In My Sister's Shoes by Sinéad Moriarty Read Free Book Online Page B

Man’s Desiring ; Brahms, Piano Concerto No. 1; Mendelssohn, Symphony No. 4; Beethoven, Für Elise ; Mozart, Violin Concerto No. 3; Tchaikovsky, Waltz of the Flowers ; Schubert, Trout Quintet . ‘I somehow doubt that Derek will have it in his collection.’
    Fiona didn’t seem to find this amusing.
    ‘Don’t kids listen to nursery rhymes anymore?’ I asked.
    ‘Classical music has been proven to develop motor and rhythmic skills. Before we get into the car the boys pick a song and I tell them a little fact about the composer. They really like it and already have preferences. Bobby loves Mozart, and Jack leans more towards Schubert.’
    I stared at Fiona. Was this for real? Did she really believe the boys knew the difference between Mozart and Schubert? She was beginning to sound like one of those home-schooling parents whose kids wore dickie bows and went on Mastermind aged five and studied at Oxford at eleven. They were always total loners and most ended up having nervous breakdowns because they hadn’t had a normal childhood. I was concerned for the twins.
    ‘It seems a bit hectic and intense,’ I ventured.
    ‘Kate,’ said Fiona, glaring at me, ‘they are my children and they like their routine. They are very happy and well balanced. Don’t swan in here and criticize me. You’ve always done exactly what you want to. That has to change now. You don’t come first – the twins do.’
    I felt as if I’d been slapped in the face. In the past when Mark had implied that I was selfish, Fiona had always defended me and said I was self-sufficient and that it was a good thing. I was the type of person who needed to spread my wings, she’d said. I knew that sometimes, like when I forgot the twins’ birthday last year, she got fed up with me and told me I was thoughtless, but she’d never snapped at me like this before. And the way she’d said it, with so much anger, I could see it had come from deep inside. I was tempted to defend myself and tell her that I was just trying to get on with my life and make something of myself, instead of staying in Dublin, marrying the guy next door and having children. What was wrong with being ambitious and wanting more? I craved excitement, independence, freedom and new experiences. She didn’t. We were different. Different strokes for different folks. Besides, it had been better for her when I moved away because she was able to get on with her own life and stop thinking she had to look after me and fix me. I didn’t need fixing. I needed room to breathe. And, besides, hadn’t I just moved home, lock, stock and barrel, to help her out? I’d given up the life I’d made for myself and a job I loved.
    The new mature me decided to bite my tongue. She was sick and scared.
    ‘OK. Well, I’ll let you get an early night. I’ll go home and study the timetable and read up the information about the composers so I can tell the boys tomorrow. I’ll see you at eight.’
    I’d be up all night at this rate, reading about Mozart and the gang – I hadn’t counted on having to study to look after my nephews. Maybe I could rent that movie about Mozart. I wondered if they’d made one about Schubert. If so, I hoped the actor who played him was cute – it’d be so much easier to watch.
    ‘Fine, thanks,’ she said stiffly.
    I looked at her worried face. ‘Fiona, it’s going to be OK. You’re not Mum.’
    She looked away. ‘Right… I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’
    I reached out to touch her shoulder but she moved away, so I left her standing in the kitchen, arms wrapped around herself in an effort to find warmth and comfort.
    As I was leaving, I bumped into Mark getting out of his car. He came over to say hello. I could smell beer on his breath. ‘Have you been drinking?’
    ‘Welcome back, Supernanny.’
    ‘Have you?’
    ‘I had a beer with the dean.’
    ‘Couldn’t it have waited? Your wife is inside having a nervous breakdown about tomorrow.’
    ‘Did you reassure her? Is