Page 40 of Lessons in Love at the Seaside Salon

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

With piles of sewing in her workroom, waiting for her children to go to bed, the rain causing a leak in the kitchen that Anna can’t fix herself, a load of washing she forgot to put on today and a dinner the children didn’t like, Anna finds herself irritated with the incessant small tasks that come with being an adult.

What is even more irritating is that she can’t switch off being an adult; it would be so nice, such a relief, to take a break from it every now and again.

Instead she has to deal with two children who are now sitting in front of her with serious faces, their baths done and dressing gowns on, ready for bed. They’ve been serious ever since they came home from school; quieter than usual when not whispering to each other.

She knew that having them close together in age might mean they’d be in cahoots as they grew older – possibly cahoots against their parents – and she has always loved the fact that they are close. Tonight, though, they seem to be winding each other up about something.

‘Mama,’ Renee says in a singsong tone. Muh-maaa .

‘Yes, darling?’

Renee looks at Troy, who glances at Anna then back to his sister.

‘I want to ask a …’ She sighs and giggles and twists her hands around each other.

Anna waits. She doesn’t like to prod the children into saying things because they’ll come out with whatever it is eventually, and prodding them makes it seem she’s too impatient to wait for them.

Renee and Troy look at each other again.

He nods as if he’s egging her on. They often communicate like this: wordlessly, gestures and eyes only.

Like twins, someone once said, except Anna tends to think twins do it not because they’re twins but because they grow up so closely together.

For example, she’ll often think something then her mother will say it.

Who can explain that other than to say that they know each other very, very well?

‘Do you still love Daddy?’ Renee says quickly, then her eyes drop and the hands are twisting again, but not as much as Anna’s guts are.

Oh crap , Anna thinks. This is not a question she wants to answer precisely because it’s a question she’s been asking herself as she tries to work out what she wants to do with her life. That’s part of being an adult too: having to make decisions. So many decisions.

Last night she was making a skirt for this nice lady who lives down the street, and a question popped into her head.

Do I still want my husband?

It’s been churning around in her mind ever since, because it’s an important one, obviously, but also because it’s a change from what she’s heard other women wondering, which is whether their husbands still want them .

That’s the wrong way around, isn’t it? She knows she’s been trained so well to think about what everyone else wants – and a big part of turfing out Gary was because she was thinking about what she wants, as unpopular a stance as that is – that it feels revolutionary to ask herself what she wants. Not just once, but over and over.

Because here’s what she’s realised: if she’s asking herself what she wants, and trying to give it to herself – like getting the new hairstyle, like taking care of herself better, like making a new friendship – she’s happier.

Less resentful. The things that people need her for don’t seem so annoying, even onerous, now.

There’s a certain power that comes from doing something because she wants to not because she feels she has to.

And what she’s found is that, after making sure she does some things she wants to do, she is still very keen to take care of other people, to support them, to be generous with her time.

The caring just comes from a better place.

A place that doesn’t involve her performing like a well-trained maid.

The fact that Renee has come up with a version of the question Anna has been asking herself is proof – if any were needed – of Anna’s very theory about how family members can appear to read each other’s minds.

‘Of course,’ she says to her daughter, because she can hardly say ‘Maybe’. No child wants to hear their mother say that about their father. But she instantly realises the mistake she’s made when Renee’s face crumples.

‘Then why doesn’t he …’ Renee makes that hiccup-crying sound that tears Anna’s heart apart – as any crying sound from her daughter, or son, can.

‘Why doesn’t he …’ More hiccup-crying. ‘Come home?’ Renee finishes.

‘Oh, darling.’ Anna goes to hug her daughter but Renee folds her arms and turns her head. Great. It seems the hiccup-crying was a manipulation.

Anna looks at Troy, whose face is impassive.

That kid is an impressive actor a lot of the time and she would wonder where he got it from, except he’s seen her and her mother putting on happy faces for people, pretending to like people they don’t, all to keep the social wheels greased.

Ingrid is more expert at it than Anna; then again, she’s had more experience.

‘We want Daddy to come home,’ Troy says, his little chin jutting forward.

They’re good, these two with their tandem act. Waterworks and stoic defiance – quite the duo.

‘I know you miss him,’ Anna says, even though they’ve actually shown hardly any signs of it. Or perhaps she just didn’t want to see the signs because they didn’t suit her.

‘Everyone has a dad except us,’ Renee wails, burrowing into Troy’s shoulder.

Anna would think it cute if she didn’t also think they’re putting it on a little. There have been no tears about Gary thus far. Why now?

Wait … it’s coming to her …

‘They’re having a Dads Day at school,’ Troy says.

‘Dads Day?’ she says. ‘I didn’t see a letter about that.’

‘There’s a competition.’ Troy blinks. ‘A race.’

‘Egg and spoon?’ Anna guesses and Troy nods.

‘I want Daddy to come,’ he says.

‘I see,’ Anna says, biting her bottom lip. Her son has made a reasonable request, and although it still feels like her children have ambushed her, she needs to appease them.

‘I’ll organise it. And you do have a dad, darling,’ she says to Renee. ‘He’s just not living here.’

‘But I want him to!’ Renee shrieks, before hopping up and stomping off. It’s the perfect choreography for a seven-year-old’s tantrum and Anna has to admire it, even as her heart breaks a little to see it.

I’ve done this , she thinks.

No, that’s not true. Gary did this. Which makes her feel mad at him all over again – and she can’t express that out loud because the children know only that their father isn’t living here and clearly the snatches of time when they used to see him on weekends meant more to them than she realised.

‘When’s he coming back, Mu-um?’ Troy asks in a whingeywhiny tone she hasn’t heard since he wanted a Pac-Man game.

‘I don’t know,’ she says. Which leaves the door open. She didn’t say, ‘He’s not.’ So she’s given her son hope – and she doesn’t yet know if it’s false.

At least now she’s clear on one thing: she will do what’s best for her, because that is what’s best for others.

She should have learnt that from Ingrid a long time ago, because even when Anna’s father was at his lowest Ingrid still tried to find a way to live well.

To do something that was nice for herself.

To maintain her dignity, she once said. Anna didn’t understand it then but she does now.

The sound of Renee crying floats in from her bedroom.

‘Let’s go and see your sister,’ she says, standing up and holding out her hand. These days Troy will take it sometimes, others not.

Tonight he does, and she squeezes it as they walk toward Renee, and Anna puts aside thoughts of her future and focuses on her now: two children who need her, two children she adores.