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21. EARLY SUMMER 2013

Catherine decides to spend the day in domestic bliss. She texts Robert and tells him she’s not going to work and asks how his day is going. “Well,” he says, “back by 7.” She sends him three kisses back. Tonight she will make a decent supper. They will have a bottle of crisp white wine; they will have food flavoured with fresh herbs and they will have each other. She still enjoys Robert’s company more than anyone else’s; there is no one she would rather spend an evening with, no one whose opinion she respects more than his. She thinks back to the night ten days ago when she almost told him everything. Thank God she hadn’t. Robert thinks he is the strong one but he isn’t really and marriage is delicate, not just theirs but all marriages. There is a balance to maintain, and she thinks she has succeeded in keeping theirs on course.

Robert hates any kind of confrontation. She has hardly ever seen him angry, even with Nicholas, even when he was at his most challenging. It was always Catherine who raised her voice, never Robert. He was always the one who smoothed things over and although at times this upset her, made her feel like the cuckoo in the nest, she can see why he did it. If Nick couldn’t or wouldn’t talk to her, he always knew he could talk to his father.

Robert had grown up an only child between warring parents and become expert in mediation. It hurt her to think that she and Nicholas needed a mediator, but at times they did. Her fault, she admits. She hadn’t been able to reach him in the way she wanted to. He seemed to misread her voice, her tone, her facial expressions. It would take nothing for him to become angry with her and after a while she became self-conscious with him. Nothing felt natural. It hadn’t always been like that, but certainly from adolescence onwards. She has never doubted her love for Nicholas, but the bond they’d had seems to have been eroded. Perhaps if she and Robert had had another child, things would have been different.

It is hard for Catherine to think about these things, she normally pushes them away, but she allows herself to hope that now Nicholas has moved out, the distance and space might help them see each other with a better perspective.

She can’t remember ever looking forward to going to a supermarket, but she does today. It is good to be able to concentrate on the mechanics of ordinary life and she wallows in the experience. She picks up a bunch of flat-leaf parsley, its long stems flopping in her hand, and puts it in her trolley. She buys fresh food, things that, if they are not eaten, will rot and smell and remind her she is losing control again.

The dull task of putting away the shopping gives her as much pleasure as the supermarket. Something so ordinary and thankless is such a luxury when you have been feeling the way Catherine has been feeling. She savours the simple pleasure of taking the food from the bags and putting it away: everything has its place and she is the one making sure it gets there.

It’s only four o’clock, hours before she needs to start cooking. She goes into the sitting room and lies on the sofa. She is like a cat, luxuriating in the one sunny spot in the room. She closes her eyes, but she is not tired, just relaxed. Then she does something she has not done for weeks. She picks up a book and starts to read. It is a safe book — one she has read before — and she lies back on the sofa and disappears into it.

At six o’clock she pours herself a glass of wine and phones her mother. She never misses this weekly call, although recently they have been hurried, careless conversations and her mum deserves more than that.

“Mum? How are you? How’s your week been?”

“Lovely, darling. Quiet, you know… but very nice. When did you get back from holiday?” Catherine hesitates, not sure whether to correct her. They haven’t been on holiday since last summer but recently her mum has started getting confused about dates and times.

“We’ve been back ages, Mum, you know, I’ve seen you lots since then.” She tries to be gentle and not alarm her. There is nothing to be alarmed about, not yet. Her mother shrinks time but she remembers other things very well. Catherine gets her back on track: “So did you go and see Emma’s new baby?” Catherine’s younger cousin has just had her third child.

“Yes, they came and picked me up. They’re so kind. Lovely little thing. All smiles. And how’s Nick? Is he still enjoying his job?”

“Yes, he likes it, he really does.”

“That’s super, he’s such a clever boy.”

Nick and his grandma have always been close. When he was born Catherine’s mother moved in for a few weeks to help. It had given Catherine a new respect for her. She helped care for Nicholas, but she cared for Catherine and Robert too. She made meals, babysat, allowed them to have naps in the afternoon, whatever she felt they needed. She was never a martyr about it, never told Catherine how she should do things, she simply offered her support and love.

“Sorry I haven’t been over recently, Mum, but it’s been a bit hectic with the move and things. Let’s organise a Sunday lunch and I’ll get Nick over too. I’ll come and pick you up.”

“You don’t have to pick me up, Catherine, I can pop on the bus….”

“Well, we’ll see, Mum.” The last time Catherine’s mother tried to take the bus she panicked about where to get off and stayed on until it returned to the bus station. She knows she is tiptoeing around her mother’s gentle decline, not yet named but gradually making itself visible. Catherine has organised someone to come in twice a week to help with cleaning and shopping. It is good to know that someone else is keeping an eye on her too.

“Well, I better get on with supper, Mum. Speak soon, lots of love.”

“And to you, darling, take care of yourself.”

At seven, she texts Robert to let him know supper will be ready for seven fifteen. She puts on some music, allows herself to turn it up loud, allows herself another glass of wine, allows herself to feel at home.

But by nine o’clock Robert is still not home. Catherine is worried. He has not replied to her calls or texts. It is not like him to be so utterly thoughtless. To just not show up. A knot twists in her gut. She leaves a message for Nicholas asking him to call her if he hears from his dad, but she hears nothing from him either. She begins to rehearse what she will say to the police, but then Robert finally texts her. He is stuck at work. No apology. No kiss. Fucking hell. She is hurt. Bugger. Fuck. He hasn’t given her any thought.