CHAPTER ONE 

'NO!' howled Free. 'No, no, no! Tell me this isn't happening.'

     ‘For God’s sake, Free, you’ll wake the kids.’ Flip stood there, swaying, feeling even more drunk than he was.

     ‘You knew about it,’ she screamed. ‘You must have. Don’t dare tell me she didn’t discuss it with you first, her pet.’

     'Swear to God she didn't,' he said. And she hadn't – not this time.

     Free was having none of it. ‘So why didn’t you say something when she told us? Why didn't you stop her?’

     Stop his mother? How could he? When she got an idea into her head she was like a ten-ton truck without brakes careering down a hill.

     In the hugeness of her rage, Free seemed somehow to have taken over the whole room. She swelled up to tower over him, finger wagging. ‘We're moving,' she said, 'and I don't want to hear you say no. If you can't say it to her, you sure as hell can't say it to me.'

     He flopped down onto the sofa that still seemed to contain the confident imprint of his mother’s bottom, and put his head in his hands. ‘Oh, Free, how can we?’

     ‘Oh, Free, how can we?’ she mimicked. ‘Of course we can. Other people do it all the time. Look at Avril.’

     ‘We’re not other people,’ he said. ‘For one thing we don’t have the money they have.’

     ‘And why don’t we?’ She was glowering down at him and he suddenly saw himself through her eyes, a failure, a bread loser.

     ‘I don’t know,’ he said hopelessly. ‘I don’t know why I work all day in a job I hate and still don’t have the money to just go out tomorrow and buy us a new house. Maybe you should have married Malachy.’

     That got her. She looked at him, shocked, swallowing whatever she was about to say. Then she sat down beside him, wiping the backs of her hands across her red and swollen eyes. ‘You knew,’ she said quietly. ‘You knew about us the whole time.’

     ‘I suppose I did,’ he said. But he hadn’t. Dear God, he hadn’t.

* * * * *

He should have known something was up when he turned the corner into his own road that evening and saw his parents’ old brown Ford plonked in their driveway. But he was tired and he thought that maybe they had just dropped in when passing. Although passing to where he couldn't imagine.

    Parking down the road so the drain cover on the drive wouldn't clunk under his wheels, he turned the key in the lock as carefully as he could, eased the door open and sneaked down the hall past the front room, where his mother could be heard interrogating the kids about their homework. His father’s voice, as usual, was silent.

     He found Free at the kitchen table, rushing up some buns for the tea. She didn’t look up as he came in. Her shoulders were rigid. 'You might have let me know they were coming,' she hissed.

     ‘How could I?' he whispered back. 'I didn't know myself.’

     He knew she didn't believe him. She thought he'd put off telling her this morning to avoid a row. Now her face flexed momentarily, as if she might cry. He almost wished she would. It always softened her, somehow. Dipping her dark head she rolled out the dough into a long, smooth sausage.

     Encouraged, he edged nearer, nuzzling. ‘Know what that reminds me of?’

     ‘Yes,’ she whispered, and with a wicked little knife began chopping the dough into pieces.

Free had just put her hastily made buns into the oven to burn when Moya interrupted the charged silence, bowling down the hallway and into the kitchen as if she owned the place. She made straight for her precious son.

     ‘Ah, there you are, Philip, pet. I thought I heard you. So, how’s my big fella’, then?’

     'Fine, Mam.' He wriggled in her grasp, and Free knew he was acutely aware of the scorn in her eyes as he succumbed to his mother’s loud kiss. At the kitchen door, Paul, their eldest, snorted at the scene. Even at the age of seven, she thought, he can see how odd it is.

     She forced a fake smile at the scene, though her insides were knotted tightly with annoyance. She’d promised herself after last time that she really was going to try and get on with Moya but now, under pressure of the shock of her in-laws' arrival, all her good intentions had flown out the window.

     She winced as Moya caught her arm. ‘Now, I hope you’re not going to any trouble for us, pet. If I'd have wanted you to fuss over us I'd have rung to say we were dropping in.'

     Free tried not to grimace. ‘It’s no bother,’ she said. ‘Sit down, everyone. Will you bring in another chair, Flip?’

     ‘Flip, Flop!’ said Moya, only half laughing. ‘You know, I can never understand how you made that out of the perfectly good name I had my son baptised. It’s nearly as bad as your own. Only joking, of course.’

     ‘Of course.’ Free grimaced, then bit her lip to stop herself from reminding Moya, yet again, that Flip was what her son asked everyone to call him.

     ‘Well, isn’t this nice?’ said Moya to Mick, perching on the edge of her chair as if about to fly off.

     Mick only grunted, eyes glinting and rolling behind his glasses, and wedged himself into a corner well away from Moya and taking out his pipe. As he glanced around him helplessly for an ash try, Free gritted her teeth. Hadn’t he seen her No Smoking sign in the hall? It had been there long enough.

     ‘Where do I sit, Mam?’ Jenny, standing with folded arms in the kitchen doorway, glared at the visitors from under lowered eyebrows as if she’d never seen them before.

     ‘There’s a scowl,’ said Moya cheerfully, helping herself to the milk.

     ‘Squeeze in by me,’ Free whispered, but Jenny darted away around the table to her dad just as he moved his chair inwards to let Paul edge by. Her hand painfully trapped between chair and table, she let out an outraged howl.

     In the commotion that followed, Free was vaguely aware of Moya rising to her feet. ‘Listen, I'll be back in a minute. I just want to have a quick word with Avril. I promised I’d bring her some of my old Mills & Boons . . .’ Her voice drifted back as the hall door snapped gently closed on her words.

     She chose now, just as they were about to have their tea. Free threw Flip an exasperated glance. Sure, Avril next door had told Moya to call in any old time when they’d met for the first time last week, but she wouldn’t have meant at this hour. Shame, mingled with annoyance, burned in her cheeks for Flip’s mother.

     Mick, however, didn’t seem at all put out by Moya’s abrupt departure. ‘Ah, but you can’t beat an old cup of tea,’ he exclaimed, holding his cup out to Free until it was almost overflowing into the saucer, then falling on the bread and butter as if he’d never got a bit in his life, as her mother would say.

* * * * *

Moya found Avril waiting for her with barely concealed impatience. Freshly applied lipstick shone dewily against her thickly-caked complexion and she had far too much mascara on. Still, thought Moya resolutely, that’s none of my business.

     She was given a guided tour of the whole house: the cloistered sitting room where Avril’s husband frowned over the evening paper in front of the silently gesticulating television. The shining, hi-tech kitchen which looked as if it had never been used. The pink and green master bedroom complete with bed canopy, and the children’s bedrooms, unnaturally neat and tidy, with their pale, nervously smiling occupants reading quietly on their beds.

     And, oh, those awful venetian blinds everywhere! Dirt-catchers was what they were. Moya smiled and nodded at Avril, who was opening the bathroom door, saying, ‘And what do you think of this? William installed the power shower for me himself.’

     ‘Mmm, very nice.’ Moya peered around at the glossy, maroon surfaces, then squinted upwards. ‘Though I’m always saying to Philip that that’s the strangest place to put an attic door.’

     Avril giggled. ‘I suppose it is. The builder said it was to do with the design of the landing or something. You know, when I’m lying here up to my little neck in bubbles I often think there’s someone looking down on me.’

     ‘There is,’ said Moya sharply. ‘God!’

When at last they heard the light little tap at the front door, Free had been wishing for the hundredth time that Moya would hurry up and come back, so that she could stop the kids horsing around with their grandad and put them to bed.

     ‘And what time do you call this?’ Mick demanded, puffing as he struggled to prevent an over-excited Paul from getting him in an armlock.

     Free looked at Moya. There was something about her mother-in-law as she stood there in the doorway of the front room, almost swollen with intrigue. Another of her mother's many useful clichés came to mind: like the cat that got the cream.

     ‘Oh, was I really that long? Well, it takes time to arrange these things, you know.’

     ‘Arrange what things?’ Flip was looking bored, and Free knew he’d rather be watching the evening news with his feet up.

     ‘Oh, this and that,’ said Moya mysteriously.

     Free felt curious, despite herself. Moya seemed possessed of a strange air of anticipation. Two fever-spots of excitement lit up her cheeks as she turned to Flip.

     ‘Now, I know I should probably have consulted your dad first,’ she began,

‘but . . .’

     ‘But what, Mam?’ said Flip impatiently.

     ‘But why change the habit of a lifetime,’ growled Mick, his eyes glinting and rolling behind his glasses. ‘Come on, let’s have it. What have you been up to this time?’

     ‘Now, don’t rush me,’ said Moya, mock-petulantly. But her eyes gleamed as she burst out, ‘Oh, it’s just that I’ve made an offer for the house next door, that’s all.’

     Oh, was that all? A scorched silence fell. Free knew she was staring at Moya open-mouthed with horror, but she made no attempt to alter her expression. Now was not the time for pretence.

     ‘Our next door?’ Flip managed at last.

     Moya chuckled. ‘Who else’s, silly? Your dad and I are going to be your new neighbours.’

     ‘Well, it’s the first I’ve heard of it,’ protested Mick, eyeing Free and Flip nervously. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’

     ‘You’re not serious, Mam?’ Flip whispered, glancing white-faced at Free.

  Now she felt them all looking at her, measuring her reaction. What did they expect her to say? Yahoo, let’s throw a party!

     As if he’d read her mind, Flip gulped. ‘I think this calls for something special, eh, Free? You put the kids to bed and I’ll get out the glasses. We could all do with a drop of the hard stuff.’

     ‘Well, just a tiny one for me, then,’ said Moya. ‘Your dad’s driving.’

By bed time Free still hadn’t spoken properly to Flip, and her face remained drawn and shuttered against him. After watching the late news on television she rose stonily and went upstairs to make their bed. He heard the children’s doors open as she checked on them, then her soft tread on the landing, followed by the sound of their bedroom door closing quietly.

     He waited as long as he could bear before following her up. She was breathing deeply as he tossed his clothes over the chair and climbed in beside her, but he was sure she wasn’t really asleep.

     It was one of those nights when the moon shone like a buttery lamp through the window. Feeling himself stir below like a dog wanting a walk, he couldn’t resist reaching out for her, his hand creeping across an expanse of warm, naked flesh, his legs entwining hopefully around hers.

     ‘It’ll be all right, you know,’ he murmured. ‘And it’s not as if Mam was actually moving in here, is it?'

     Free’s voice exploded out of the pale darkness. ‘Oh, well, maybe not yet. I mean, she’s only human. Give her a month or two to get organised. Can’t expect her to do it all at once, can we? I mean, even Hitler had to begin next door before he invaded France.’

     That remark seemed totally uncalled for. ‘Well, look at it this way,’ he sighed, ‘I’ll be home earlier when I visit her, now I don’t have to go so far.’

     ‘And neither does she!’

     He tried again. ‘Look, she’s just lonely, that’s all. She’s . . .’

     ‘And is it any wonder?’ snapped Free.

     He sighed. It wasn’t, really. His mother had always found it hard to make friends, though God knew she kept on trying. But he wasn’t going to say that to Free, giving her ammunition. She wasn’t exactly Ms Popularity herself, was she, with her arm’s length style resulting in a coolness between the two women in his life right from the start.

     ‘You don’t want to look on the bright side, that’s your trouble,’ he flared. ‘You’re determined to make the worst of things. You won’t be happy till it all goes wrong, will you?’

     ‘It’s already all gone wrong,’ she said. She gave a small, angry sob and after that he couldn’t get another word out of her. Or anything else, either.

* * *

In her house five miles from Philip’s as the crow flew, Moya suddenly sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding. ‘There’s something wrong, I can feel it.’

     ‘Oh, God!' Mick fumbled for his bedside lamp. ‘Not another one of your blessed feelings.’

     ‘There’s something wrong,’ Moya insisted. ‘I can feel it. There’s a black depression come over me, as if someone’s sick, or dead.’

     ‘Well, it’s not me, anyway – yet,’ he said in aggrieved tones. 'I can’t even get a rest for a minute, let alone for eternity. Now listen, will you stop worrying your head over nothing. It must be something you ate. Mind you, I thought that meat we had earlier was a bit off.’

     ‘Now don’t start,’ she warned. That was so like him, to take the opportunity to find fault with her cooking. ‘The dinner would have been all right if you’d been here to eat it hot.’ She paused. ‘Mind you, it might have been something we ate at Philip’s. I mean, Freesia’s not the cleanest, is she? Did you see the cut of the - ?’

     ‘Moya.’ Mick sat up and turned around to face her in the moonlight. ‘You’ve got what you wanted now, haven’t you? So do you think you could be a bit more . . . well, you know . . . with Freesia, I mean.’

     ‘What I wanted,’ she said. ‘You mean you don’t want it too?’

     He sighed. ‘Of course I want it. I always want what you want. Isn't that the best way?’

     'No, you're cross about it. I can tell. It's just I didn't see any point in mentioning it till I knew we could get it.'

     'You didn't think Philip might like to know what was on your mind?'

     'That would have spoiled the surprise, wouldn't it?'

     'Shock, you mean.' 

     'Go on, you know it makes sense. Us rattling around in this great big place - now we're getting on, what's the point?'

     'We could have got a much better price a few years ago, for a start.'

     'Ah, but then Avril's place wouldn't have been going at a knockdown, would it? It's all swings and roundabouts, isn't it?'

     Mick sighed. 'It's a roller-coaster you've got us on now, more like.'

     'Well, it's something different, isn't it? Something exciting at this time of our lives. And I know that deep down Philip is pleased for us too. He's always been such a good boy.' And why wouldn’t he be pleased, she thought, with a free babysitter on call, someone to help sort the kids out or be there for deliveries when Freesia wasn’t?

     Mick gave one of his heavy sighs. Snapping off his light he turned his back to her, heaving half the bed-clothes with him. ‘Philip’s a man, not a boy. Thirty-six, isn’t he? And with a wife and two kids, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

     Moya pounded her pillows. ‘He’ll always be my little boy,’ she muttered. ‘Even when he’s eighty years old.’

     ‘He won’t, you know,’ said Mick. ‘He’s going to be an orphan some time, and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it. Now will you lie down, like a good woman, and let us get some shut-eye. Some of us have to go to work tomorrow.’

     That old tune, as if she didn’t work. Moya lay down reluctantly, eyes wide open in the darkness as she probed the great unknown. Strangely, the awful feeling of doom seemed to be gone now, replaced by a huge annoyance. That was Mick all over, spoiling thoughts of their bright new future with reminders of their mortality.

Chapter Two