Jane Renshaw - Watch Over Me

‘I don’t know,’ said Neil, deadpan. ‘Is she? I, like, really don’t know , Jasmine? I’ve only just, like, got here ?’

‘Dad!’ said Beckie, rolling her eyes at Jasmine, whose mouth might have twitched at the edges before she turned away.

The noise was even worse inside. Leaving them to shut the door behind them, Jasmine clumped her way through the hall ahead of them. The house was a mirror image of their own, with the stairs on the right of the hallway rather than the left. It always unsettled Flora, being here in this skewed, out-of-kilter version of their own home. Ailish had painted the oak panelling a soft dove-grey, and in place of Flora’s beloved scruffy antiques were the ‘pieces’, as Ailish called them, sourced from interiors shops: a too-chunky, clumsily carved cabinet finished in pale pink chalk paint and inexpertly ‘distressed’, which had none of the charm of the genuine antique it was trying to emulate and probably cost five times as much; a tub chair in pink and yellow tweed; a huge mirror with fairy lights strung around it.

The whole house looked like a boutique interiors shop.

In the kitchen, Marianne was standing at the sink shrieking and flicking her hair, and dabbing at her cleavage with a cloth. Katie and Ailish each had one of Mia’s hands and were bopping to the beat, swinging the child’s arms encouragingly, while Mia, standing stock-still, had a ‘this too shall pass’ expression on her face. The two other women in the room Flora didn’t recognise. They were fussing with the candles on the table.

‘Beckie!’ Mia yanked her hands free and came rushing across the room to them.

Flora made herself smile down at her.

It was hard to believe that Mia was related to Ailish. She was a little tomboy with no interest in how she looked, her hair cut in a strange mullet, short at the sides and long at the back. The child cruelty aspect of this haircut featured regularly in Ailish’s Facebook posts. Mia herself was presumably not meant to be aware of this, but, ‘Auntie Ailish hates my hair,’ Mia had told Flora with satisfaction the other day. ‘She wants me to grow out the sides. But I like it. No long bits falling in my face, but long at the back to show I’m a girl.’

How frustrating for Ailish, although possibly it suited her not to press too hard to make Mia over. Mia was naturally pretty and, particularly as she grew up, would be in danger of putting Jasmine well and truly in the shade.

There were studies showing that pretty girls got away with bad behaviour more easily than their more ordinary-looking peers. Flora had read that on the internet, and had immediately thought of sparkling green eyes and an oval face and long raven hair.

‘Floraaaaa!’ Ailish came tottering round the table and gave her a hug. ‘Hiii-yiiii! How are you ?’

Ailish always wore heels. In her bare feet she’d have been about five foot nothing. Her hair was streaked blonde and cut in a feathered crop, her eyes carefully made up in purples and greys as if to match the kitchen. In fact, this was possible. She had a small mouth and nose and slightly upward-slanting eyes all close together in the middle of her face. Neil called her the Toxic Chipmunk.

‘How about this weather ?!’

This was a dig at Flora’s suggestion, when Ailish had first mooted the idea of a May barbeque, that it was a bit risky.

‘I know!’ Flora beamed back at her. ‘Perfect! We haven’t even brought the umbrellas I had lined up!’

‘I think May often is the best month in Scotland, isn’t it?’

Mia grabbed Beckie’s hand and they ran to the door and out into the sun.

Flora wanted to run after them, to pull Beckie back inside.

Neil thought her reservations about Mia were ridiculous. And they probably were. Mia was no doubt just what she seemed – a funny, rather naughty little girl who had no real malice in her. A girl who loved playing outside and using her imagination, who loved creating all sorts of worlds to run around and get grubby in.

It was ridiculous, to jump to conclusions about Mia being a bad influence on their daughter and being responsible for what Beckie had done to Edith, when Mia didn’t even go to the same school; and neither one of them, as Neil had pointed out, had ever witnessed Mia being unkind to another child. To ban Beckie from seeing her best friend, for no good reason, would probably just make things worse.

Neil was right.

Annoyingly, he usually was.

But Flora couldn’t help worrying about what Mia might do, unsupervised, when there were no adults watching. She was Ailish’s niece, after all – and, let’s face it, she was basically feral.

She set the Tupperware container with her mini-quiches on the worktop. The table was shabby-chic-ed to within an inch of its life, all vintage china and pastel plates and scented candles in moulded green glass holders.

Neil was standing staring around him as if he’d just landed on another planet.

‘Iain and the boys are out there’ – Ailish waved a hand at the open door – ‘burning a range of meats he hunted down last night in Tesco.’ She had a high, little-girl voice. ‘They could probably do with another of the tribe to stand looking at it while it burns to a crisp.’ Giggle.

Men Are So Funny And Hopeless was one of the themes of The Chipmunk Show, as Neil called Ailish’s Facebook posts, and no doubt there’d be some photos up there tonight of Iain grinning hopelessly at a charred burger.

Neil scuttled outside. Not that he’d relish the prospect of two hours with ‘Iain and the boys’, but anything was presumably preferable to this .

And he’d be able to keep an eye on Beckie out there.

‘Take a pew,’ said Ailish.

At least the coffee was always good. Flora glugged it and shovelled up macarons amidst the giggles and shrieks as Ailish held court, relating the latest outrage perpetrated by her ex-sister-in-law, Mia’s mother, who had an important role as the villain ‘She’ on The Chipmunk Show. It seemed She had thrown away the tap shoes and unitard Ailish had bought Mia a fortnight ago, last time Mia had been staying. Mia usually stayed with Ailish and family rather than with her father, Ailish’s hopeless brother, on the weekends on which he was supposed to have her.

And now She was refusing to take Mia to tap dancing classes.

Marianne: ‘Why do people like Her even have children, if they can’t be bothered with them?’

The faces round the table were flushed, bright-eyed, eager. A pack turning on their prey. A mob at a witch’s trial.

It was what Ailish did. What women like her had always done. She’s strange, She’s weird, She’s a freak. Compare and contrast Her with amazing Me.

It was at times like this that she most missed Pam. Her old life. Ruth’s life.

‘I could sort of understand it if Mia was running around going to a load of other activities, if taking her to tap once a week was going to be a problem because She couldn’t fit it into their packed schedule. But the only organised activity She can be bothered taking Mia to is blooming rock climbing !’

Intakes of breath and pained faces.

‘It’s like She really is trying to turn her into Arya Stark. Next Christmas it’ll be a sword called Needle! Stick ’em with the pointy end!’

Flora felt a shiver go right down her body, from shoulders to thighs.

No.

No .

This was just Ailish being Ailish.

She had to try to keep a sense of perspective here. What would Pam have said?

Pam would no doubt have agreed with Neil that Mia’s mum was doing a great job, giving Mia a free-range, old-fashioned childhood, letting her play outside with her friends most days after school in their village, not caring if she got muddy or ripped her clothes, and resisting all the pressure there was these days to do so many organised activities that there was no room left for kids to do their own thing and use their imaginations.