Susan Lewis - Home Truths

It turned into a tickle, which she ran away from when they decided she was next. She loved them so much she could eat them, but they always won at tickling so she needed a refuge. Too bad the bolt inside the bathroom door was hanging off, she’d have got away if she’d remembered to fix it, but she wasn’t sure how to – and no sooner had she shut herself in than they were there with her, putting their arms around her, telling her not to be scared.

‘Scared!’ she cried. ‘Who’s scared?’ and putting on her most ferocious monster growl she ran after them.

Who needed heating when there were two children to play with?

OK, they did when the excitement was over and they finally settled down to breakfast, but a few minutes later the radiators clicked and rumbled into action and by the time the Lidl cornflakes had been devoured and Grace had finished her porridge the water was hot enough for showers. It might be Sunday, but they had a busy day ahead, and any minute now Angie would remember what they were supposed to be doing. For the moment her mind was filling up with figures that she couldn’t make add up anywhere close to where they needed to be.

Don’t stress. Just don’t. It’ll be all right. You’ll find a way out of this.

Her own breakfast was the mouthful of porridge Grace left. Never mind that she was hungry enough to down half an elephant, a cup of instant coffee should deal with the pangs, and to save on hot water she’d treat herself to a damned good wash instead of a shower. They’d be OK at the end of the month when her salary was due to be paid into the one bank account she had that wasn’t overdrawn. Well, not OK, exactly, but better than today, for her quick calculations were already warning her that by the end of tomorrow she’d have no more than sixteen pounds fifty in her account at Santander. The account at HSBC was already overdrawn by six hundred pounds with monstrous interest accruing by the day, so she couldn’t go there for anything at all.

What utter fools she and Steve had been not to take out life insurance. They’d meant to, had even sent for some forms, but they’d never quite got round to filling them in. Angie had found them days after the funeral, exactly where she’d put them when they’d arrived, in a tray on Steve’s desk with a prepaid and ready-addressed envelope attached. She’d stared at them, dumb with misery, rigid with the worst kind of understanding. She was holding a lifeline with nothing and no one attached to the other end, a limp rope in the water, an illusion of safety that would disappear in the cold light of day. She could do nothing to save herself or her family; these papers meant they were going to drown.

She’d told herself right away that she wouldn’t let it happen. As though using up fierce and determined last gasps of air, she’d silently promised herself that Grace and Zac would never, for a single moment, feel any less special than they had while their father was alive. She’d quickly let it be known amongst her friends and neighbours that she could fill in people’s shifts if they needed cover, whether cleaning, waitressing, delivering, babysitting: whatever was in her gift she would give it to make sure her children didn’t go without.

She’d been in no doubt then that she could make everything work, and right up until she’d been made to wait for universal credit, she’d somehow managed to keep their heads above water. Now, in spite of still taking on all the extra jobs she could, it was impossible to make ends meet.

Grace, because she was Grace, had lately begun challenging her mother and brother to find the best bargains online or in charity shops, and they’d had some stunning successes: a pair of brand-new Nikes at Oxfam for Zac, price tag still taped to the bottom and half a size too big so he could grow into them, how perfect was that? A last-season white Zara blazer for Grace that would have cost fifty quid in the shop, and was just two pounds at Blue Cross (only a button missing, which was easily fixed). They’d even found a padded winter coat for Angie and wrapped it up for her birthday – what a memorable moment it had been when she’d opened it – it fitted, and they’d told her it had only cost a tenner (five quid contributed by Auntie Em). They’d jumped up and down with triumph, thinking themselves the smartest (in every sense) people alive, and how stupid was everyone else to pay full price?

It had also been Grace’s idea to try and sell their old toys and clothes on eBay or Depop, while Angie began visiting a pawnshop in the old town, a place she hadn’t even known existed while Steve was alive. By now she’d forfeited the white-gold watch he’d given her for her thirtieth; an emerald-studded bracelet he’d once accepted from an old lady in lieu of payment for decorating her kitchen; a pair of binoculars that had belonged to his father; his paintbrushes, best toolkit and protective gear; the rocking horse he’d carved for Liam; his surfboards; just about everything she could raise a few pounds for, right down to the electric heaters for when it was especially cold. Each time she went she felt as though she was giving away more pieces of her heart. All she had left to pawn now was her wedding ring, and the nine-carat gold locket Steve’s mother had worn on her wedding day, and Angie had so proudly worn on hers.

She wasn’t going to think any more about all that now, though. Instead, she was going to try to make herself believe that all would come good, maybe even by this time tomorrow. God only knew how, unless she caved in and took out one of those lethal payday loans … The fact that she was actually considering it made her feel sick inside, but what choice did she have when Roland Shalik had already begun the eviction process?

An hour later, with Zac down at the beach flying kites with his friends, and Grace watching the Fairweather Players rehearsing at the community centre – there was no part for her this year, on account of being unable to pay her membership fees – Angie spent a moment imagining how wonderful it would be to waltz into the centre and slip Grace enough cash to rejoin the company. The thought of it felt so good that she was almost annoyed when her mobile jolted her back to reality with a text. It was Emma letting her know that there was an offer at the Seafront Café today, provided they got there before twelve. Two coffees for the price of one. Boys with their father this morning (he didn’t forget today) so how about it? I’ll drive.

Angie didn’t hesitate. She might have a ton of chores on her plate, but they’d still be waiting when she got back, so why not indulge in this little treat? Pick me up in fifteen, she messaged back.

Though Emma and her husband Ben had moved into one of Hari’s semis, just over the footbridge, around the same time as Angie and Steve had moved into 14 Willow Close, Ben had taken off just over five years ago. He’d found someone else, an older uglier version of Emma was how Steve had described the new woman, and he hadn’t been far wrong. Ben now had two other children with his second wife, and had been promoted to manager at a Tesco Express over in the old town, so he was reasonably reliable with the maintenance for his and Emma’s boys. Certainly the rent was always paid, and so far Roland Shalik hadn’t attempted to increase it.

Trying not to think about bacon, sausages and eggs – her usual breakfast at the Seafront when she was feeling flush – Angie fixated on a lovely creamy latte instead. Later she’d have a proper meal, as they always did on Sundays, when she and Emma took it in turns to cook a delicious roast for them all with a surprise pudding to follow. It was at her place this week, so she’d bought everything in Lidl yesterday, and had even added a tub of ice cream for a pound to go with the apple pie. The kids would like that, and so would she, although she and Emma would probably have preferred a bottle of Pinot Grigio to help it all down.