happy.
Alma was
settling Catherine into the high chair, as he seated himself. Beef
Cobbler was one of his favourites: once again, Alma was showing her
thanks for him giving in on the extension.
‘Well, how have
my girls been today?’
Frost formed in
the air as Alma launched into her tirade of how trying her day had
been. James tried to tune it out, and concentrate on Catherine, who
was playing with a rattle he’d bought for her, but it was
difficult.
‘...And then
she spit up all over her new bib. I’d starched it too, when I
ironed it, and she got bits in the little embroidery roses. I’ll
never get them looking that good again...’
‘Tut,’ said
James, quietly. He winked at Catherine. Alma didn’t pause for
breath.
‘...so I tried
the new banana one, and she spat that out too. I mean, what child
doesn’t like mashed banana? It took me an hour to get that jar into
her. I was exhausted by the time for her nap, and then she threw up
all over her clean bedding, so I had to re-feed her and do
the bed linen...’
James spooned
down his dinner, trying to juggle his attention between the women
in his life. Alma would erupt if she felt she wasn’t getting
enough, or that Catherine was getting too much. All he wanted was
to beam and smile at Catherine, and talk to her in little whispers
and tickle her until she started to hiccup with laughter. He nodded
and smiled at Alma enough times to keep her mollified whilst giving
Catherine his secret smile and pulling faces that Alma couldn’t
see. Catherine giggled. Alma droned on...
‘Claire was
round, and she said little Emily never spits out her food, and
every scrap is taken from the jar...and heaven knows Emily doesn’t
manage to stink out the room every time she breathes...’
Catherine
dropped the rattle on the floor as she squealed in laughter.
‘That’s it,
that’s the third time today.’ As James had leaned down to pick up
the rattle, Alma swooped up Catherine. A sharp slap and a sharper
cry rent the air, and James’s heart.
‘Never, never,
never, do that again.’ On each ‘never’, Alma slapped the back of
Catherine’s hand hard. Catherine’s howls became screams, as Alma
whisked her up the stairs. ‘When will you learn?’
James looked at
his beef congealing into the gravy, as he heard the uproar upstairs
as Catherine was stripped of her clothes, pushed and pulled into a
sleep suit, and the door firmly closed on her cries. By the time
Alma came back downstairs he was in the pub.
*
‘There, who is
a pretty girl, then?’ James finished buttoning Catherine’s coat and
stood up to look at her. How could she be so grown up? She looked
tiny and vulnerable in her school uniform, which like all first
school uniforms was too big for her. Catherine looked up at her
Daddy with adoring eyes and smiled.
‘Will I do
then, Daddy?’
James laughed,
and was just about to speak, when Alma came rushing into the
hall.
‘Oh, for
goodness sake, aren’t you ready yet? We’ll be late. Catherine, what
is that bird’s nest on top of your head? You don’t think it’s a
hairstyle, do you?’ She shot James the look, the one that made it
clear that Daddy was an idiot and how could he call that pigtails?
James ignored her and leaned down to try and adjust the approved
school ribbons.
‘Oh don’t make
it worse!’ Alma slapped James’s hand out of the way, pulling the
ribbons off. Cathy squealed.
‘Oh be quiet, I
didn’t hurt you.’ She unpicked the pigtails and pulled a brush
through, starting again, in double quick time. As she twisted the
first layer in deeply, pulling the hair tightly into the scalp,
Cathy squealed again. Alma slapped her bare legs with the palm of
her hand.
‘Don’t argue
back. I’ve told you, you have to suffer for beauty, you better get
used to it now. I’m not having everyone looking down on us as your
hair falls out half-way through the day. I’ve told you, you have to
finish the day as neat as you start it. Is that