Tracy Corbett - The Summer Theatre by the Sea

Freddie and Florence came charging into the kitchen, the hoods of their outfits pushed away from their faces. They climbed onto the plastic chairs, making them squeak. ‘Please can I have some water?’ Florence rubbed her nose with her hand.

Lauren poured water into their plastic Toy Story beakers, which were too young for them, but she couldn’t afford to replace. ‘Use a tissue, please, Florence.’ She handed her daughter a roll of kitchen towels, which doubled as napkins in the Saunders house.

Balancing the phone between her shoulder and ear, Lauren dished up the fajita mix, her focus returning to her sister. ‘What’s brought this on?’ She moved Freddie’s hand before she burnt him with the wok. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. It’s just unexpected. Have you finally taken some holiday from work?’

Her sister made an odd sound. ‘I wish.’ Another pause. ‘I’ve been fired.’

Lauren stopped serving dinner. ‘ Fired? ’

The sound of her raised voice had both children reverting to ninjas, making gun shapes with their hands and shouting, ‘Fired!’

Lauren shushed them. ‘Eat your tea, please.’ Their grinning faces made her laugh. She’d never make a stern parent. ‘Sorry, Charlotte. It’s mayhem here. You were saying?’

Her sister sighed. ‘I’ve lost my job … and Ethan and I have broken up.’ There was a catch in her voice.

Wow, another shock announcement. Not that Lauren had ever really liked Ethan, even though they’d only met a couple of times, but that was beside the point. ‘What happened?’

‘One of my commissions went tits-up, and Ethan’s accepted a job in Paris.’ Charlotte’s words came out in a rush. ‘I’ve tried to get temporary work, but my heart’s not in it. I think maybe I need some time out to clear my head and work out what to do next. So … can you put me up, please? Just till I get back on my feet.’

Lauren was conflicted. She’d love to see Charlotte, so would the kids, but how would her sister react to life in Penmullion? It was a far cry from London, with its trendy bars, city traders and cutting-edge fashion.

Sensing Lauren’s hesitation, Charlotte added, ‘I wouldn’t ask if I had anywhere else to go, but Ethan’s selling the flat.’

Lauren tucked Freddie’s chair under the table. ‘You’re dropping filling down your front,’ she told her son. ‘Lean forwards so it lands on the plate.’ She ruffled his hair.

He gave her a big smile, guacamole stuck in the gap where a front tooth should be.

Lauren wandered through to the lounge and sat down on the worn sofa. As a kid, she’d looked up to Charlotte: she was the sister with aptitude, strength and organisational skills; she’d coped with adversity, solved problems, and looked after them all when their mum had died. But now, as an adult, she was worried that Charlotte would find fault with her choices, and the life she’d made for herself and her kids.

She didn’t voice these concerns. Instead, she said, ‘Of course you can stay.’ Charlotte had never asked Lauren for anything in her entire life. Her sister was a self-made, self-sufficient individual, who relied on no one. Things must be dire if she was asking for help.

Her sister sighed. ‘Thanks, Lauren. I really appreciate it. Would Friday be okay?’

Friday? Three days to clean the flat, buy food – which she couldn’t afford – and make up a spare bed. It wasn’t long enough. ‘You’ll have to sleep in the lounge, I’m afraid. We don’t have a spare room.’

Silence hung in the air. ‘That’s … fine.’ It clearly wasn’t. ‘Thanks, Lauren. I’ll text you when I’m leaving.’ Charlotte hung up.

Lauren leant back against the sofa. She could feel a lump beneath her that she hadn’t noticed before. A spring was working its way through the fabric. Another annoyance to add to the list.

Gathering her thoughts, she got up and went into the kitchen. ‘Finished?’

Her kids nodded in unison. ‘Yuu-mm-yy.’ Florence licked her fingers.

‘Good girl. Here, use this, please.’ Lauren handed her a fresh kitchen towel. ‘Satsumas or yoghurt for pudding?’

Freddie pulled a face. ‘Can’t we have ice cream?’

Florence scowled at her brother. ‘We can’t afford ice cream.’

Shock hit Lauren. ‘Why on earth would you think that, Florence?’

‘’Cause we don’t have any money in the bank.’ Her daughter looked like a typical eight-year-old, swinging her legs, rubbing her tiny hands on the kitchen towel, but her words made her sound a lot older. ‘I saw the thingy.’ She pointed to the top of the fridge where the bank statement poked out from under the treat jar – a jar that was currently devoid of sweets.

‘Oh, darling. Of course we can afford ice cream,’ Lauren lied, wishing for once that her daughter wasn’t quite so advanced for her age. ‘I just forgot to buy some this week.’ She bent down and kissed Flo’s cheek. ‘Now, I don’t want you to worry about what a silly bank statement says. They’ve probably added it up wrong.’

Florence frowned. ‘Like Freddie does in maths class?’

‘I do not!’ Freddie looked indignant. ‘You do.’

‘Do not.’

‘Do too …’

‘Hey, no bickering. Be nice to each other, please. I’ll get some ice cream at the weekend.’ When I have some money . ‘Now, what would you like?’

They settled on yoghurt. Lauren busied herself clearing the table and picking at the leftovers, trying to stem the surge of shame. She’d tried so hard to keep her money worries from her kids. In future, she’d ensure paperwork was filed away. But that was the least of her concerns. With her sister visiting, and another mouth to feed, her finances weren’t going to improve. And if Charlotte had lost her job, then money would be an issue for her too. Somehow Lauren was going to have to make her income stretch even further.

The kids finished their dessert and ran into the lounge.

‘No jumping about until your dinners have gone down,’ she called after them.

‘Yes, Mummy!’ Their sing-song reply made her laugh. Thank God for her kids.

Unlike Charlotte, Lauren had never really known what she wanted to be when she grew up. She’d done okay at school, but she hadn’t wanted to continue studying. She was too excited by what the world had to offer … and then their mum had died and the world no longer seemed like such a wonderful place. But she’d never been lazy and, after leaving school, had tried numerous jobs in the hope of finding her calling. She’d worked in a bar, trained as a nursery assistant, and worked as an usher at the local theatre. She’d always loved drama at school, and getting to watch plays for free every night was the best job ever.

At nineteen, she’d met a boy called Joe and thought she was in love. When she fell pregnant, Joe broke things off, making her realise that she wasn’t in love, and neither was he. His interest steadily decreased as her belly size increased. Six months after she gave birth, he disappeared from their lives completely. She grew tired of chasing him for child-maintenance payments. His refusal to have any contact with the kids led her to accepting her dad’s offer to move to Cornwall with him. She’d hoped that an idyllic setting, and help from her dad, would make life a little easier. And, for the most part, it had.

Lauren ran the hot tap, swishing it around the washing-up liquid bottle, trying to make the meagre contents stretch a bit further.

Moving to Penmullion had definitely been the right decision. She was happy; so were her kids. And even though her dad didn’t help out as much as she’d hoped he would, it was still good to be together as a family.

A loud crack from the lounge was followed by a squeal. Lauren dropped the wok into the sink, splashing suds everywhere, and ran into the living-room area. Florence was sitting on the floor, rubbing her arm. Freddie was patting her head, his red cheeks clashing with his hair. ‘Sorry, Florence. Didn’t mean it.’