Mum’s on lates this week at work – she’s a doctor – and so we have a rota for making dinner: one night each for the three of us and then we can go out or get a takeaway. It works pretty well, even though we don’t have that big a range. Elyse got a Jamie Oliver book out of the library so we can try to expand our repertoire a bit, but I’m sticking with turkey chilli for tonight. I can’t face trying something new.
I’ve got the recipe stuck to the fridge with the letter magnets we’ve had for as long as I can remember. Dad used to leave messages for us with them. Sometimes just ‘LOVE U’, sometimes something daft that only we’d find funny. Mum doesn’t do it. She occasionally leaves us notes on the fridge, but not with the magnets and not usually jokey. She’s all practical these days.
I’m chopping onions and wiping at my teary eyes when I hear one of my sisters thundering down the stairs. I realise as the kitchen door bursts open and bounces back against the wall that it’s Leonie. She’s been doing that her whole life.
‘That was Mum on the phone,’ she says as she opens the fridge.
‘Don’t eat anything!’
‘I’m not going to, I’m just looking!’
I scrape the onions from the chopping board into the pan before turning to Leonie. ‘And?’
‘And what?’
She’s eating a chunk of cheese. I knew it. ‘And what did Mum want?’
‘Oh, right. She’s going to be late. She said not to wait for her for dinner.’
I sigh. Mum’s been working so much more since Dad died, which I do understand – we lost his wage and even though Mum always earned more, this house isn’t cheap to run – but we’re going to Italy tomorrow; I thought she’d get home in time for us to have dinner together and get an early night before the flight.
Leonie nods towards the stove. ‘How long’s this going to be?’
I look round at it, as if that’s going to tell me. ‘Twenty minutes?’
‘‘Kay,’ she says and then opens the fridge for more cheese before going back upstairs.
While the rice cooks, I tidy round the kitchen a bit and then look through the ‘important papers’ drawer for our passports. I find Mum’s and Leonie’s, but the next one I find is Dad’s. The corner’s cut off from where Mum had to send it away after he died. She must have put it back in the drawer when they returned it. It’s a terrible picture of him, but I love it because it reminds me so much of going on holiday and him making jokes about how awful the photo was. I remember one time he said he looked like a Beatle and when Mum asked ‘Ringo?’ he said, ‘No, an actual beetle’ and then did antennas with his fingers.
I laugh out loud picturing it and it’s only when I do a massive snotty sniff I realise I’m also crying.
I put the chilli and rice in bowls in the middle of the table and set three places before shouting up the stairs to tell my sisters dinner is ready. I sit down where I’ve always sat – far side of the table on the left, the seat that used to be next to Dad – and dish out my own chilli and rice. Leonie and Elyse still haven’t come down. I get up, go to the bottom of the stairs and shout them again.
‘Just a minute!’ Leonie yells back.
‘I’m on the phone!’ Elyse calls.
I sit back at the table and start on my own food, glancing up at the clock to see how long before Mum might realistically be home. She used to get back from lates by ten, but not any more.
I’m halfway through my dinner and scrolling through Tumblr on my phone when Leonie comes in, flops some food on her plate and heads for the door.
‘Where are you going?’
She doesn’t even turn round. ‘Hmm?’
‘Sit down and eat with me!’
‘I’m watching Netflix,’ she says, half-turning. ‘Come up with me.’
‘I don’t want to come up with you,’ I tell her. ‘I want us to eat together.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Elyse isn’t even here.’
‘She will be.’
‘Well, call me when she is,’ my sister says. And leaves.
I keep eating, but my throat feels tight. It’s not that big a deal, I know. And we’ll be eating together in Italy. And it’s not the same when Mum’s not here anyway. But still.
Elyse doesn’t come down at all. I put her share in a Tupperware box in the fridge.
Mum doesn’t get back until almost eleven. Elyse, Leonie and I are flopped around the living room. We’ve pulled the cushions off the sofa, watching Friends repeats, eating toast and ignoring each other.
‘Oh, you’re still up,’ she says, leaning against the wall in the doorway. She looks tired. She always looks tired these days.
‘We were just about to go to bed,’ Leonie says. ‘We’ve got to be up at half-five.’
‘I know we have!’ Mum snaps.
Leonie looks at me and I see the hurt in her eyes before she looks back at Mum and says, ‘All right, no need to bite my head off.’
‘Sorry,’ Mum says. She pushes her glasses up on top of her head and rubs one eye, before saying, ‘Shit.’ And then, ‘Sorry, girls. Forgot I had make-up on.’
‘Come and sit down,’ Elyse says, standing up and putting a couple of the cushions back onto the sofa.
‘No, I’m going to go up to bed,’ Mum says.
‘There’s still some toast,’ Leonie says. ‘It’s not totally cold.’
‘I don’t want toast,’ Mum says. ‘I just want my bed.’
The three of us look at each other and then Elyse says, ‘It’s just … we’ve hardly seen you.’
Mum frowns and then her face seems to crumple a little, but she says, ‘We’re going to be together all the time in Italy.’
‘With everyone else, though,’ I say. ‘It won’t just be us.’
She nods then. She’s not looking at me and I don’t think she’s looking at Leonie or Elyse either. She seems to be looking just past us and I know where without even turning my head. She’s looking at the corner of the room where Dad used to sit.
‘Okay,’ she says, almost to herself. She crosses the room and sits on the cushions Elyse has just picked up. ‘So. What have you girls been doing?’
‘Milly made turkey chilli,’ Leonie says. ‘It wasn’t entirely gross.’
Mum smiles.
‘I found the passports,’ I say.
‘Oh good,’ Mum says. ‘I hadn’t even thought about that.’
‘I’ve put everything in The Folder,’ I tell her and I see her flinch.
The Folder was Dad’s thing. All the paperwork for holidays went in there, in order of how we’d use it. So there’d be the confirmation of the airport parking, then the flight tickets, car hire, hotel details, etc. And then the insurance information and European Health Insurance cards would be at the back. He was constantly checking it in the run-up to any trip away and then while we were away, receipts and confirmations went straight into The Folder. And then once we were home, he’d go through The Folder again, chucking stuff out or pinning tickets up on our bulletin board. It was only when The Folder was empty that we really felt like the holiday was over. And all holiday planning began with The Folder.
‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘For doing that.’
‘Of course,’ I say. I mean, I don’t even know how she thought we’d travel without The Folder. None of us ever has.
‘I can’t wait to get to Italy,’ Leonie says. She picks up the plate of toast and puts it on the table next to where Mum’s sitting. Mum immediately picks up a piece and starts nibbling.
‘I actually need to talk to you about that,’ Mum says.
I immediately feel like I’m about to cry. It’s not even so much what she says, but the defeated way she says it. It makes me want to curl up in a ball and put my hands over my ears, the way I used to when I was little and didn’t want to go somewhere or do something.
‘How would you feel about flying out without me,’ Mum says.
It’s actually not as bad as I was expecting. I was half thinking she was going to say the trip was off. But still. We’ve never flown without her. And we’ve all been looking forward to getting away as a family. Even if we’re not the family we used to be.
‘Why?’ Elyse asks.
‘I’ve just …’ Mum starts to say, but then she puts down the piece of toast she’s been eating and picks up a different one. ‘I’ve just got so much to do at work. It’s not a great time for me to go away.’
‘But you have to come,’ Leonie says. ‘It’s your sister’s wedding!’
‘Oh, I’m still going to come!’ Mum says and she actually looks directly at Leonie, before looking back down again. ‘I just don’t think I can come tomorrow.’
‘No,’ Leonie says. I can see red patches on her cheeks and I know she’s about to either shout or cry. ‘No. Work can wait. Someone else can cover for you. You have people to cover for you, I know you do. We’re going tomorrow. All of us.’
‘Leonie,’ Mum says in a warning tone. ‘My job is important. I don’t think you understand –’
‘I do understand,’ Leonie says, standing up. ‘We all understand. We’re not babies. We’re not idiots. We all understand. But you … Since Dad died …’
Mum looks up at her then and the pain on her face is so clear that I have to look away. Leonie carries on, but her voice is breaking and I can feel the pain in my throat that I know means I’m about to cry too. ‘Since Dad died,’ Leonie says again. ‘It’s like you think work is more important than us. And it’s not. It’s just fucking not.’
‘I know it’s not,’ Mum says. ‘Of course I do.’
‘It’s like,’ Leonie starts as she heads out of the room. ‘It’s like we don’t know how to be a family without Dad.’
As she leaves, Leonie kicks one of the cushions out of the way and I pick it up and put it back on the sofa before sitting down next to Mum. I want to curl into her side the way I did when I was little. I want her to stroke my hair and kiss my head and pretend to bite my fingers. But then I remember it wasn’t her who did the pretend finger-biting, it was Dad.
‘It hasn’t been that bad, has it?’ Mum asks.
‘It hasn’t been that good,’ Elyse says.