And if not, ring the travel company and see if he can alter the booking. Babs, are you listening?"

After replacing the brush inside the varnish bottle, she began turning the lid, screwing it on tightly as she looked up and replied, "Yes, I heard you. But you obviously didn't hear me the hundred times I told you that I'm not going on holiday with them ever again. So, could you tell Calvin I want a refund, too, and one for our demi?"

The slam of the knife as it hit the worktop cut through the silence that followed her statement that was met with a look of horror from Pete. "Why do you insist on being awkward? I thought you were just having one of your nacky days where you said you didn't want to go. What the hell is wrong with you? We need a holiday, Babs. Surely you can see that. It'll be good for us."

A minuscule glimmer of something ignited in Babs's heart because it was the first time Pete had alluded to there being the need for anything in their marriage that he might want to sort things out even if she didn't. Or could she still be persuaded? "Okay, then tell me why it'll be good for us and why you think we need a holiday. Then I'll consider it." Babs blew on her nail polish while she waited, knowing that Pete was under stress, desperate to pitch his jolly bob dream and win her over.

"Because because it might cheer you up, and now you've lost a bit of weight. You'll enjoy a dip in the pool with the others rather than sitting by the edge and not joining in. I know you don't like wearing a bikini, but you could get a new cozy." He was putting the butter back in the fridge, so couldn't see the look of thunder on Babs's face. The fool, "And you don't have to cook either, and you're always complaining about making tea." He was floundering, and as far as Babs was concerned, had more or less drowned, and still, in his last breath, there'd been no mention of how it would be good for them. She could sense him racking his brains when they heard the front door open, followed by the appearance of Isaac and Fiona, abruptly ending the conversation and saving Pete's skin.

Ignoring his stupid, flustered face that she was about to slap and resisting the urge to ram the ham sandwich down his throat, Babs walked out of the kitchen and into the hall where Fiona and Isaac were slipping off their shoes. "Hi, Mom. Where's Dad?"

"Dad, can you come into the lounge?" As Pete appeared, holding his sandwich and as always, no plate, Isaac then shouted up the stairs, "Sasha, Demi, come down here, will you? Me and Fiona want to tell you something." Seconds later, the Finch family were all gathered in the lounge while two thoughts ran through Babs's mind. One of them was good, the other she wasn't sure about. Holding her breath, she sat next to Sasha, and opposite sat Demi on the armchair that didn't face the telly, while King Pete was firmly esccconed in the one that did. Holding court in front of the fireplace was Isaac, who was holding hands with Fiona, both wearing stupid grins on their faces.

"Right, fam. We have something really exciting we want to tell you all." Isaac left a dramatic pause that was filled by Sasha. "You're moving out at last. Hooray. Now, can I go back upstairs?"

Isaac scowlled. "No, it's not that." Booger, thought Babs. So, it had to be the diamond ring option. But before that little gem had time to settle, Isaac blurted out his news. "We're having a baby."

They were once again settled back on their respective perches with Demi being downgraded to the poof when Pete told her to let Fiona sit down. Not for one nancond did Babs expect him to offer up his smelly old chair. He was now looking decidedly peeved because he was missing deal or no deal and even mouthed when will te be ready out of sight of the happy couple of he'd seemed genuinely chuffed at first and had hugged Fiona and shook Isaac's hand. [snorts] Babs had joined in with the whole family as they clapped and whooped and shown their happiness. Yes, of course she was pleased for the two of them. And Fiona, bless her, looked radiant and nervous all at once during the announcement. And it was always lovely having a new baby in the family, but there were so many questions buzzing around in her head, which resulted in what the kids called her mithered face, and Demi had noticed. Leaning forward, she whispered over the hubbhub of Sasha ooing and aaring at the grainy image of a blob. "Mom, are you okay? Try and smile a bit or they'll notice."

Babs immediately tensed and felt guilty, so took Demiy's advice and made the effort. "So, you'll have to get organized now. You have a little one on the way. And for a start, I don't think the three of you will fit into that box room. Unless you get bunk beds." She thought that sounded okay. Jolly, but with a hint of sensible until she noticed a quick exchange between Fiona and Isaac, then wasn't so sure.

"Flipping heck, Mom. Talk about dropping a hint. We will be out of your hair eventually, so don't worry. But we were hoping we could stay on here a while while we get organized and find somewhere suitable." Isaac was perched on the arm of the chair and slipped his arm around Fiona protectively. The word eventually causing alarm bells to ring and she was about to say so when she saw Fiona give him a nudge and a nod in the direction of Babs. Uh-oh.

"Anyway, we have been making plans and thinking through our options before we told you the news, especially for when the baby arrives. Fiona wants to go back to work as soon as possible, but will need two wages coming in to have a decent standard of living." So, two sets of eyes were firmly locked onto Babs, whose feeling of dread was far worse than anything she'd experienced during the menopause. "We were wondering, seeing his private child care is so expensive, if you would look after the baby during the week, and instead of paying a nursery, we'd pay you."

They were both still locked on, expectant faces waiting for Babs to burst into tears of joy at being given this unexpected honor. So when she remained silent, the awkward void was filled by Pete, who'd suddenly turned into granddad of the century. "Well, I think that's a brilliant idea, don't you, Babs? I mean, as long as it's equivalent to what you earn now, the advantages are obvious. You'd not have to clean other people's houses anymore, thank God. And you'd be here all day and get to put your feet up a bit. Sounds like a plan to me." He looked rather pleased with his aerodite appraisal of the situation, and so did Fiona and Isaac until Babs opened her mouth to speak.

"And what's wrong with cleaning people's houses?" She glared at Pete, but didn't give him a chance to answer. "And what's all this? Thank God, Malarkey. As far as I remember, you've not done bad out of my job that you're suddenly looking down on the job that's took us on holiday for the last teen years and Christmas and birthdays and other little luxuries that your wage alone doesn't run to. So, before you go making me redundant, I'd like a bit of respect and a say in the matter. Thank you very much."

A beat of dumbfounded silence was followed by Pete blustering his way through what was never going to be an apology. It wasn't his style. "Bloody hell, Babs. I didn't mean there's no need to take the hoof." It was Isaac that helped him out as usual. "I don't think Dad was putting you down, Mom. He was trying to say you'd get to spend quality time with your grandchild and get paid for doing it. And he's right. In a way, it would be a nice rest from cleaning."

"Stop." Babs held up her hand like she was a lollipop lady halting traffic. "Have you listened to yourself, Isaac? You're talking utter rubbish, and I also object to you and your father taking it upon yourself to plan my life and tell me what would be nice for me." The wideeyed look and the O shape of Isaac's mouth told her he hadn't, but for once they were all listening to her. "Yes, it will be lovely to have a baby in the family, and I'm very pleased for you both. But you seem to be missing the point that it's your baby, not mine. So, no, I don't want to look after it 5 days a week to put my life on hold or change it just because you two want easy option child care on tap. And as for your ridiculous comment that it'll be a nice rest, you two have a bloody big shock coming if you think for one millisecond that looking after a baby is restful."

Babs's cheeks were on fire, set a light by the rage burning inside that had whooed up from nowhere like a pilot light heating every radiator in the house. So, I'm sorry, Isaac, Fiona, but I've done my child care shift, got the badge and the t-shirt, and I have no objection to the odd night of babysitting. But no way am I looking after a baby full-time. So, you're going to have to rethink your plans, and just like everyone else who starts a family, take responsibility, work hard, save up, and get on with it."

Fiona burst into tears at that point, and Isaac stood clearly annoyed or in shock. both sentiments reflected via the anger in his voice. "Well, thanks for that, Mom. For throwing cold water on what was a nice evening and ruining a happy memory because now you've upset Fee and basically told us you don't give a [ __ ] about your grandchild or us for that matter. All we're asking for is a bit of help and support, but that's clearly too much to expect."

Babs had had enough. "No, that's not what I said and you know it, Isaac. But the thing is I we have always supported you and why you can afford your flash car and save up in your mystery bank account for a deposit that never materializes. Oh, and live here for the bare minimum. So, it's time to put your big boy Spider-Man pants on and grow up." She chanced a glance at Pete, who kept his lips firmly shut. No surprise there. So, plowed on. "You're going to have to face facts and your responsibilities and get on with being a partner and a dad. You can't stay at home forever. So maybe you should fogg your flash car and get a runabout. Do extra shifts, cut your cloth, do without if need be, just like me and your dad had to when we had you. But don't you dare say I'm not supporting you because this what I'm saying now is support. It's a life lesson and it's been long overdue."

"Bloody hell, mom. Say it like it is. Why don't you?" Sasha's folded arms and sulky face told Babs that her daughter had also taken on board some home truths. Babs was in no mood for mad asses. "Oh, shut up, Sasha. Otherwise, it's your turn." Then she addressed Fiona because she felt bad that she was upset, so adopted a softer tone. "And Fiona, love, I think you'll be a fantastic mom and role model for your baby. And I do admire you for wanting to go back to work. I really do. But Isaac has got too used to living here. Having everything done for him, just like his dad, and I'm not prepared to do it anymore. So don't cry. One way or another, you'll make it work. And I am very happy for you. I really am."

Fiona just sniffed and nodded in the uncomfortable silence. And Babs suddenly felt unwelcome in her own front room. Needing strength and support when it seemed like everyone around her thought she was selfishness personified. Babs looked over at Demi because she was losing her nerve. Tears threatened and everything. Her whole life felt like it was about to blow up in her face until Demi gave her a smile and a wink and a silently worded message. "Well done, Mom."

Babs was in the garden, keeping out of the way, and intended staying there till they'd all gone to bed. It was still so warm, and she had her fluffy boots and her fleece to fend off the chill when night fell. Opposite sat Demi, dunking her custard cream into a mug of tea, in between explaining the aftermath of Babs growing a pair. Just after, Pete had asked what was for tea, to which he was told to piss off and fetch his own, and Babs had stormed out and zoomed off in her car. Isaac rang for a takeaway and treated them all to a Chinese. "Well, at least everyone got fed. Your grand made me a bacon buty."

"Did you tell her what happened?" Demi wiped tea and biscuit crumbs from her chin. "No, she thought I was just passing and I didn't want to ruin things again for Isaac and Fiona."

"Is Fiona okay? By the way, I really didn't mean to upset her. No, I've actually got a bit of a soft spot for her. It was your dad and Isaac that riled me and I just saw red and lost it and I could have said more but reigned it in somehow. I'm sorry though for causing a scene and trashing their big moment."

Demi stopped mid dunk. "Mom, don't you dare apologize. I was well proud of you for speaking out and our Isaac deserved it. And I think what you said hit a nerve with Sasha, too." Babs watched as Demi continued to dunk, eat, sip, glad of her company and support. And it was true because for a second she'd been tempted to turn on Pete, tell him exactly what was going on in her head. But common sense prevailed and reminded her it wasn't the time. What she needed to say to him was private, between a man and a wife.

"Mom." Demi nodded towards the mug of tea she'd made. "Drink up. It's going to go cold." Babs did as she was told and picked up the mug, holding down the sigh that ballooned inside her chest, knowing that eventually she was going to have to go indoors and face them all, if not that evening in the morning. And there was something else she had to face up to. What the hell was she going to do about Pete? And when? Because if she was uncertain about many things in her life, one thing she knew for sure that whatever it was, one way or another, it had to be soon. Otherwise, she'd go down for murder.

Chapter 29.

Robin. When she entered the kitchen, Nate was already there making coffee, looking smart in his habitual teacher garb, a freshly ironed blue shirt and black trousers with a razor sharp crease down the front. And how nice, a jaunty yellow tie to bring a splash of jolly color into a day that for her was going to be anything but. After a sleepless night, she was mentally exhausted and physically drained and surprised that her battery had just enough charge to generate anger and even a trace of sarcasm at the sight of him, acknowledging the intention of his attire. He had that new term spring in his step, and Robin was envious and irritated by his demeanor.

It had been a terrible night that leaked into the new day where for around four or 5 minutes that felt like hours she, Edmund, and Nate had been trapped right there in the kitchen. Willow had experienced a psychotic episode. Heartbreaking to witness, painful to endure, and once it was over, the struggle for power ensued. Not with Willow, with Edmund, who wanted to ring for an ambulance and the on call team who cared for her. To him, having his daughter incarcerated was the answer to his problems. Robin often imagined Edmunds of the past, watching from the step as their irritations were carted off in the back of a horsedrawn carriage to the lunatic asylum. Out of sight and mind, Willow's episodes occurred rarely, mostly when the dose of drugs she took daily needed a tweak. Willow's mostly placid, locked in state was replaced by mania and violent tendencies. Then, as with the previous evening, anything could happen.

Nate had come in late and had the shock of his life when Willow emerged from the shadowy hallway and tried to open the front door, saying that she was going to collect Mayor from school, and she was late. When he prevented her from leaving, she darted into the kitchen and tried to unbolt the back door. Nate had blocked her exit, and without warning, she erupted. A screaming banshee was let loose, swiping everything off the work surfaces, dragging out drawers and upending them onto the floor. And by the time Robin and Edmund arrived, alerted by the noise, Willow had found the cutlery. That part Robin remembered in slow motion as her screeching daughter grabbed a fish knife and began brandishing it to anyone who approached. If they attempted to get close, she would pass the tip against the vein of her inner arm, her meaning clear.

Throughout, Robin and Nate had remained calm. Edmund, lacking patience and irked at the inconvenience, could never relinquish the alpha male role, so took control. Bellowing like he did when Willow was a child, as if she were one of Satan's demons, the look in his eyes betraying his inner anger, his voice pious and laced with threat. He pointed his finger. This alone pinned his daughter to the spot while he commanded, "Willow, desist." The word itself made Willow gasp, "You will stop this nonsense immediately. I mean it. Do not dare spill a drop of blood in your father's house, or so help me, God. You will be punished. Put down that knife now."

Robin gulped, her dry lips unable to form words. Her legs and hands shook as she watched her daughter closely. Willow's glazed eyes were round with shock. Then a frown, a hint of confusion, and her lips moving as if conversing with someone unseen. At the time, Robin wished she'd grabbed a filleting knife so she could slice out Edmund's tongue and then the rest of his vital organs, until she realized that his words had actually registered with Willow, who miraculously did as she was told. The relief in the room was palpable when she dropped the knife like it was molten steel, looking at her hand in horror as though it was burnt and blistered. Nate stepped forward, kicking it out of the way. And as it skidded across the tiles, Willow sank to the floor in a heap, replete, covering her ears, and began talking to her friends, the angels. "I'm sorry. Please forgive me, dear Angel. Hear my prayer. I'm sorry. Forgive me, dear Angel. Hear my prayer." And so it went on in a loop as Rob intentively made her way towards Willow. There she slid to the floor by her child's side, relief rushing through her body, legs grateful of restbite, her heart rate returning to normal. Maybe the notion that her actions would be punishable by God, Edmund's go-to method of parenting, had got through, somehow penetrated the ether, and touched a nerve, reconnected a severed wire in Willow's brain. Willow had regressed, resembling an ageless, hunched, and frail being. A little girl locked in a nightmare, totally lost.

Robin wasn't sure where, but ironically, she was glad of it when Edmund began issuing orders. "Nate, ring for the ambulance or whoever it is you need to call. She can't stay here like this. She's a danger to herself and us. And whether you like it or not, she needs professional care, not a nursemaid." Robin had heard it before, the derogatory tone in a comment directed at her, but she was beyond hurt by Edmund anyway, and stood her ground. Thankfully, Nate sided with Robin, who refused, and then forbade Edmund to call 999, reiterating that they'd weathered episodes such as these before. Once exhausted, Willow would sleep, sometimes for a day, maybe more, in which time her medication would be adjusted. Edmund, red-faced and knowing he was beaten, had stomped off to bed, leaving Nate to clear the kitchen while Robin settled Willow in her room. Then, throughout the night, a mother kept vigil over her daughter, fending off demons, especially the one known as Edmund.

As Nate buttered his toast, Robin sucked in her temper, resigned to facing the care team the day ahead, her thoughts and anxieties alone. She was part irritated, part glad, but allowed the force with which she yanked the chair from under the table to express her mood, the earpiercing scrape of the chair legs to speak her feelings. "So, you're going to work then?"

Nate brought the coffee pot and his plate over to the table, then set them next to his bowl of cereal, taking a seat opposite. Evidently, his appetite undampened by the predicament of his wife or mother-in-law. The look he gave Robin as he poured the milk into his bowl was one of resignation. "Robin, I can tell you're annoyed with me, but it's the start of a new term and an important time. Yes, I know that sounds terrible because Willow is important, too. But" his shoulders sagged and he looked into his bowl as though it were a pit of doom. "I can't help her anymore. I wish I could, but I'm sorry. I just can't. But I can help the kids I teach at college. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?" Nate picked up his slice of toast, then put it back on the plate. His shoulders slumped as he waited for her reply. It was so hard seeing it from everyone's point of view. Exhausting. And Robin did see, especially when it came to Nate, so softening her tone. She let him off the hook.

"Yes. Yes, I do understand, Nate. And I'm sorry for being snappy, but I didn't sleep a wink. There's no need for you to be here today other than to give me a break, but I might ask Gina if she can come over for a few hours after the nurse has been. She'll sit with Willow, I'm sure. So, don't worry."

At this, Nate brightened like a kid who'd been told he could go to the party after all. "I'll come straight home after classes and do any paperwork I have here. But, we have a student induction and I'm the one on the rotor for some late night courses. though going forward." He halted when Robin raised her hand, not having the patience to hear more excuses. "Nate, it's okay. Just eat your breakfast. I'll cope."

Silence descended. Not exactly companionable, but it gave Robin time to pour herself a coffee and a few moments to think before the piece was once more interrupted by Nate. "What will you tell them when they ring?"

Robin bridled, sipped, then answered the truth. "Even about the knife." She crossed her ankles because he could see all her fingers. "Yes, of course. Otherwise, they won't get the whole picture and her medication needs to be right. I'm not stupid, Nate. And anyway, she didn't actually harm herself, did she? It was the heat of the moment, and she's not done anything like this for a while, so there's no cause for alarm." Her mind replayed a scene she'd tried hard to erase. One where Willow had torn at her clothes and hair, banging her head so hard against the wall her face was covered in bruises. Her skin left scratched and sore.

"Yes, yes, you're right." Nate then spooned in cereal, his brow furrowed and deep in thought as he avoided Robin's eyes. While she drank her coffee, she wondered what was really going on in his head and his life. So when he swallowed and raised his head, she was somewhat taken aback to be given a rare glimpse. It set her hackles rising and warning bells went off in her head. "Do you think though we might need to consider the future and what's best for Willow and you? All of us really." Nate's expression told Robin he was nervous. Yet there was something about the forthright way he delivered the question suggested he'd been wanting to ask it for a while. Rehearsed it even. Not missing a beat. Robin retaliated. "And what does that mean exactly? What's best for all of us might not necessarily be best for Willow. So do expand. Get whatever you really want to say off your chest because I'm all is."

As he gathered his breakfast dishes and mug, then stood, Nate answered, hunched over the sink, hiding behind industry and the sudden need to wash the pots quickly. While his hands scrubbed, he explained, and with each word, Robin threw another dagger into his back. "I mean that eventually we'll need to make proper arrangements for Willow because you can't be expected to care for her long term. It's unfair and it's putting a strain on your marriage and life and if she's not going to get better. She might. There are new drugs and therapies emerging all the time and she's only been like this for too long." Nate turned and appeared to have remembered he had a spine which was now erect. his expression determined. "I think we need the two of us to make an appointment with the consultant and have a proper face-to-face discussion about Willow's treatment and prognosis. This past year, we've managed with Zoom meetings and phone calls and rare visits from the nurse. And it's not enough. We need to know if this is how it's always going to be. If there is actually another route we can take, trials or even permanent residential care where Willow will get onetoone."

"No." Robin shouted the word, causing both of them to jump at its ferocity. "No, I mean it, Nate. I will never allow Willow to go back into one of those hospitals. I couldn't bear it. It's cruel taking her away from home and putting her amongst strangers. Why do you think I literally dedicate my days to her? To prevent just that." When she noticed that his expression hadn't softened at her words, his shoulders remained stiff, his lips set in a line. Robin felt a trickle of fear down her spine. A firm voice in her head urged her to tread softly with care. "Look, I know you're worried, and so am I. And I'm sorry for shouting, but you have a lot on with the new term and all the responsibilities that come with it. So, just leave Willow to me. I promise I don't resent you or Willow one bit. I'm glad to take the burden off. So, please, Nate, please hold off on making any decisions. We're okay as we are for now."

A sigh. Then he pushed away from the sink and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. His silence gave Robin hope and a sense of relief that the conversation was almost at a close. She just had to b her time and he'd be gone. Off to college and free from the responsibilities that having a poorly wife entailed. Unshackled for a few hours from the chains of married life. All she needed now was his answer. Then she could breathe. "Okay, we'll leave it for now, but one more episode like last night and we'll have to look at alternatives for Willow's sake if nobody else." He picked up his bag from beside the table and was about to leave when he turned. "I'm sorry if I've upset you, Robin. That wasn't my intention. And please try to get some sleep today. I'll give you a call at lunchtime and see if you've had any joy from the care team." And with that, he gave her the briefest smile and turned, leaving Robin alone with her cold coffee and a head full of thoughts. But if she'd hoped for a few moments to put them in order, she was sorely disappointed. As one problem left the building, another greater one entered the room. Edmund.

Chapter 30.

After brief morning pleasantries were exchanged with Nate, Edmund stroed purposefully into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle, occupying a minute or two with gathering the pots and cutlery, setting them on the worktop next to the drainer. His silence didn't perturb Robin. It was nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, it was their ordinary, the way things were, and she was glad of it. Had she not been tired and unsettled, she might, as she'd done many times before, allow herself a smile at the ridiculousness of the scene, acting like student flatmates who'd had a tiff the day before over something trivial, like not cleaning the communal bathroom or taking the last of the other person's milk. The problem, if it could be called that, because actually it was more of a status quo, was far from trivial. It was their lives. And despite her stubborn determination not to budge an inch, Robin still had the common sense to see how sad it was, how futile and unnecessary being them had become. Today, however, she had a feeling Edmund would have things to say because he couldn't bear being overruled, and the events of the previous evening were about to be aired.

When he'd finished making his cup of tea, he turned and took the seat recently vacated by Nate. Not wishing to be lectured to and wanting the upper hand, Robin preempted his opening line. "I don't have all day, and I need to check on Willow. Then I have calls to make, so let's get it over with. I know you're dying to tell me where I'm going wrong and how it's going to be." The cafeteria was almost empty and its contents probably lukewarm. Robin was in dire need of more fresh hot caffeine, but that would entail spending longer in the kitchen, so instead she opted for the dregs. Robin poured. Edmund sighed and then she listened.

"Willow is sleeping. I went in to pray for her and she was out for the count the whole time. didn't even stir when I left, so we have time to talk." Hackles rising, the mere thought of him spouting his useless rhetoric ignited the desire for flight. Robin pushed her chair back, halted only by the first two words of Edmund's next comment. "Nate's right, you know. We can't go on like this indefinitely, and now we're getting back to normal. It's time to think about where we go from here with Willow. Last night was dreadful, and it's clear she needs professional help around the clock."

The coffee dried on Robin's lips as another wave of anger surged. "Ah, so you've taken to eavesdropping. Typical. I overheard as I came out of my study. And anyway, nothing he said surprised me because we've already discussed it at length prior to last night's events. As I said, I agree with Nate, and whether you like it or not, he's her next of kin, her husband, and if push comes to shove, his wishes will take precedence over yours." With that, Edmund sat back in his chair and sipped his tea, eyeing Robin like she was prey, a hint of a smile on his lips. His words had wounded Robin. How could they not? He and Nate were conspiring, and that scared her.

"I hate you so much." That was all she could muster. A thought so pure and true that each word stuck in her head swam in front of her eyes poisoned her blood. And still he continued, "The thing is, Robin, this isn't about you and your indomitable belief that you alone can care for Willow. It's about this family. And whether you like it or not, the situation is taking over all our lives, and Nate, for one, deserves a chance to live his, even if you've given up on yours." His eyes fixed Robin to the spot while he waited, seemingly satisfied thus far with his analysis.

The word, when it burst from her lips, came unbidden and possibly as an antidote to the fear that was infecting her heart. "Family?" She laughed out loud, then shook her head. "What do you care about family when you've destroyed ours? You shamed Chris, then pushed him away once you knew you couldn't control him. And as for Willow, she's been your pet project since she was a child. molding her in an image you found suitable until once again someone dared to go their own way." Her body visibly trembled as she spat her hate across the table. "That was the crulest thing you ever did, Hedmund. using her love of you, her faith and loyalty and and purity of soul against her, taking away her dream of becoming a priest, a vocation that would have brought her great joy and maybe saved her from all of this." She waved her hands around the room to signify where they were, their

situation, and then she pointed directly at him. "And saved her from you."

Anger consumed Robin. Edmund merely rolled his eyes and then stood, made his way in silence to the worktop, and began removing slices of bread from the bag, then placing it into the toaster. The casual way he went about his task infuriated her, as did his next words.

"Not that old chestnut again, Robin. I am beyond bored of hearing it and have no intention of raking over old ground when there are far more urgent matters to consider." Then he turned, held up a piece of bread, and asked, "Toast?"

Robin scowled, and even though her instinct wanted to storm from the room, it was also telling her she should stay, discover what he and Nate had discussed. Edmund tutted and shrugged. He pushed the lever down on the toaster.

"You'd rather wither away like a martyr to the cause than do something sensible like eat and stay healthy or perform your parish duties. Honor your vows and the promises you made to me when we married. You're ridiculous. As is your desire to be Willow's savior. And out of selfish spite, your quest to punish me."

Next stop was the fridge to retrieve the butter, which he brought to the table. Robin watched and silently steeled herself for whatever came next.

"You don't see it, do you? How Nate is suffering because it happened to him too, you know. Or have you forgotten that he also lost his child and, as a consequence, his wife?" He held up his palm. "And before you put the same old record back on, it was not my fault that some drugged-up car thief plowed through the barrier and killed Mayor. So, don't even think about laying that at my door or anyone else's for that matter, apart from the scum who was driving. Since that day, we've all grieved, but we can't hold Nate prisoner here, waiting for Willow to get better when she won't. She's never going to be the woman Nate married, the daughter we knew, and you need to face up to that. Willow needs professional care, and we need to get on with our lives."

When she stood, it was with such force that her chair toppled over, and when her palms slammed onto the surface of the table, the cutlery and china rattled, as did the whole of Robin's body, rattling and shaking as tremors born of sheer hate splintered through her body.

"And there we have it. This isn't about Nate, so don't you dare pretend it is. You're pathetic. This is about you wanting control and your life back to how it was. So you listen to me, Edmund, and listen well. If Nate is so unhappy and frustrated or whatever the hell it is that's bubbling under the surface, he knows where the door is. I don't need his help, and neither does Willow. I'll manage just fine by myself. And for the record, if you think for one second that by shuffling Willow off to some institution that I will just slop back into my role as devoted Vicar's wife, then you have a big shock coming. Do you hear me?"

She'd studied Edmund's face throughout, and with each word, his skin had moved through the color chart from rose pink to puce, and now back down the scale to a funny white-gray. "Good. He was annoyed. Her speech had hit a nerve, and boy did it feel good."

So, she carried on. Fatigue had left her without a filter, an unnecessary reserve that left the way clear for a green light and a chance to get it all off her chest.

"So, where does that leave you? Us? I'll tell you, shall I? Those marriage vows you spoke of earlier go both ways. And despite what you think, I do take my promises seriously. More so because I made them before God. The funny thing is nowadays I just love that they serve a most wonderful purpose."

She saw his eyebrow twitch, noticed the set of his lips drawn in a tight line, his jaw, his whole body tensed.

"You see, Edmund, dearest, those rules you live your life by, the ones in the Bible that you've turned into an instrument of control to keep your wife and children at peace, will be your downfall. Because, as you know, I would never divorce you. And even if you had the balls to divorce me, you won't, will you?" It was her turn to smirk. "For a start, what grounds would you have? Your wife neglects you in order to care for her grieving, mentally ill child. She refuses to carry out her duties in all areas because she is exhausted, drained, traumatized, yet selflessly devotes herself to the care of her daughter. Won't you look like a good egg?"

And then she went for his Achilles' heel. "I mean, how disappointed would the bishop be? All that ass-kissing gone to waste. Years of 'yes, bishop, no, bishop.' And I'm sure your parishioners would be shocked and unsympathetic towards the man of God who even considered divorcing his poor, bereaved wife. Are you getting the picture, Edmund?"

At this point, he rallied and stood to face her. And even from the opposite side of the table, the wooden barrier between them, the salt and pepper pots standing guard, flanked by a pot of jam and two mugs, he still seemed to tower above her. Edmund didn't need a pulpit to look down on anyone, a place from where to preach. It all came naturally.

"Where has this all come from? I have been patient, allowed you to grieve and never once tried to force you back to work. Expected anything more than you're prepared to give. But enough is enough, Robin. Whether you like it or not, we cannot continue as we are. You are my wife first, a mother second, and the vicar's wife third, and I expect you to start behaving as such."

When Robin threw her head back and laughed, the sound wasn't one of mirth, more like a loud crack that cut through the air like a fork of lightning. "Expect? You expect? Well, hear this, Edmund. When I married you, I expected love, tenderness, kindness, passion, unity, hope even. But all I got from you was a sense of duty. And we all know who comes first on that list. You were the biggest disappointment, Edmund. But I got on with it. I tried and hoped that as time went by, you'd learn how to love me properly, the children, too. But I might as well have wished on a star because praying didn't work. And I prayed so hard for us. I really did. But it's no use. So somehow we need to get on with it. This life, our marriage, and in my case, looking after my child because I might have given up on you, but I will never give up on her. So this is how it's going to be."

Robin then turned and picked up the chair and set it straight before pushing it under the table, resting her hands in the cool wood of the frame, because what she had to say next, she had to get just right. When she looked up, Edmund was waiting.

"Remember that this is my home, too, even if it's owned by the church. And this is where I will stay, caring for Willow, where she feels safe. If Nate wants to be released from his purgatory, then fine. The sooner the better. Then I can move into his room. Then the days of us chastely lying side by side can come to an end. You give me no warmth or comfort, and I have no intention of offering any to you. We can live adequately, but separately. I won't cause you any embarrassment and from the outside, the parishioners, the villagers, whoever, will believe the illusion that we've created."

Robin turned side on, a signal that the conversation was ending. "It's your call, Edmund. See it as some kind of test from God. Your very own version of a long walk into the desert, only for you. It will last more than 40 days and nights. It will last for as long as you can bear it. And every time you see me, whenever we cross paths on the landing, each time you sit by Willow's bed and pray, I hope it reminds you of what you've lost and what you could have had."

She could feel her voice about to crack. Such was the depth of feeling, the truth in her departing line. "And I hope the devil whispers in your ear and tells you that he's won because in your devotion to God, you lost the most precious gift of all, your family."

And with that, not giving him time to respond, Robin turned and left the room.

Chapter 31.

Gina.

Gina lay by Willow's side, squished together on the bed like they'd done so many times over the years. The three-quarter bed still wide enough for two skinny minis. They often spent hours that way when Gina called, holding hands, staring at the ceiling, tracing cracks that appeared over time, like lines on the palm of their hand or face, marking time and life. Sometimes, depending on Willow's mood and lucidity, she would talk. Not always making sense, not always for long, but Gina loved hearing her voice because for much of the time, her friend was locked in a silent room inside her mind. In those instances, when silence descended, Gina would fill the gap, hoping that her words would seep through the drug-induced fog of Willow's mind. She'd ramble on about nothing in particular, a soap on the telly, the inconsiderate moles that were digging up their garden, and the bane of Jimmy and the gardener's life. Other times, sharing memories of their glory days and funny stories that she swore made Willow smile, just a hint on her lips, a tiny crinkle of the eye. Mostly, Willow just listened or slept. And sometimes Gina wasn't sure if her beautiful best friend was even there or knew she was either. It didn't matter though, because no matter what state Gina found Willow in, they were still best friends forever. Steadfast and true.

A month had passed since the last episode when Gina had called for her weekly chat, and Robin, looking drained, had explained in hushed tones about what happened in the kitchen. And it seemed to Gina that ever since, despite Willow's medication being altered and calm prevailing, Robin was the opposite. Agitated, nervy, and often wearing a miles-away expression on her face. Gina always asked if she was okay, reminding Robin that she was there for her as well as Willow, and was happy to share a problem. But the answer was always the same. "I'm fine, just tired. Don't worry." And even though Gina didn't quite believe Robin, who was she to judge? Wasn't that exactly what she had said to Babs when she asked how things were? Why she wasn't eating her carrot cake? "I'm fine, just not hungry. Don't worry."

Whatever was bothering Robin remained a mystery, but Gina suspected it was something to do with the worrying nugget of information Babs had passed on. Perhaps later would be a good time to broach it because they must. The rumors couldn't be ignored. Gina, Robin, and Babs were having a girl's get-together, a bite to eat and a catch-up. A good time to tentatively raise the subject. She and Babs had decided, after much rumination, that they needed to tell Robin what they knew. Then she could decide what to do for the best.

There was another thing on Gina's mind. Stuff she was desperate to share, but still the words wouldn't come. She could always tell Willow what she'd found at home by eavesdropping on a phone call. She'd regretted it, then didn't, because it proved that Jimmy's affair was gathering pace and told her that she needed to act.

Turning her head, Gina smiled at her peaceful friend, whose eyelids barely fluttered, while a soft whistling wind escaped from her rosebud lips. As Willow's chest rose, then fell. Her cheeks were flushed pink, reminding Gina of a fair-haired Snow White, waiting for her prince to come. This thought made Gina feel incredibly sad because Nate was no prince. He wasn't even a good husband, and neither, it seemed, was Jimmy.

By her side, Willow roused, shifted positions slightly, then continued her slumbers, but it had jolted Gina from her meanderings and back to the tired bedroom with the fixtures and furnishings that hadn't changed for years and years. It was weird how one's perceptions changed in adulthood and you began to see places and people through new eyes, like the vicarage that to little Gina had seemed huge and posh with three bedrooms and four rooms downstairs and a giant tiled hallway that was cool in summer and drafty in winter. Back then, to her wide eyes, it was a colorful labyrinth of rooms. The lounge painted in deep purpley hues with patterned throws that might have come from Peru. The sunny yellow kitchen with jars of spices on the shelves. Something delicious baking in the oven and crayon drawings, notes, and reminders stuck to the fridge under magnets said, "A family lives here." The posh dining room with the polished mahogany table, walls stenciled with leaves and flowers weaving around the room like the forest had crept indoors. Gina often attributed her love of interiors to the inspiration provided by Robin, who they'd often find wearing paint-splattered jeans, a roller in one hand, a dripping tin of something colorful in the other.

Through grown-up eyes, Gina saw a family held together by a magnet. Robin, who hid behind smoke and mirrors, preventing those on the outside seeing in. Now she'd seen the sadness behind Chris's eyes, the fragility inside Willow, and the true face of the vicar. And now the colors had faded on the crayon drawings and the yellow kitchen chimney breast. The butterfly wallpaper along the stairway was dull and tatty, and there was never anything baking in the oven. The whole house felt cold, empty, soulless.

Looking around the room, Gina spied the pile of angel books, as Willow called them, written by Lorna Byrne, whose words she took as gospel. Gina believed, too, and sometimes recited a paragraph or two that described their technicolor robes and gave their angel names. Willow had always believed in angels, said they spoke to her in dreams, and listened when she asked for help. And it was one of those angels that told Willow to let all the birds out of the cage at the pet shop in town. What a day that had been.

Gina nudged Willow. "Do you remember when you talked me into liberating the budgies in Mr. Murphy's pet shop? You said an angel told you they should all be free and it was cruel to keep birds locked in a cage. I was so scared and prayed that my angel would tell your angel it was a bad idea."

For a moment, Willow didn't react. Then, joy of joys, Gina saw a smile appear on her lips and her eyelids opened. When she turned, her wide olive-green eyes shone with that mischief of long ago.

"I remember bird poo everywhere, flapping and tweeting and lots and lots of poo." Willow rolled onto her side and Gina mimicked the action so their faces met, nose almost touching nose. Willow's barely used voice was raspy. "And Mr. Murphy shouting at us with a big blob on his head, saying he was ringing our parents."

Gina could feel her eyes welling with tears, but didn't swipe them away. She was holding on tight to Willow's hand, not wanting to break the rare moment of connection.

"Do you remember how fast we ran out of the shop and through town? And for days, we thought we'd be in the paper or on wanted posters in the library and on crime watch. We watched it on telly that week, waiting for our faces to appear on the screen. I think that's the naughtiest thing I've ever done, but it was fun."

Willow's expression changed. Lines appeared on her forehead, and merriment transformed to concern. "Please don't go," thought Gina. "Please stay a while. Talk to me. Come back to us, Willow." And like a miracle, a prayer answered, she did.

Chapter 32.

"Why are you crying?" Willow kept hold of Gina's hand and with her free one wiped away the tears.

"Because I miss you so much and I need you to come back to us. We love you, Willow. You know that, don't you? Please don't forget." Gina held in a sob, forbade her voice to betray the pain and the desire to scream and beg Willow to hold on to the moment, not to retreat to wherever it was she went when she closed her eyes or stared into nothingness.

"Of course, I know. Do you know that I love you, too? Because I do, always and forever." Willow stroked Gina's face, her touch gentle.

Gina nodded. "I do, always and forever."

Compelled by some inner voice, Gina planted seeds that might grow while Willow slept, because she would eventually. "And your mom loves you so much. She's your angel here on Earth and never leaves you. She misses you, too. We all do."

And then Willow's hand became still. Her eyes held Gina with a look of such honesty that when her words came out so pure and to the point, the message in them was clear to read and hear.

"I love Mom. Will you tell her I know when she's here sitting in the chair reading to me or singing? Always close. But I miss Mayor. And that's why I don't want to be here anymore. I want to be with my Mayor. I need to go to her. She's waiting for me. So, will you help me?"

At first, Gina wasn't sure what she meant, so asked, "Help you? How can I help you?"

When she replied, Willow's voice was barely audible, and they could have been 13 again, making secret plans for the future. "Help me decide if it's okay to go because Dad says it's a sin. I'm wicked for trying to go before. But God will understand why I want to go to him. Because that's where Mayor is, with him in the arms of Jesus, isn't she?"

The blood in Gina's veins cooled, her stomach clenched, and the firm hand of dread gripped Gina's heart, but she had to answer. Keep the lines open now that Willow had reached out.

"Of course, that's where she is. And our mate Jesus will be keeping her safe because he loves the little children and the birds and all the animals. Remember, we used to read all about it. And it says so in the words of our favorite song. So, please don't worry."

"No, I need to know that it's true, that she's okay, so I have to go too, to be with Mayor. Don't you see? But Dad won't let me go. He says it's evil and so am I if I break a commandment because only God can decide when I go to him. That's not fair, is it? She's my little girl and I miss her and I should decide when I go."

A frown had creased Willow's forehead. Then it smoothed as her eyes widened with what looked like fear. "I'm scared though. Scared of going to hell because that's where Dad says I'll end up, that I'll burn and the maggots will eat me and then I won't see Mayor ever again." Willow's voice had raised. Her chest rose and fell. Her breathing was labored. And Gina imagined her poor broken heart going like the clappers. Her grip on Gina's hand was so tight it hurt. Her eyes boring holes. The olive irises now deep pools of emerald. Agitation seeping into every word.

"I've asked the angels over and over what I should do, but they won't help. They won't even answer. They look away and whisper amongst themselves, and I can't hear what they are saying. So, you have to tell me, tell me what to do, how to get to Mayor without going to hell, because my head is a jumbled sail, and I can't sort it out."

Gina swallowed, panic racing around her brain, desperately trying to find an answer. But what? Then it came.

"Willow, listen to me." Willow stared, her lips silenced yet pursed. Her handhold remained firm. "I don't know how to find Mayor, but I will do my best to help you. Okay? I promise. Cross my heart." Gina did just that, tracing two lines onto her chest, while in response, Willow gave a tiny nod. "And maybe the angels don't know either. Perhaps when they're whispering, they're trying to find the answer. So don't give up on them just yet. We have to give them a chance."

And even though she was making it up as she went along, stalling for time, Gina wanted it to be true. Her glimmer of hope was then tempered by deep sadness at Willow's plea, washed away on a river of hate for the vicar, a two-faced hypocrite. The mere thought of his words tormenting Willow while she was asleep, wondering, or awake, was abhorrent and cruel. Gina was convinced that the God they'd worshiped at Sunday school, to whom they'd made brownie guide promises and wedding day vows, wouldn't want this tragic lost soul to be scared. He was there for comfort in the darkest days. A light that shone and led you home. So she had to erase from Willow's mind any thoughts planted by Eddie the fake before she drifted off again.

Taking both Willow's hands in hers, Gina held them close to her chest while she spoke softly, her words simple yet firm. "I want you to promise me something." Gina waited a beat, then realized that nobody could do that until they'd heard the conditions, so laid them out. "Try to remember what I'm saying, Willow. Please. It's really important. From now on, you mustn't take any notice of what your dad says because it's not true. You are not evil and you will not be going to hell. Your dad is wrong. Okay?"

Willow didn't respond yet appeared to be hanging on Gina's every word. "We always believed that Jesus was one of the nice guys and God was good. There are heroes, so trust in them, not your dad. You are beautiful and good inside and out. So don't let him scare you or make you sad. Promise me, Willow. Promise me you won't listen to him anymore."

Willow scrunched her eyes and nodded, her voice cracking as she answered, "I promise." Then, pushing her face into Gina's chest, she repeated, "Don't let him scare me. I'm not evil. I promise not to listen." And as the tears began to fall, her frail body was racked by each sob.

Taking Willow in her arms, trying hard to be brave, Gina stroked Willow's hair, soothing her with hushes, promises to be there, to find the answer, and then a glimmer of inspiration. "I think we should be patient. And if we trust and believe in our heroes and the angels, they'll come through for us. I know they will." Maybe it was wrong to give Willow false hope, but it was better than the alternative.

A nagging, gnawing thought that was crawling its way to the front of her brain, remembering another little nugget passed on by Babs. Was the vicar purposely trying to antagonize Willow? It wouldn't surprise Gina because he was a sly one. She knew that for a fact. And according to Babs, who'd recently overheard a conversation as she silently polished the banister in the hall, so was Nate. Nate and the vicar were in the study, the door slightly ajar, sharing their concerns about Willow and Robin's unhealthy attachment to her. They'd agreed that Willow should be cared for professionally. This thought had chilled Gina to the bone.

When finally the tears subsided, Willow's limbs and head became heavy, lolling into Gina's shoulder as she drifted gently into sleep. And in the silence of the room, relief made its presence known. They'd ridden out a moment that could have easily whipped up a storm. A wave of sorrow washed over Gina, not knowing if or when Willow would be back. As it ebbed, the sadness was replaced by something useful. Knowledge. Never before had Willow shared her desire to be with Mayor, but in doing so, she had given Gina a window into her mind and some idea of what she saw through misty eyes, a clue to what she might be saying to the invisible angels, her lips mouthing words only they could hear.

And then came a revelation, and that word alone sent shivers down Gina's spine, tingles along her arms, her mind racing all over the place to put her thoughts in order. A passage from the Bible had pinged into her head, not word for word, more a vague imprint on her subconscious. The end of the New Testament, in the book of Revelation, God sent down his angel to tell the disciple John what will come to pass. And Willow believed in angels. Was it a sign? And then something else. What was it? Goosebumps covered her body when she remembered that Satan is the deceiver of the whole world. And this was apt because as far as Gina was concerned, the vicar could be one of his covert disciples. A father masquerading as a man of God using holy words to keep his daughter under control, or as he would argue, God's law in order to keep her safe. That was the greatest deceit of all, and Gina saw through it, twisting the rules, the commandments, breaking them, bending people to his will. That was the vicar's trademark. And if they resisted, like Chris had done, then they were cast out. How she despised the Reverend Edmund Hillyard, one of the greatest narcissists of all, hiding in plain sight. In that instant, she knew she had to tell Robin what he was up to, and together they could protect Willow, shield her from his influence. It wouldn't take much for her to spiral. They couldn't let that happen again and give the vicar a reason to cast Willow out. It would not come to pass, and with or without the help of the angels, Gina swore a silent oath that while she had breath in her body, Satan wouldn't win.

This talk about your weight.

Chapter 33.

Babs.

The October evenings were drawing in, but checking her watch, Babs still had plenty of time before dusk when the country road became a bit too creepy to walk alone. With each step, she took, the two bottles of Prosecco clanked against each other in her rucksack that also contained a giant bag of Doritos and a Mexican dip selection. She decided to leave her car behind so she could have a glass or two and relax. Then Gina was going to drop her off home to save walking back in the dark. She was a good girl, was Gina, and since their little chat seemed to have perked up because there'd been no more mention of job anxiety. Although, what if she was just putting on a brave face? Babs decided she'd wait for an opportunity to ask later.

Babs was really looking forward to the get-together with Robin and Gina. The atmosphere at home was rock bottom ever since she'd earned the title "worst expectant gran in the world ever." The only person on her side was Demi, who was also sick to the back teeth of being squashed into the noisiest three-bed semi in the Willows. She too was praying that Isaac and Fiona would bug off so she'd finally have her own space. Poor kid. All she wanted was a quiet place to study and not listen to Sasha yakking on in her customer service phone voice while she booked appointments. Living arrangements and frosty vibes aside, as she marched towards the vicarage, Babs focused on a more pressing matter, the worrying bit of info about Nate. At first, when Demi mentioned it, Babs urged towards overactive imaginations and girly gossip. But now she wasn't sure, and neither was Gina. Thinking back, she went over the conversation with Demi so she'd get her facts right because messengers always got shot. But it had been decided that at their girl's lunch, Babs was going to put her life, or less dramatically, her friendship, on the line.

Nate probably had no idea who Demi was, or just hadn't recognized her. But why would he amongst the thousands of new students who'd enrolled at the college? However, she knew him and was adamant she hadn't misread what she'd seen. Babs and Demi had been enjoying a bit of them time, and as always, after a hard day's slog, one in lectures, the other with a paintbrush in hand, they sat at the kitchen table with a brew and biscuits and shared notes on their day. On this occasion, Demi had more than notes. It was an exposé.

"Mom, I'm not imagining it. I saw him as I walked through the car park to the bus stop. He was in his car. I've seen it parked at the vicarage when I've come to meet you after work. And one of the English lecturers was in the passenger seat. I've seen her around. She's got long dark hair that was tied in a ponytail and he reached over and was fondling it."

"Fondling? What do you mean, fondling?" Babs was in the shocked and incredulous zone, but wanted to be sure and no more.

"Obviously," Demi tutted, "You know, like stroking it and twisting his fingers in her hair. It was well cringe. They were laughing about something, but you could just tell they're at it. I mean, you don't fiddle with someone's hair, do you? Not when you work with them. That's just weird. So, they must be having an affair."

Babs was horrified. A million thoughts zinging through her head, but the one that made her feel sad was the thought of poor Willow. Hence, her knee-jerk reaction was to pour cold water on Demi's assumption because it couldn't be true. It was just too awful. "Well, we shouldn't jump to conclusions. There could be a totally reasonable and innocent explanation for it." Not that Babs could think of one. So, best not go repeating all that and spreading gossip. Okay, love."

At this, Demi had rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say, but you might live in La La Land. However, I know what I saw. Especially when the woman got out the car and they did this cringy holding hands thing."

Babs had gone cold and placed her hand on her chest. "Oh my lord, what do you mean?"

Demi laughed and reached out, her fingers wiggling. "You know when you don't let go of the other person's hand for ages, their fingertips were just touching and then when they broke apart, they wiggled their fingers to say goodbye. So gross. But it was funny, too. Me and Hannah stood behind the van and watched. I wish we'd recorded it now as proof, but we will next time if we spot them. The dirty gets."

Babs was in shock as she pictured the scene. And while Demi rummaged in the biscuit tin and slurped her tea, the ramifications of such incriminating evidence were hard to ignore. Gina had felt the same after Babs had reenacted the whole thing during a break from cleaning the patio windows. And while they tucked into a slice of carrot cake, well, Babs did. Gina mostly chopped it up and moved it around her plate until they'd both come to the same conclusion. Men were all dirty bastards, and they'd have to tell Robin about Nate. And today was the day because neither of them could sit around Robin's table and not mention it. And seeing as she'd heard it first, Babs was going to bring it up.

She was lost in rehearsing her lines and didn't respond to the first honk of the horn. But when Pete's car pulled alongside her, Babs was startled and for a second worried as she waited while he lowered the passenger side window.

"What are you doing here? Is something wrong?" Babs expected him to be settled in his favorite spot in front of the telly, remote in hand.

Pete leant over and pulled open the door. "I was hoping to have a word while there's nobody at home, but when I got in the house was empty, and when I saw your car on the drive, presumed you'd be out for a walk. So, nothing's wrong."

"Bloody hell, Pete. You gave me a right scare then. And anyway, what do you want to talk about? I told you I was spending the afternoon with Gina and Robin. So, can it wait?" Babs was annoyed because once again, he hadn't listened. But still, she was a bit curious why he'd made the effort to find her.

"Look, can you get in, Babs, so we can talk? It's important, and lately, it feels like we never get a chance to have a proper chat because you're in bed so early."

"That's because I'm tired and you want to stay up till stupid o'clock watching shite and the house is so full we get no peace. Yes, Pete, I know. Which is why I was pissed off with you when you didn't back me up with our Isaac. So don't blame me for living in a mad house."

In response to the accusation, Pete held his hands up. "Okay, okay, I get it and I'm sorry, but please will you get in before someone comes around the bend and whacks the car up the jaxi? I can pull over in a layby further on, then I'll drop you off at Robin's."

Babs huffed. He'd ruined it now. Her peaceful walk and preparing how she'd tell Robin. She'd have to wing it. But curiosity won out, and after a tut, just to let him know how much he'd bugged her, she got inside. It was very awkward being sat beside your husband in a layby, like lovers sneaking off for a quickie. But instead of a moment of passion, you find yourself lost for words, and minus the inclination to get your knickers off. That ship had sailed many moons ago. He turned off the engine, so ruling out anything slightly romantic, Babs figured the only other option was her imminent murder so he could claim on the insurance. He'd made no move towards either, and she was fast losing her patience.

"Pete, what exactly do you want to talk about? Because I'm going to be late." She rested her hands on the rucksack, which was perched on her knees, the Prosecco inside getting warmer by the second, which was also very annoying.

"Me and you because things aren't right between us and we can't go on like this. We don't communicate at all and I don't want it to get worse."

Pete, not known for shows of emotion, or come to think of it, deep thought, had taken Babs by surprise. That he'd even realized they were in the [ __ ] gave her a smidgen of hope and a flutter of happiness because maybe he did care. That was why her reply was softer and not like the huffy mare everyone was used to.

"I know and you're right and I'm glad you've noticed because it's a starting point, isn't it? Acceptance." She had turned slightly and watched Pete in profile as he nodded his agreement. "So, what do you think we should do about it?" She wished he'd turn to face her and not just stare out of the windscreen, but reminded herself that having a heart-to-heart would be hard for him, against his instincts and out of his comfort zone. So, she quelled her irritation and waited.

"I honestly don't know. What if we made a list of all our faults and tried to work on those so we don't get on each other's nerves as much?" He turned then, his eyes wide, a look of hope on his face, not realizing he'd come up with the worst and most annoying idea ever. And Babs told him so.

"Oh, so I get on your nerves, do I? Thanks for that, Pete. And making a list has to be the most stupid idea because picking each other's faults apart is a surefire way to start a row. So, let's move on." In her heart, she'd already signed Pete's big gesture off as a waste of time, but decided to give it one more go. It was the least she could do.

"What if we said how we feel instead? Let's focus on that. Then we can make our lives happier. Okay. Mine was a daft idea because I already know I annoy you loads more than you annoy me." The loud huffing that came from Babs was meant as a hint to get on with it, which he took. "So, who goes first?"

Pete looked at his hands and fiddled with the cuff of his sweatshirt. "You go first. I'm interested to hear how you feel, seeing as you never talk about it."

Babs waited, not expecting much. "Okay. Well, I feel lonely, if you must know, like I've lost my best friend because I bug her so much she can't be bothered with me anymore." He paused. Babs didn't interrupt, which was a miracle, and it took immense willpower to remain silent while he forged ahead. "Sometimes, even before you started on this menopause thingy, I used to feel left out because you focused on the kids so much. If it wasn't them, you were out at work or fussing around your mom, and I always came last. I kept telling myself that it was normal, that you were doing your best to be a housewife and a mom. And I couldn't complain because you worked, too. But now it's like you don't even care that much about the kids. And we all irritate the life out of you. And as for me, I sometimes think you don't know I'm there or wish I wasn't."

A wagon approached on the opposite side of the road, distracting Babs, giving her time to calm her temper. In its windscreen, resting on the dash next to a teddy and a Leeds FC flag, was a number plate that said Tina. Babs wondered if that was the driver's wife, who he loved so much he'd had a sign made, one that went everywhere with him, keeping her close until he got home, where Tina would be waiting for the love of his life, Kev. That's what Babs decided the wagon driver was called. And in that instant, Babs envied Tina and Kev, their love and perfect imaginary world that wasn't hers.

"Babs, did you hear me? Look, you're doing it again. Shutting me out, making me feel like I don't matter and that my feelings don't count." She turned.

"Is that how I really make you feel?" Pete nodded. "Yes, Babs, it is."

Chapter 34.

Stunned and stung. That's how Babs felt, and even though her mouth opened, no words came out, which was wise, keeping her gob shut while she processed his words and her feelings. Up ahead, at the end of the layby, and over a wire fence, was a field full of cows. So she watched them while she waited for the pain and anger to subside. Babs loved cows, their doleful eyes, their nonchalance, but nobody knew whether they had bad days, bad thoughts, sad thoughts, like the many bitter, confused ones that passed through her head on a regular basis. Perhaps they did. Got fed up of being rained on while they guarded their patch of dry grass. Boring green stuff they were sick of chewing day in day out and trudging across the fields to the milking sheds, accepting without question their monotonous fate so some human could have milk on their cornflakes. Come to think of it, she could be a right nasty cow who was also endowed with an ample rump. So there was a mighty good chance that her spirit animal did in fact have horns and hooves. And going by what the heifer on the other side of the fence was doing. Extremely empty bowels.

"Babs, say something for God's sake." Pete gave her a nudge.

Ping. Babs was back in the car and after rearranging her rump, she turned to Pete and tried to explain. "Make it better. That hurt hearing how I've made you feel and I'm sorry. I really am because I don't like to think of you being lonely or left out. That was never my intention. But I'm also angry because I was doing what I thought was best. So the idea I was getting it wrong has really pissed me off. What a sudden waste of time that was. It's like we've been living a lie, or you have. And I feel stupid. Like I've failed in some way."

"No, it's not like that at all. Maybe I've not said it right. I didn't mean for you to feel like this. Look, Babs, family life is a struggle, making ends meet and bringing up kids. And we both knew it wasn't going to be easy at the start. We were young and had nothing. But we got on with it and made a life for ourselves. And I'm proud of what we did."

"Well, that's one thing we agree on then. We got something right."

"Of course we did. I just thought once we'd got through all that, when they were more independent, we could enjoy what we'd achieved. Our time to have some fun. Maybe that's what you're feeling, too. Our Isaac's announcement made me take stock and reminded me where we started from. And your reaction to their idea about being a full-time babysitter was spot on. It's time he stood on his own two feet. Hallelujah. At last. But it would have been nice if you'd backed me up a bit instead of siding with him like you do all the time. Instead, you made me look like the baddie and that hurt. And now they've taken the hoof and I feel awful. But that's another issue. And before I move on, you might as well know I won't be backing down no matter how much Isaac sulks. So you can all get used to it. It's fine. And I promise I'll have a word with him and explain that he really does need to find somewhere else to live. Okay?"

Pete reached out and placed his hand over hers, a gesture that was as welcome as it was alien. When was the last time he comforted her? And why couldn't she remember? Batting that unhelpful thought away, but not Pete's hand, it was Babs's turn to say how she felt so wary of bombarding him with the inner workings of her mind and battered soul, she trod carefully.

"Before we go into fun mode, you need to understand what it's like for me being me, I suppose. And seeing as you mentioned the menopause thingy, I'll start there." Clasping her hands together, she spun her wedding ring around her finger as she spoke. The rhythmic movement, a habit that died hard. "It's crap. Totally and utterly crap. And there's been times where I've felt lonely, too. Completely lost in a pit of worry, consumed by anxiety and dread, swamped by uncontrollable anger and untameable emotions so bad that I thought I was going mad. And added to this, the pounds were piling on and settling on all the bits of me that I already hated the most. Then the hot flushes arrived trying to drown me in my bed or in the middle of the supermarket while I was chatting to the lady on the checkout. Imagine what it's like, Pete. Being a human kettle, boiling on the inside, the heat escaping like steam and running down your body, your forehead being soaked up by your hair as you pack away the weekly shop. I used to go in looking half decent and come out looking like I'd been in a sauna."

Pete gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "It must be bloody awful. But why didn't you say something? Tell me what was happening to you and how it felt. And as for putting on a few pounds, well, I don't mind about that. It just means there's more to grab hold of."

"Seriously, Pete, for once, read your audience." The cheeky wink didn't cut it this time and resulted in a withering look from Babs, which silenced him immediately. Gritting her teeth, and abandoning ring spinning, Babs forged on, determined to make him understand.

"I hated them, the hot flushes, and I hated me. And that self-loathing started to spread out like roots that took over every part of my life. And soon I hated every part of it. And no, I didn't tell you because I was messed up enough. I couldn't bear the thought of you saying or doing something stupid and making it worse. You know, like one of your unfunny jokes."

"Well, thanks for that. Nice to know you have zero faith in your husband and clearly think he's a prat."

On hearing this, Babs turned away from him, leant her head back, and closed her eyes as she spoke. "Irony really is lost on you, isn't it, Pete?" When he didn't answer, Babs resisted the urge to laugh and instead enlightened him some more on the secret world of his wife.

"You know what the weird thing is? That lockdown, as hideous as it was, probably did me a favor because for the first time in I don't know how long, I had something very precious. I had time. Time to focus on me. Sleep when I was exhausted at any time of the day and not worry myself daft if I woke up at 3:00 a.m. because I was due to get up at 6:30. I put on face masks, painted my toes, joined groups and exercise classes. I walked and sucked in fresh air, and slowly I found a bit of me again. I started to feel better about myself. But no matter how far I walked or what color nail varnish I chose, it didn't stop the hormones leaking out of my body. And I swear I could feel them leaving." Pete just stared. Babs just carried on. "With every symptom came a reminder that my body was changing inside and out. The old me waved a hanky and said, 'Adios.' That's when it hit me that I needed help. I booked an online consultation with a doctor who looks not much older than Isaac. I'll spare you the gory details about what bits of me are drying up, aching, falling out, or springing up in the most unwelcome of places, but in the end, he wrote me a prescription for HRT, and it's actually starting to work because I do feel so much better."

When she turned her head, she was slightly perplexed by the wide-mouthed, annoyed expression on Pete's face. "So, for all this time, you've been taking pills, and you've not even told your own husband. I had no idea it was as bad as that or you'd spoken to a doctor, so I'm sorry."

Babs. You can't blame me if I didn't know. How can I help if you won't explain? Why was it always about him?

Barbara sucked in her annoyance and soldiered on. "I'm not taking pills. I have gel that I rub into my skin at night. And I didn't tell you because I was struggling coming to terms with such a huge change and feeling dreadful on top of it all. So, please forgive me if I didn't feel like sharing or risking you not understanding because to be honest, Pete, that would have been the last straw."

"And what do you mean by that?" Pete's tone was narky, which knocked Babs.

"I mean that when you're walking a mental and physical tightrope day in day out, the last thing you need is to hear an insensitive comment. It's the tiniest things that can tip me over the edge. Like a flippant remark or a smirk, especially shoulder shrugs. They make me want to scream."

In fact, Babs realized that she was getting to that point now and that this heart-to-heart was going nowhere fast and she really needed a bloody drink. "Look, Pete, I've explained as best I can. So, should we focus on what we do next? Because as much as I appreciate the effort you made hunting me down, we're not much further on, are we? So, instead of niggling, let's think of a way we can rescue our marriage."

The thing was, even though she was giving him a chance, Babs had a dreadful feeling this was a battle neither of them were going to win. She'd been over and over the rules of engagement many times as she lay by his side, listening to the sound of obliviousness. And as for Pete, he was confused. She could tell by the look on his face, and she also wished she'd put a fiver both ways on his next words being a flippant retort. It would have been £5 well spent.

"Well, at least you didn't suggest counseling because all that shrink malarkey isn't my thing. Holding a tennis ball while the other one yaks on having some stranger listen to personal stuff. Nah, not on your Nelly. But I think there is a way we could take the pressure off. Let our hair down and get away from the family for a bit."

Babs's heart dropped because in that second when he mentioned getting away, she realized there was something more to his sudden desire to chat. A hidden Pete agenda. "I should have known." Bab sighed deeply. "Go on then. Enlighten me."

And as she listened, preparing for the worst, she unclipped her rucksack, flipped open the top, and began to peel the foil from one of the bottles of Prosecco.

"Are you going to drink that now in the car?" Pete sounded like she was about to snort a line of cocaine.

Babs ignored him, and as she twisted the wire undone, wished she could do the same with the tension that was winding its way around every nerve and sinew in her body. Then a thought, so she asked, "Since when do you know so much about therapy and tennis balls?"

"Oh, did you see it on the telly?" She was genuinely curious about this, as she irreverently chucked the wire casing over her shoulder into the footwell behind. Pete gave a little gasp. He liked a tidy car, did Pete, and a Berry Crush air freshener from Calvin. Him and Penny went a while back. They were having a few marriage problems, you know, in the bedroom department, so they got help. He was telling me all about it yesterday.

As she twisted the cork, her fingers squeezing, her grip firm, Babs imagined it was Pete's neck or his nether regions. "So, you were talking to Calvin about what exactly? to end up talking about his sex life."

"Well, we weren't actually talking about that to start off with. We were discussing holidays and going away for New Year. He's found a brilliant place in Lanzarote and wanted to know if we'd be up for it. So, I said you weren't keen on group holidays and we'd been having a few difficulties. That's when he told me about him and Penny."

And after the blissful release of the cork that made Pete jump, relishing the pop and fizz of pressure escaping in a whoosh of bubbles, Babs yanked the bottle from the sack and gulped down the cool liquid, eyes closed.

Then she asked, "What about him and Penny?" Pete must have thought she cared, when in fact she was actually storing up evidence for her defense when she committed murder. And seriously, who would blame her? The only sound after that was Pete unburdening himself while his wife swigged from the bottle.

"Well, it seems she's on the menopause thingy, too, and turned into a right dragon. Calvin wasn't getting any action. Those were his words, not mine, by the way. So, he decided to book them into therapy for the sake of their marriage."

"Yeah, right," thought Babs. "And did it work?"

"I don't know because he just got to the bit about the tennis ball when his phone rang, so I didn't hear the end. But ever since, I've been thinking about the Lanzarote idea, and I reckon it's the perfect solution."

Babs glanced in his direction and raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Well, you're always run off your feet at Christmas, so after all that madness, you can have a break from the kids and have a nice rest in a swanky five-star hotel. No cooking and cleaning, and it might take your mind off your mental problems and put a smile on your face at the same time. You know, having some fun in the sun."

"Mental problems. He seriously just said that." Babs twiddled the cork in her hand and said nothing because she was waiting for the burp to arrive. And when it did, she let it out loud and proud. It was a cracker, one that went on for ages and ages, much to the disgust of Pete, who grimaced beside her. It made Babs laugh, not just the burp, which was the perfect response to his stupid idea, but his disgusted expression. And once she started laughing at him and everything, she couldn't stop, and soon tears were rolling down her cheeks as her body jiggled in the seat.

And as always, Pete read the room wrong. "See, I knew it would cheer you up. It's what we both need, a bloody good holiday away from the kids. So, should I tell Calvo we're in? He's going to book it tonight and he needs to know and then I'll send the deposit over."

Babs wiped her eyes and as suddenly as the giggles had arrived, they departed like guests who'd turned up at the wrong party wearing fancy dress, realizing it was actually a wake. Turning to face him in a surprisingly calm voice, Babs asked Pete a question of her own. "Do you honestly think that's all it will take to fix us or me for that matter? That a holiday will cure my mental problems, as you so kindly put it?"

He opened his mouth, but it shut when Babs raised her hand to silence him. "Do you really think that going away with four of the most obnoxious people I have ever met will glue you and me back together? Will it stop you from feeling the way you described? Will it ease any of the troubles I've just poured out to you. That a suntan and all you can eat buffet will be the miracle that women like me all over the world are waiting for."

She took another swig. Pete opened his mouth and shut it. Perhaps wondered if he needed to phone a friend or go 50/50. She'd have loved him to ask the audience instead. Spurred on by the demon unleashed inside her who absolutely loved Prosecco, Babs got her [ __ ] on.

"Oh, I know." She heard the sarcasm in her voice. "Maybe getting me drunk on cocktails will loosen up all the bits that don't work anymore. A couple of glasses of Sex on the Beach will do the trick, I reckon. Actually, make that three or four because Lord knows that's what it'd take to get me into bed with you ever again."

His head nearly spun off his shoulders and using his right arm to steady himself in what was clearly a moment of revelation, Pete asked, "Don't you fancy me anymore? Is that what you're saying? That you'd have to be drunk to, you know, have sex?"

Babs exploded, unable to contain her frustration any longer. "Yes, Pete, I would. I told you last time we did it that I had to grin and bear it and thought of England the whole way through. It's painful no matter what I squirt up there to make it easier. It's shite. Totally, completely abysmally shite. And it gets worse when I can't have a wee the next day without grimacing. I told you all this, Pete, but you clearly didn't listen or care enough to talk about it with me. Your wife, not [ __ ] Calvo, the stupid knobhead."

"Babs, I'm sorry. Just calm down. Okay."

"Oh my god, he said it. That's how stupid he is. He actually told me to calm down." Babs was on the verge of hysteria, and her high pitch reflected that, along with her hot cheeks and watery eyes. "So, you reckon it'll work? Do you a holiday? Then let's go. What have we got to sodding lose? In fact, [ __ ] it. Let's go right now. Come on. We can nip home, grab the passports and my envelope of cash. Leave a note for the kids and go straight to the airport. Come on, smart ass. Let's do it. Follow the holy grail to happiness and a nice big shag for Pete."

Pete's eyes were like moons, his voice laced with disgust and a thinly veiled hint of anger. "You're drunk and you're an [ __ ]. Jesus, Babs."

Pete did his wobbly head and raised palms thing. Looking confused was his go-to expression. But Babs had no intention of answering. She'd had enough of being stuck in the car with Pete, stuck in a marriage with Pete. In fact, she was sick of just being stuck. So, reaching for the door handle, she yanked and pushed, then grabbed her rucksack and still holding tight to the bottle, got out of the car.

Pete was flummoxed, "Babs, what the hell have you said now?"

As she hooked the straps over her shoulders, she shouted, "You know what, Pete? You might be a boring, self-centered pillock, but you never cease to amaze me with your ignorance. So, if you don't know, it means you haven't listened to anything I've just said. So, what's the bloody point in being here? In fact, what's the point in any of it anymore?"

Bab saw Pete shuffle round in a panicky flap as he grappled with the door and tried to get out of the car. She couldn't be bothered to wait or listen to what he had to say when he managed to squeeze his beer belly from between the steering wheel and his seat. Instead, she marched off to the strains of his voice, issuing orders and asking questions.

"Babs, get back here right now. You're not walking around on your own pissed as a fart."

"Ah, maybe he does care. Bless. You're showing me up."

"No, he doesn't. You fool."

"Babs. Babs, what time will you be home? What will I tell the kids about their tea?"

Babs kept on walking and called back. "Never. And tell them what you like. Tell them to make a jammy and that I've run away with the vicar to Mexico and I'm having his love child."

"Babs, you're being ridiculous making a bloody show of yourself. You know that, don't you?"

To that remark, Pete received a reverse one-finger salute and then Babs marched on. No going back. Well, not until she'd drunk the other bottle anyway.

***

Chapter 35. Robin.

Robin poured crisps into the bowl, and as she listened to Arty tell her all about the hoo-ha that was rumbling on in his village, it seemed that someone had taken the liberty of painting the front of their house in pale pink, which according to commune rules, was akin to sacrilege. The mayor, by all accounts, was up in arms and threatening action. The village was split in two. The old guard were all for getting the stocks out of the church cellar, baying for blood of those who wanted the freedom to express themselves with a tin of paint and a roller.

"So, which side are you on? Let me guess." Robin smiled, knowing exactly where Arty's allegiances would lie. "Put it this way, I'm toying with the idea of a nice candy pink once spring arrives. And maybe you could come and help me. You're a dab hand with a paintbrush, if I remember rightly. I fancy some stenciling."

That had sent the mare right over the edge, I reckon. There was a smile and a hint in his suggestion, and it wasn't the first time he'd given her a gentle nudge lately, and it made her sad and unsettled. Regrets and what-ifs were far more active than they'd ever been before. Perhaps he was feeling it, too, the sense of time running out.

Robin carried the bowl to the table and set it amongst the assortment of sandwiches and finger food that she'd ordered from a little catering firm in town, spreading the post-lockdown love by helping a small business and saving herself a job at the same time. "Did I tell you I'm having a bit of a do? Gina's upstairs with Willow and Babs will be here soon. We're having a girly night in."

What she didn't say was that after the row with Edmund, she needed comfort, to feel love and friendship and solidarity, which was why, when Babs had suggested it, Robin had readily agreed.

The taking in of a deep breath was audible, as Arty acknowledged the changing of subject. "So, what's the occasion? I hope there are no handsome chaps in attendance that might turn your head, or shall I have to come over there and punch their lights out."

At this, Robin laughed and explained it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing, an idea that quickly morphed into firm arrangements and a date being set. It seemed to do the trick, and he was soon telling her all about one of the little buggers at school who'd been caught selling vapes to the other pupils, apparently turning over a tidy little profit. Robin was relieved the subject of her going there had changed. Avoidance was her specialty lately, and her standoff with Edmund had been proof of that, because ever since, as much as she'd hated it, he'd forced her to take off her rose-colored specs and look at Willow's situation more clearly. It had scared the hell out of her when she realized what a gap her daughter would leave in her life if she was gone, and wondered how she would fill it. There'd be no more excuses, no more turning her back on what Edmund regarded as her duties. Also, Arty might go back on his promise and ask her to leave her marriage for good.

"So, how's Willow doing? I'll be going to Lords next week, so I'll pick her up some trinkets and send them over. Oh, and while I think on, I know it's only October, but am I invited for Christmas? I do love the excuse for a legitimate visit."

Robin's stomach flipped at the thought of seeing him, of the terrible shame she often felt at what they were doing, followed by a wave of love and desire so strong and yet pure that it washed away any trace of sin. Having him sitting opposite at their table. Two actors playing a part, smothering their feelings for one another, waiting for a moment alone in the kitchen when they moved the dishes. She hoped that her contrived excuse for a day or two away from Willow would be believed, praying that dear hippie Francesca would always provide an alibi and live in her caravan forever, marveling as she lit the Christmas pudding that nobody had guessed about her and Arty, and that Edmund couldn't see the lies reflected in the flames. Was she that duplicitous?

And from nowhere came another thunderbolt question. Had she made a terrible, terrible mistake? Before she had time to process it, the words were out, as though some hidden force had come from behind, given her a firm push, thrusting her through an open doorway. And now she was staggering onto a stage, blinking, shocked, and in the glare of an expectant audience of one.

"Arty, can I ask you something? And I want you to be honest, not kind or jollying me along."

"Of course, always ask away. Do you think it's all been a terrible mistake? The years we've wasted that you've wasted on me? Do you ever regret it?"

Arty replied, stuttering, unsure. "What? Why? What do you mean, Robin? A waste? I don't regret one minute of us. Not even a second. What on earth makes you ask that now?"

Her voice cracked. "Because I can feel it, Arty. Everything's changing, and I don't like it. It's in the air outside now. The world is getting back to normal and moving on. And I liked it being here with Willow, taking care of her. Not having to think about the future, just the now and getting her through each day."

"Robin, has something happened? Has Edmund upset you?"

"No, it's not him. I can deal with him. It's us, Willow. Me. Suddenly, when I thought it was all so simple, it isn't anymore. And I'm questioning myself. And I don't like what I see when I look in the mirror."

Arty attempted a response, but she ignored him and forged on. The words desperate to escape, be said and heard. "Have I been selfish? I think I have because I could have made a move, a bid for freedom when Chris went to university. That was the 'Carpedia' moment when I should have seized the day and come to you. But instead, I was a coward and hid behind my faith, telling myself I couldn't break my vows when I already had, committing a sin. Yet, I managed to convince myself I was being righteous, and that makes me a huge pathetic hypocrite, doesn't it?"

Again, Arty tried to speak, but she rushed on. "No, don't, Arty, because I couldn't bear you to disagree because that's not who you are. So, don't let me down. Not now when I need you to be true. Like always, I've been selfish, wanting it all my own way. Like when Willow married Nate, I could have called it a day with Edmund. She was married and starting a new life and didn't need me. But I wanted to be near her for when the babies came so I wouldn't be a far away granny."

This time, Arty got a word in, barging into the conversation. "But you know, I'd have come back for you, relocated. All you had to do was ask. And yes, I always hoped you would. Of course I did. But I understood. Kept my side of the bargain and never pressured you one way or another. And as for all those things you said about yourself, I don't believe it's true at all. Because they're not faults. They are you being you, the wonderful, beautiful woman I love and admire. For all the reasons and excuses you came up with. They were the best intentions. Just you never putting herself first. It's simple as that. So you don't despise me. For the years we've been apart and had to make do with snatched moments here and there for choosing here over being with you."

"Oh, Robin, how could I ever despise you? But yes, I have been frustrated. Some days I'm consumed by the desire to march over land and swim across sea to make you mine, and then it subsides. I know you love me, and nothing, not your bloody god or your bloody husband or hundreds of bloody miles, will change that."

And then the words she had to say, her truth that was gnawing at her brain. "I should have set you free, not been selfish. I've always been selfish and scared, taking the easy option, avoiding fuss and scandal and shame. Yet, that's what I feel most if I'm honest. Shame. I've messed up, messed people about, lied, cheated, dangled you on a string. And that's wrong. Very, very wrong. And I need to find a way out of it. This cycle I'm in."

"Robin, stop this right now. Otherwise, I'm going to get on a plane and come over because I can tell something isn't right and I'm worried. This isn't like you at all."

"No, please don't come over. I'm just being silly. Getting muddled in my head. Not been sleeping. That's what it is. And it's hearing your voice. It always makes me silly. And now I've rattled you and I feel bad. I'm sorry, Arty. I'm not convinced. This is so unlike you." He sounded wary, and knowing he could be impulsive and intuitive, too, Robin sought to allay his worries. "I promise I'm fine, and this evening will cheer me up and do me good, especially now you've set me straight and said lovely things about me." My head has definitely swelled a few sizes. That's for sure."

Robin thought that sounded okay, but the bluff hung in the air and she held her breath, waiting for Arty to speak. "Okay, but you better ring me tomorrow first thing. I mean it, Robin. I want to know you're all right and you can tell me about your wild girls night in. Is that a deal?"

"Deal? And no matter what, I'm coming over. I'll wangle some leave and join you lot in burning effigies on bonfires and all that lunacy." Arty was doing a great job at being jovial, and Robin wondered if his little speech was also a bluff.

"I'd love that. Now I have to get off and remove lots of cling film and open some wine, otherwise Babs will have my guts for garters." Arty laughed, and again she imagined him smiling, even if perhaps all those miles away, he wasn't. "Good old Babs. Bloody Norah. Better not tell her I said that. Give her my regards, will you? And tell her I spoke to Tom just last week, and he's doing great. He and Chris have some exciting plans for next year. But I'll tell you all about that tomorrow. So until then, remember this. I love you, Robin. That's all you need to know and the rest we'll make up as we go along. Okay."

Robin heard footsteps on the landing above. Gina was on her way downstairs so they needed to end the call. "Okay. And I love you too, Arty, so much it hurts. Now go and mark some exercise books and look at paint charts and I'll call you tomorrow. Till tomorrow, my love." And then he was gone.

After deleting Arty's name from the call list, a well-practiced precaution of an adulterer, Robin placed her phone on the side and set about uncovering the food until movement in the hall caught her eye. Heading towards the kitchen was Gina, wiping her eyes, and immediately Robin went into panic mode, her heart dropping and her hands ceasing their task.

"What's wrong? Is it Willow?" Robin rushed over and placed a comforting arm around Gina's shoulders. Yet her legs were preparing to dash upstairs.

"No, no, she's fine. Dozing when I left her. It's just that." Gina's lip wobbled as Robin pulled out a chair and guided her into it. "It's okay. Take your time." Robin crouched by Gina's side and held her hand and waited, not as patiently as her calming voice and outward expression might suggest.

When Gina finally looked up, there was a second of hesitation and then she explained, "It was something that Willow said, and it's broken my heart because she's never ever ever once said it out loud. And that time on the bridge, I thought it was a one-off. Grief and exhaustion talking. But now, well, now I'm not so sure."

"Cold." Robin was cold despite the warmth of Gina's hand in hers. Robin's body had frozen. Even the air around her seemed to have chilled. She swallowed, imagining her lips blue, barely able to speak. "Tell me what she said. It's okay. I'm her mom. I need to know."

As tears rolled down Gina's face, her eyes sad and scared, she repeated word for word what Willow had said about the angels, about wanting to be with May and how Edmund was twisting God's words. Robin listened in silence. And just when she thought Gina was finished, there was more. A revelation and one that came as no shock.

"And there's something else you should know. And please don't think we've been talking behind your back in a bad way. Neither of us knew what to do, so we were going to tell you together tonight." Gina paused. Robin's silence was her permission to continue. "It's Nate. We think he's having an affair with someone at college. I'm so sorry, Robin. For Willow and for you. It's all too cruel and wrong."

Patting Gina's hand, Robin sighed and then stood before pulling Gina towards her while she cried into her apron, rubbing her back in magic circles as she spoke. "Sh, now laugh. I understand it's hard sharing something like that. But if I'm honest, I suspected he was up to something but just didn't want to admit it. But thank you for telling me. You did the right thing."

At this, Gina pulled away and looked up. "Really? You're not mad with us?"

"No. Just falling apart inside." Somehow Robin forced her voice to sound calm. "No, not at all. Now you go and wash your face and pour yourself a drink while I go and check on Willow. Babs will be here soon, and when she arrives, the three of us can have a good old chat, talk this through, and decide what's to be done. Okay."

Gina nodded and Robin released her from the embrace, almost giving in to the urge to run from the room. Such was her desire to be with Willow. Instead, she watched for a second as Gina headed towards the kitchen sink before leaving the room. Only when she reached the foot of the stairs did she flee, taking them two at a time. Her daughter's name screaming in her head, panic taking control of her heart, fear guiding the way to Willow's bedroom door. Not caring about waking her, she yanked on the handle and burst into the room. Terrified of what she would find there.

***

Chapter 36.

Of course, she was fine. What on earth had she expected to see when she opened the door other than Willow turned on her side facing the window? No pills scattered on the floor, empty bottles strewn on the duvet, no blood splattering the wall, or whatever dreadful, gut-wrenching scenario Robin had tortured herself with as she raced along the landing. She'd overreacted, that was all, and she needed to pull herself together before she approached Willow, who was clutching one of May's teddies, stroking its head. She was still there, alive. It was okay.

Moving around the bed, Robin smiled when Willow looked up. "Hello, sweetheart. I thought you were sleeping, but wanted to check before Babs arrived. Did you have a nice chat with Gina?"

Willow nodded. "I was wondering if you'd like to come down and have some food with us. You don't have to stay long, but I'm sure Babs would love to see you, and I've got some special treats downstairs."

Willow turned away and focused on the window. She insisted on having the curtains open at all times so she could watch the birds and the stars. She hated feeling caged. Always had done since she was little. "Okay, I like Babs. Is Gina still here?"

Robin's heart soared. For Willow to leave her room was a good sign. Progress. And if Edmund or Nate saw her downstairs, it would be a win. One she badly needed. "Yes, she's waiting in the kitchen. Now, let me find your slippers. Ah, here they are." Her heart was thumping. Whether caused by happiness or tension, Robin didn't care. Only that she got Willow into the kitchen. She intended on taking a photo of them together. Proof that's what she had to gather. Evidence for the care team that Willow did have good days, and Robin wasn't pulling the wool over anyone's eyes, least of all her own.

Holding out her hand to Willow, Robin waited. "Come on, I'll brush your hair. Wait till you see the food. It's very fancy. Lots of sandwiches. There's a lovely assortment. Egg and cress, too. Your favorite."

Willow took Robin's hand, not responding to the lure of party food as she was pulled upwards and then guided towards the chair in front of the dresser. Still silent, she sat patiently while her hair was brushed. And Robin reminded herself to take things gently and resisted the urge to talk to Willow like she was an 8-year-old being readied for a birthday party. Yet, it was hard because sometimes it felt like Willow regressed to a time and a place where she was of an indeterminate age and needed assistance to eat a few mouthfuls of food, to bathe and dress. Each day was a challenge, cajoling Willow from her bed, jollying her along so she'd put on some clothes instead of pajamas. Sometimes she cooperated, others she refused and pulled the duvet over her head and slept. Other days she just stared at the ceiling, at one page in her precious photo album, at May's teddy, or out the window. But today, today, Robin was determined would be a good one, regardless of the news she just heard from Gina. Something positive had to come of the last few hours of a gray day, even if it meant Willow eating a damn sandwich and a fancy cake.

Robin brushed Willow's fair hair. It had grown so long, was ramrod straight and silky clean from the bath she'd taken earlier that morning. Then Gina's words poured like boiling water into her brain, followed by alarm bells. She would never close the bathroom door on Willow again. She'd leave it ajar and sit outside in the hall just in case. Looking up, she was about to ask Willow if she'd like her hair tied up when Robin saw she was being watched by eyes that changed color with her mood. They were darker, greener, embellished by flecks of caramel, intense.

"Mom." Willow's voice was firm, one not often heard. Robin proceeded with caution because every so often anger showed its face. "Please, not today."

"Yes, love. I don't want Dad to come into my room anymore." Willow held Robin's gaze. Robin continued to brush, glad her shaking hands were occupied, but she had to ask, even though she knew the answer. "Why has he upset you, sweetheart?"

"Yes. I don't like him. He says things I don't want to hear. He scares me. Make him stay away, please." Willow appeared calm. "Sure. And Robin was determined she'd stay that way. Of course, I'll tell him. Don't worry."

But how could she not ask, even at the risk of a flare? Robin wanted to hear it herself. "Do you want to tell me what he said? It's okay if you don't." In the silence, she reached over and took a bobble from the dresser and began to tie Willow's hair, the motions soothing the anxiety that riddled her. Again, when she glanced upwards, serious eyes met hers, watching, waiting. There was something different about Willow. Robin felt and saw it. It had happened before. Moments of lucidity, as though she'd emerged from her locked room, refreshed, batteries charged. It never lasted long, though. Days or hours, never the weeks and months and forever Robin yearned for. She clung on, though, making the most of each minute, talking, talking, talking, like she'd stored up a zillion words that she had to share with her child. It was like having her back, eating toast, watching television, the simplest things that brought Robin the greatest pleasure. Then Willow would turn away, fade, then lock the door, and Robin had to wait on the outside without a key.

When she finally spoke, Willow's voice was low. "If you are bad, you go to hell. It's horrible there. Worms crawl over your skin. Demons pull your hair and scratch your eyes. And you never sleep because they keep you awake and remind you of all the bad things you've done. He says that's where I'm going to go because I don't pray anymore. God is very angry with me for thinking bad thoughts. I'm scared because I don't want to go to hell. Mom, I want to be with May in heaven."

Robin was horrified. How could a father do this to his child? Why was he pushing a fragile woman to the edge, saying all the things he knew would terrify her? Gina was right. He couldn't be trusted. Knowing that Willow would pick up on any hint of panic, the merest trace of doubt, Robin gently put down the brush, then knelt at the side of Willow, pulling her skinny legs so her body twisted and faced her. Taking her pale hands in hers, Robin sought to soothe her wide-eyed girl.

"Now you listen to me, Willow. The only person who is bad is your father for telling you such nonsense. And I promise he will never ever say these things to you again. You, my darling girl, are the most beautiful, the most kind, with a good soul, and God would never turn you away because he forgives us our sins, doesn't he? Remember we used to say the prayer in Sunday school and look at the pictures in the books of your friend Jesus. He's one of the good guys, isn't he? And he wouldn't lie. So please believe me and believe in him. Will you promise me that, Willow? And in return, I'll promise to keep Dad away."

Willow nodded, her hands tightening as she spoke. "I promise."

Robin pulled her best "it'll be okay" smile from the bag and then leaned forward, kissing Willow on the forehead. Leaning back, Robin intended to stand. However, Willow's grip intensified as if holding her in place with her hands and a stare. A chill ran through Robin. "I want to be with May in heaven. The angels know the way, but when I ask them, they won't tell me how to get there. I asked Gina. She's going to help. Will you help me, too? Please, Mom. Please help me."

Unable to look agony in the face a second longer, Robin wrapped Willow in her arms and held her tight, pulling her as close as she could and whispered into her daughter's ear, "Of course. Of course, I'll help you. We will pray together. Ask the angels and the good guy. See if he can get a message up to the boss and somehow we will find the answers and one day you will see May again. I know it. Just hold on, Willow. Hold on to me. Please don't let go just yet. Please don't leave me."

Clinging on to her child and the hope that her words had got through, Robin forbade herself to give into tears. Willow needed to see her mother strong and sure, able to fend off that despicable man they called father and husband. So when she felt Willow's arms move, gentle hands resting on her back, reciprocating, Robin held her breath and scrunched her eyes, relishing the moment. They stayed like this, locked in embrace until the ringing of the doorbell broke the mood. The precious moment was lost, and as they pulled apart, Robin realized one thing. Willow hadn't answered. She'd held on, but she hadn't promised she wouldn't leave.

"I think someone's at the door." Willow turned towards the sound, a weary expression on her face. "It'll be Babs. I wish I'd not invited them now. I'd rather spend the evening with you." And as much as it sounded ungrateful and mean, it was true. Robin had lost heart and interest in her girly night in because in light of the recent revelations, it seemed trite and inappropriate, and her mind was racing, trying to think of an excuse to send them home until Willow spoke.

"But we're having sandwiches and cake. I want to see Babs and Gina just for a bit." Averting her gaze from the door, she turned it on Robin. "Can you get my slippers, please? My feet are cold."

Robin, fearful that Willow might fade, acted on instinct, following the signals, not wanting to miss her chance to score a point over Edmund and Nate, and at the same time lift the mood and make Babs and Gina happy. Grabbing Willow's slippers from beside the bed, she pushed them onto her feet before forcing creaky knees to stand. Without being bidden, Willow copied and wordlessly headed for the door. "Do you want something warmer? The fire's on in the kitchen, but perhaps a jumper." Robin was fussing, but couldn't help it. Willow shook her head, then glanced at the bed, then the door, as if her courage and energy were waning. From behind in her yellow sweatshirt and black leggings. Her precious child looked so small and frail. Her little chick, her very own Willow the Wisp. Willow was searching for the impossible. Asking a question nobody had the answer to. Trying to reach somewhere uncharted, as mythical as Brigadoon, the end of the rainbow. Nana, heaven, and May.

It was with a bittersweet combination of melancholy and determination that Robin led Willow along the landing and down the stairs, her voice soothing, telling her pale-faced child how pleased they'd be to see her, hoping that Babs and Gina would hear and be suitably excited when they entered the kitchen. At the same time, Robin vowed that somehow she would find a way to help Willow, keep her away from Edmund's mind games for a start, and then focus on keeping her daughter safe from harm because the message earlier was clear. Willow was stuck, just like Robin, but that was her own fault. A situation of her own making that she could have changed anytime she'd wanted. But as she'd said to Arty, she'd been weak, a coward, bound by faith and duty, hiding behind motherly love, and she'd got it wrong. No matter what Arty said, she was to blame for so much. Her daughter's predicament was infinitely worse. Not only was her husband cheating on her, he wanted to unburden himself. Willow was trapped there on earth by her mind, a slave to clinical depression, at the mercy of a cocktail of drugs that sometimes failed her. And she was tortured by the images of that fateful, hideous day, and those of the beautiful baby she longed to see again, and thanks to Edmund, by images of terrifying demons and the fear of going to hell. It couldn't go on. There had to be a solution. And if it was the very last thing Robin did, she would find it.

***

Chapter 37. Gina.

Babs had had one too many already and by her own admission needed to sober up. So what?