Lola's Secret (19 page)

It was true. He was right. She didn’t know anything anymore. She’d expected to feel different, feel better. She just felt terrible in a new way.

Not that she’d let on to Carrie about any of this. During the drive to the motel, Carrie had spoken in a deceptively innocent tone. “So Lola tells me you’re going back to work sooner than you expected.”

“Mmm. I’ve done a few hours already. It’ll be one day a week in the new year.”

“And Daniel’s going to go part-time then too? Look after the twins as well?”

“Mmm.”

Great
, she wanted to hear Carrie say.
What teamwork
. Instead, her sister radiated disapproval. Bett had taken a breath, about to explain why they were going to try it, how lost she’d been, how she’d felt like she was drowning, but Carrie made a performance of turning up the radio and singing along—in perfect tune, Bett acknowledged—to a pop song. That had been the end of any more car conversation.

“So, how shall we do this?” Bett said now.

Carrie shrugged. “You tell me.”

Bett kept her temper with difficulty. “We could work out a system. Take it in turns, maybe—one of us packing, the other gathering the items, that kind of thing.”

“Fine.”

Stay calm, Bett, stay calm. “Unless you’ve got a better idea, of course.”

“I don’t really care how we do it.”

“That’s a great attitude, Carrie. Full of charity. What about we just ring the recipients up and tell them to come and pick what they want themselves? Is that what you think? Save you the bother?”

“God, you are snippy today. Finding juggling work and home life a bit tricky, are you?”

Forget trying to stay calm. “Fuck off, Carrie.”

“Don’t take your unhappiness out on me.”

“You selfish, conceited—”

“Oh, grow up, would you? Name-calling at your age? I’ve had it with you, Bett. I’ve done all I can to help you, offer advice, give you praise—”

“
Praise?
Praise? You’ve done nothing but undermine and criticize me from the day the twins were born. From before then, even, when I was pregnant—I wasn’t eating properly, I wasn’t exercising enough. No wonder I had such a hard labor. I hadn’t prepared well enough. No wonder the twins weren’t sleeping properly. On and on and bloody on. I don’t
need
you to tell me what a bad mother I am, Carrie, all right? I can see that perfectly well for myself. So mind your own bloody business, would you? You and Perfect Matthew and your three perfect children can go off and live your perfect lives and leave me and Daniel and our kids alone.”

Carrie’s expression didn’t change. “Have you finished?”

Bett nodded.

Carrie turned back to the hampers. “So let’s get on with this, shall we? As you pointed out, the sooner we get started, the sooner it’s done.”

“So you’re just going to ignore everything I’ve said?”

“Oh, no, Bett. I’ll remember every ridiculous, immature word of it. But I haven’t got anything to say back to you. The only reason I’m here is as a favor to Lola. Let’s get started, shall we?”

Would it be ridiculous and immature of her if she were to pick up the tins of peaches and start throwing them at Carrie? Bett wondered. If she were to toss the bottles of olive oil at her too? Open the windows of the function room and tip all the donated toys out into the car park? Bett wanted to do all that and burst into tears, too. What was
happening
to her lately? She’d lost all reason, all patience, all sense of proportion. And now, she’d lost face as well. Carrie was there, smug and calm, enjoying the high moral ground, already leafing through the large pile of paper slips. Bett was the one with the red face and mutinous expression.

Lola’s underlying plan to get them talking definitely hadn’t worked. Which left only the boxes to get ready.

In clipped tones, they devised a method. Carrie would read out the recipients’ details, the number of family members and their ages. Bett would fetch and carry the items. They’d swap places after an hour.

They got started. Luke and his friends had arranged everything in neat groups. Toys, foodstuffs, decorations, miscellaneous gifts. Despite her own unhappiness, Bett found herself admiring people’s generosity. She hadn’t donated anything yet herself, even though she’d written a short article for the paper about the donations. She would, as soon as possible. Had Carrie donated anything? she wondered. About to ask, she changed her mind. She wasn’t sure she could bear hearing that Carrie had donated a thousand dollars’ worth of top-quality biscuits or cakes or toys, when she and Daniel could barely afford to pay their own bills, let alone help out people in greater need than them.

If she’d been working with anyone else, she’d have had plenty to say, she knew. Perhaps even speculated about who some of the recipients were. It had all been done as anonymously as possible, although Lola and two other of her shop ladies knew the full details, so they could arrange the deliveries on Christmas Eve. The slips just had the bare details. Bett waited as Carrie leafed through another pile.

“We have to do them all, Carrie. It’s not a matter of picking the best ones,” she said.

“You’re right,” Carrie said. “I am sorry.”

Her words were pure politeness on the surface, chosen to hurt underneath. “Thank you, Carrie,” Bett answered, in tones equally saccharine.

“A family of four, mother thirty-four, father thirty-nine, two boys aged eight and ten.”

Bett moved up and down the rows of goods, choosing and delivering them back to Carrie, who began packing them into a box.

“Two boys, did you say? What would they like?”

“I don’t know, Bett. I’m not their mother. I don’t know them.”

“Your generous nature is astounding me. Such sympathy for other people’s troubles.”

Carrie just rolled her eyes.

That time Bett didn’t hesitate. She threw the can of peaches she was holding directly at her sister. It missed her by inches, flew over the pile of boxes, and landed with a crash on the bar area behind them, knocking over a row of glasses. The shattering noise filled the room.

“That’s enough, you cow!” Bett shouted. “You think I want to be here with you either? With you and your bloody smugness, seeing how perfect you look, and knowing how wonderful your children are and your marriage is? Well, I don’t! Because you’re absolutely right about me, Carrie. I
am
a hopeless mother. I
do
feed my children the wrong food. They don’t sleep because I’m not putting them to bed at the right times. And you know what else? My marriage is falling apart. I don’t talk to Daniel about anything anymore. We either fight or we don’t talk. He can’t seem to do anything right either. But I can’t expect you to understand, can I? Not Mrs. Perfect, with her Perfect Husband who does everything around the house—”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“—and yes, I know what else you’re thinking, I’ve probably made a huge mistake wanting to go back to work so soon, I don’t know—What did you say?”

“I said that no, Matthew doesn’t do everything around the house. He’s useless, actually.”

“But he cooks. Cleans. You told me—”

“I was lying.”

“Lying?”

Carrie nodded.

“Why?”

Carrie shrugged.

“You mean he doesn’t cook dinner four nights a week? Give the kids their baths every night?”

Carrie laughed. “No.”

“Do your kids sleep through every night?”

“No.”

“Eat everything you put in front of them?”

“No.”

“Get on with each other all the time?”

Carrie laughed again. “No.”

“But you told me they did. You’ve done nothing but tell me—”

“I was hoping if I kept saying it, it might come true.”

Bett could hardly believe what she was hearing. “So you’re finding it hard too?”

A nod.

“Really hard?”

Another nod. “Of course. Not always, though.”

Bett waited.

“There are lots of good times. Like when they’re asleep and I’ve opened a bottle of wine.” She became serious. “Bett, what planet have you been living on? Of course it’s tough. You just have to concentrate on the good times. Lie to yourself if you have to. I do it all the time. You also have to remind yourself—constantly—about how cute or funny they can be. Think positively. Remember how much you love them, even when they’re being sick or screaming or wide awake in the middle of the night. You must have had to do that already?”

Bett nodded.

“Then you know what I’m talking about. Doesn’t your heart just fill up at the sight of them sometimes? You’ve felt that too, haven’t you? In the mornings, especially? That’s always my favorite time.”

Bett nodded again, remembering Yvette and Zachary just that morning. “When you first go into their rooms and they see you, do you mean? And they’re so excited and happy?”

Carrie nodded. “Exactly. I just wish they’d stay there like that, happy and half-asleep. Just for a few years. Or even for an hour now and again, long enough to give me time to do some washing. Or vacuum. Or cook something more interesting than fish fingers.”

“You have trouble getting things done too?”

Carrie rolled her eyes.

“Why haven’t you told me any of this?”

Another shrug.

Bett didn’t know whether to scream or cry. “Carrie, I’ve been going crazy. Completely crazy, seeing you doing everything so perfectly, and knowing I was failing at everything, at every single step. But if you’re not being the perfect mother—”

“No one is, Bett. There’s no such thing.”

“Then there’s hope for me, isn’t there?”

“For God’s sake, Bett. What magazines or websites have you been reading? Everyone finds it tough. Because it is tough. Wonderful but tough.”

“But why don’t people talk about it more?”

Carrie held up one of the Christmas package slips of paper. “Why are these anonymous? Why did people drop the forms in after hours or put them in the post? Because they’re embarrassed, ashamed? Because they felt they’d let their families down, themselves down, that they should have done a better job? That’s how I feel sometimes about being a mother. And I bet just about every other mother in the world feels the same way sometimes too. It’s hard, Bett. Hard for everyone. You and me included.”

“So why have you been such a bitch to me lately?”

“Me? You started it. I was just trying to help, give you a bit of advice now and again.”

“Now and again? You’ve done nothing but—” Bett stopped herself. She might never have a conversation like this with her sister again. “Carrie, if I ask you a few questions, will you answer them honestly?”

“Maybe.”

“Does Matthew ever cook?”

“Once in a blue moon and it’s always sausages on the barbecue.”

“Does he do much housework?”

“I think he put a plate in the dishwasher once. Oh, no, he didn’t. That was me again. Can I ask you a question? Do you and Daniel really fight?”

“All the time lately. About everything.”

“And what about? You know …”

“Sex?”

Carrie nodded.

Bett pulled a face. “Never again. Ever.” They both laughed. “I’m exaggerating. Yes, but rarely.”

“I need a word that means rarer than rarely. Barely? Don’t carely?” Carrie gave a quick smile. “Another question. Why have you decided to go back to work so soon? I thought you wanted to spend the first year at least with the twins.”

“I do. I did. But—”

“You’re not sure anymore?”

“I’ve only done a few hours back so far. It was great. It felt so easy.”

“But?”

“I also felt guilty the whole time. That I should have been home with the twins and doing housework. And I don’t think that going part-time is what Daniel really wants, either. But it’s too late now. We’ve discussed it over and over”—she allowed herself the lie—“and we’ve made the decision.”

“Why is it too late now? Why don’t you wait until you’ve done a few full days in January? If you still don’t like it, tell your editor it was a trial and you’re sorry, it hasn’t worked out for you. If they need to, they’ll find someone else. It’s a local paper, Bett. It’s not like you’re the head of the UN.”

“You have such a turn of phrase, you know that?” But there was no sting in Bett’s words.

“I know,” Carrie said, smiling. “I’m perfect in so many ways. As for Daniel, it’s not too late for him to change his mind either, is it? He can tell his boss he was overtired and hadn’t thought it through properly. That’s probably true anyway, isn’t it?”

Bett could only agree.

“See, I do know everything.” Carrie grinned suddenly. “I’d better stop there or you’ll throw more peaches at me. That was very childish, by the way. You’re older than me, you’re supposed to set a good example.”

“Sorry, Carrie.”

“Forgiven. And forgotten. For now, anyway. Come on, we’d better get back to work. We haven’t even finished ten boxes yet. Lola will kill us. Forget about political correctness, too. Give the boys the balls and cricket bats and the girls the dolls and teddies. And give them
all
lots of chips. Little kids love chips.”

By lunchtime they had put forty boxes together. At first they had worked in almost silence again, Carrie reading the details, Bett fetching, before swapping over. As the filled boxes began to take over a corner of the room, they talked more about each of the recipients. It wasn’t only families asking for help. There were packages for several elderly people, single men, single mothers. Bett and Carrie wondered about the elderly ones, particularly. Had they needed food or had it been to make sure they had a visit, even briefly, from someone at Christmas time?

Their conversation took winding, twisting turns. They talked about Anna. About Lola. About their parents. They talked more about their children, tentatively at first, the subject weaving carefully in and out of other, easier topics. Bett introduced it again, confessing she was worried that Zach was sucking his thumb. Carrie told her Freya had too, for a while. They swapped stories about baby food. Carrie admitted her children often ate chicken nuggets as well as fish fingers.

“I thought they only ever have home-cooked, organic food.”