Nadine had rung, this time, about money. She had spoken first to Becky, and had then insisted on speaking to Matthew. Josie, grating cheese in the kitchen, had heard him say, ‘But I’m paying for the children now, you must have enough, you must.’ The conversation had gone on for a long time and when Matthew had put the telephone down at last, Josie heard Becky say, with a mixture of fear and rage, ‘You can’t let her starve!’
‘She’s not starving,’ Matthew said. ‘She’s just spent everything she has this month and wants more.’
‘Then you should give it to her.’
‘I give her all I can,’ Matthew said. Josie could picture how tired he was looking, from his voice. ‘She’s only got herself to look after now.’
‘Exactly!’ Becky shouted. ‘Exactly! And whose fault’s that?’
Josie heard Matthew’s footsteps coming towards the kitchen door. She bent over the grater.
‘I’m not talking to you about it,’ Matthew said. He opened the kitchen door. ‘It’s none of your business.’
Becky shoved past him. She stood briefly in the kitchen, glaring at Josie. Josie’s hand slipped on the grater and a bright bead of blood swelled out of her forefinger. She put it in her mouth.
‘We’re not exactly short round here,’ Becky said, still glaring, her voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘Are we?’
‘Be quiet,’ Matthew said. He looked at Josie. ‘Are you all right?’
She nodded, her finger still in her mouth. Becky snorted and marched towards the door.
‘I don’t want any supper.’
‘Fine,’ Matthew said.
The door banged shut behind Becky. Matthew went across to Josie and put his arm round her.
‘Sorry.’
She turned her face into his neck.
‘It’s OK.’
‘Josie—’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m going to have to put her money back up again. I know I shouldn’t, I know we’ve got the children here—’
‘What?’ Josie said, stiffening.
‘I’ve just said. I’ll have to put Nadine’s money up again. I gave her less, because the kids were here, but I’ll have to increase it again.’
‘Because your daughter tells you to?’
Matthew sighed.
‘Partly, I suppose. If I’m honest. And with you working now—’
Josie shrank away from his embrace.
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘What—’
She gripped the edge of the sink and stared down at the blood seeping slowly out of her finger.
‘You are telling me that my money will help pay for your children so that you can give more to your exwife, who refuses to work?’
‘I’d pay for Rufus,’ Matthew said. ‘If it was necessary.’
Josie turned the cold tap on and held her finger in the stream. She was trembling.
‘I don’t ask you for a penny for Rufus.’
‘I know.’
‘And he is civil to you. He’s sweet. You know he is. Whereas—’
‘Don’t,’ Matthew said. He put his arms around her, from behind. She pressed herself against the sink.
‘Please don’t touch me.’
He took his arms away.
‘I’ve got to behave decently,’ Matthew said. ‘I’ve got to juggle all these demands and do the best I can.’
‘Except for me,’ Josie said. She turned the tap off and wrapped her finger in a piece of absorbent kitchen paper. ‘I don’t make any demands. So I don’t get anything. I do everything for everyone and nobody ever thinks that I have needs, I have hurts.’
‘I do.’
‘Well, you don’t do anything about them. You just expect me to be sorry for you, you expect me to imagine what it’s like for you while never even trying for one second to imagine what it’s like for me.’
The kitchen door opened. Rufus stood there, holding his maths book. He looked at them.
‘Oh,’ he said.
Josie said, ‘Come in, darling.’
‘It’s my maths,’ Rufus said. ‘I can’t do—’ He stopped.
Matthew moved away from Josie.
‘Shall I help you?’
Rufus looked at him doubtfully. Matthew sat down at the kitchen table.
‘Bring it here.’
Slowly, Rufus approached the table. He put the book down in front of Matthew and stepped back.
‘I won’t bite you,’ Matthew said. ‘I’m useful for maths. If for nothing else.’
Rufus moved a little closer. Josie watched them.
‘Show me.’
‘There,’ Rufus said. He leaned forward, pointing, his shoulder almost touching Matthew’s. It was a scene she had longed for, a scene which represented, perhaps, the first quiet, unremarkable step on the road to some kind of relationship between the two people who mattered most in the world to her – and it left her cold. She watched them, and felt nothing. Nothing. She was empty of all good things at that moment, empty of any capacity to feel joy, even to feel love. There was no possibility of loving feelings in the face of the rage and despair that filled her now with such intensity.
‘I’ve got a headache,’ Josie said.
Neither Rufus nor Matthew reacted. Their heads were close.
‘I think you’ve got these in the wrong order,’ Matthew said. ‘That’s what’s stumped you.’
‘I’m going up to bed,’ Josie said. ‘If you put the grated cheese on top of what’s in that dish, and grill it for ten minutes, that’s supper.’
Rufus looked up briefly, his face abstracted.
‘Right,’ he said.
‘See you later,’ Josie said. She went out of the kitchen and up the stairs and past Becky’s closed door, to her bedroom. Then she lay down, still with her shoes on, and let herself cry.
That must be almost two hours ago. She must have gone to sleep, briefly, because she was stiff and her mouth tasted sour, and the tears had dried on the sides of her face in faint salty crusts. Tears of self-pity, perhaps, tears of anger and impotence certainly. She licked her undamaged forefinger and rubbed away the tear traces. Then she turned her head. On the little table by Matthew’s side of the bed lay the telephone. She could roll over the bed and pick up the receiver. She could telephone her mother, or her friend Beth, and she could then expect – and probably get – their time and patience while she talked, while she poured out all the thoughts and feelings that had come to obsess her since the arrival in her life – their lives – of Matthew’s children.
‘I didn’t have any choice,’ she’d say. She could imagine Elaine listening. ‘Did I? I didn’t have any choice in taking them on. It was him I chose. And we can’t really talk about them, or about the fact that there wasn’t time to prepare for them. Time for me, anyway. I’m so afraid of being unfair, but I’m unfair all the time. I love Rufus, and I don’t love them. I can’t. How can you love children whose every effort is directed at ignoring you or hating you? How can you love children who persist in loving a natural mother who’s such a rotten mother? Why do they persist? Why do they fling their loyalty for her at me, all day, every day? And now’ – inside her head, Josie could feel her voice rising to a crescendo – ‘I’m supposed to help support them! I’m supposed to look after them like a mother, but not, oh God, not like a real mother, for no return, and pay for them as well? Because Matthew can’t, Matthew won’t, because they’re his children and he won’t see what I feel.’