Erin Kaye - THE PROMISE OF HAPPINESS

Joanne laughed cynically. ‘Only those that don’t have a life.’

‘Well, how she raises Oli is Louise’s business,’ said Sian. ‘What I object to is the fact that she had him in the first place.’

‘Because she’s a single mum?’ said Joanne incredulously. ‘I wouldn’t have put you down for a traditionalist.’

Sian shook her head. ‘I couldn’t care less whether she’s married or not. What I care about is the fact that she had him at all. There are enough kids in the world without adding to the problem.’

Joanne rolled her eyes. ‘Here we go again.’

Anger flared up inside Sian. As a child Joanne had never taken her seriously and she still treated Sian like the younger sister she was, putting her down, dismissing her at every opportunity. But this was a subject about which Sian knew far more than her sister. She would make her listen. ‘The biggest problem facing mankind is over-population. There are too many people competing for scarce resources – land, water, food. And competition ultimately leads to war. Over-population is the primary cause of most of the world’s ills. And it’s forced us to embrace dangerous technologies like nuclear power. No, there are simply too many of us – way too many.’

‘Not in the UK there aren’t,’ argued Joanne. ‘Our problem is a falling birth rate. In a few years’ time there won’t be enough young people to support our ageing population. It’s the people in the third world having ten, twelve babies that are the problem. Not us in the West.’

Sian sighed and said patiently, ‘I’m talking on a global scale, Joanne. We all have to take some responsibility for the problem. People in the West don’t realise that their luxurious lifestyles are effectively subsidised by the rest of the world. The earth simply doesn’t possess the resources to enable everyone to live the way we do.’

Joanne folded her arms, her glass balanced in one hand, and narrowed her eyes. ‘So are you saying that I shouldn’t have had three children?’

Sian broke eye contact. ‘I just wish more people were prepared to take action on a personal level,’ she said, evasively. ‘Procreating isn’t the be all and end all. Louise’s mistake was in believing that motherhood was the only route to personal fulfilment. But there are many ways to happiness.’

And Sian knew what she was talking about. She ran Earth Matters, the Fairtrade shop in Ballyfergus. She sold jewellery from co-operatives in Africa, toys made from recycled tin cans and bags fashioned from recycled rice sacks. She stocked organic clothing, Ecover home care products, washable nappies and Fairtrade rice, sugar and coffee from the third world. She worked hard in the business and nothing gave her more pleasure than the knowledge that, small as it was, she was making a difference.

Joanne stared at her and said, ‘Well, I think it’s a subject we should agree to disagree on, Sian. Anyway, now’s not really the time, or the place, to discuss it.’

‘Whatever,’ said Sian pleased that she had rattled Joanne’s cage.

Joanne cleared her throat and said, ‘Thanks for the potatoes and carrots by the way. They look lovely.’

‘Andy picked them this morning. First of the season,’ said Sian. ‘And all organic of course.’

‘I’d be disappointed if they weren’t,’ said Joanne, poking a little of what she no doubt thought was good-natured fun at her sister.

Sian decided to let it pass. ‘You know, our allotment is a fraction of the size of this garden and look at the amount of food we produce – more than the two of us can eat at the height of the season. Have you ever thought of growing your own food?’

The corners of Joanne’s mouth turned downwards, a bemused expression on her face. ‘Where would I find the time to do that, Sian? I do all the work in the garden as it is.’

‘Oh, it’s not too bad once you get it established. I would help you.’

‘But the garden isn’t big enough to have a vegetable plot, Sian.’

‘Sure it is. You’ve loads of room. Just do away with that border for a start,’ said Sian, pointing to a peony rose in full, pale pink flower. ‘It’s not doing anything.’

‘For your information it’s providing colour and interest,’ said Joanne. ‘And I like having cut flowers for the house.’

‘You’d still have a good-sized lawn and border on the other side,’ went on Sian, ignoring this observation and the sarcasm. ‘And the girls would absolutely love it. Look how excited they get when they come down to help me on the allotment. Well, Holly and Abbey anyway,’ she added, remembering that the last time Maddy had come she’d spent the whole time sitting on an upturned crate texting her mates. ‘Just think how thrilled they’d be about growing food for the table in their own backyard! And it makes sound economic sense too, not to mention it’d all be organic and so much better for you than the stuff you buy in the supermarket.’

Sian paused for breath and Joanne said, rather sharply, ‘Tell you what. The day that Phil starts helping in the garden, that’ll be the day I plant a vegetable plot.’

Sian frowned and looked over her shoulder into the lounge. Everyone had finished eating and a bottle of Baileys had appeared. Even their mother had a glass. Phil was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where is he anyway? I haven’t seen him since we got here.’

‘That’s because he isn’t here, Sian. He’s at the golf club. Phoned me just before people were due to arrive to say that he was in the clubhouse with his mates and they’d all ordered food.’

‘But what about all the food here?’ blurted out Sian. ‘You’ve enough to feed half of Africa.’

‘Don’t get me started,’ warned Joanne, waving the glass in her hand so violently that a little wine spilled out onto the concrete step, narrowly missing the toe of her jewelled, high-heeled sandal. Sian looked down at her Merrill hiking sandals and smiled – Joanne’s heels would be no use riding a bicycle. ‘I swear to God,’ went on Joanne, her voice shrill and taut, ‘if I start, I’ll never stop.’

Louise appeared suddenly beside them, face flushed, holding a glass of wine in her hand. ‘Oh, is Andy playing football with Oli?’ she smiled. ‘Oh, he is. Oh, look!’ she cried and she placed a hand on her throat and swallowed.

Just then Oli spied his mother and came barrelling across the grass. He threw his arms around her legs and cried, ‘I scored a goal, Mummy!’

Louise scooped him into her arms and kissed him on the nose. ‘That’s fantastic, Oli. What a clever boy,’ she grinned and Oli leant over and pressed his soft, rose-red lips to his mother’s. Sian felt a stab of sudden sadness. She would never know such intimacy with a child of her own. She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked away.

‘Mummy?’ said Oli, all of a sudden. ‘Can Andy be my daddy?’

Louise’s face fell momentarily and Joanne, standing behind her, inhaled sharply. But Louise recovered quickly and smiled, ‘No, darling. Andy can’t be your daddy because he lives with Auntie Sian. But we’ll see him all the time and you can play with him lots.’

Oli nodded, content with this reply, and wriggled free of his mother’s embrace. He ran over to Andy, who was now being attacked by all the children, leaving Louise with a smear of mud on her white T-shirt.

Joanne tutted and shook her head. ‘The poor child.’

‘He’s not a poor child,’ snapped Louise. ‘As far as he’s concerned a daddy is just someone you play football with and rough and tumble. And if he has someone to do that with – like Andy – he’s happy.’

‘I don’t know about that. I think he’s old enough to know what he’s missing out on.’

‘Did you get the box I sent over?’ said Sian, desperate to change the subject and avoid an argument between her sisters.