Just What Kind of Mother Are You? by Paula Daly Read Free Book Online Page B

serve the tagine like this, it’ll be awful.’
    Kate, over by the fridge, didn’t comment.
    ‘You should do what I do,’ Alexa went on. ‘I soften a ton of onions, sometimes shallots, at one time. Then I freeze them in batches, and I use them as I need … it saves ever such a lot of time …’
    ‘I’ll remember that,’ said Kate, smiling tightly.
    ‘I do it with peppers and aubergines as well,’ Alexa added. ‘They freeze a lot better than you’d imagine.’
    Quietly, I said to Kate, ‘I’ll eat anything, I’m starving. I’ve not had anything since breakfast.’
    Work had been crazy. Fridays are always the most popular day for adoptions. Then I’d had to go straight through to Ambleside to pick up Joe’s mum, who was babysitting. Joe was still on a job at that time, so he couldn’t get her. Then I had to feed everyone, because even though Joe’s mother is more than capable, she won’t use our cooker because she says she’s unfamiliar with it. And it’s easier to go along with it than to cause a problem.
    ‘Gosh,’ said Alexa, leaving the tagine and sitting down opposite me, ‘you are a busy bee, Lisa. Are you still at the animal shelter?’
    I nodded. Took a big gulp of the white wine Kate had set in front of me. ‘Lovely,’ I said to Kate. ‘Just what I needed.’
    Alexa took a sip of hers, saying, ‘I’ve been working myself, actually, at the gallery around the corner from the cinema.’ Again, I nodded. ‘All helps towards the school fees!’ she quipped.
    This was absolute nonsense, because everyone knew Alexa’s mother-in-law paid the children’s school fees, because her mother-in-law told everyone. Dorothy Willard, Adam’s mother, was one of those noisy, aggravating women who volunteered at the charity shop a couple of mornings a week and loved telling anyone who’d listen about her talented grandchildren. About how they were positively thriving at the superb school she and her husband paid for. ‘Well, it’s what one does forone’s offspring,’ she’d say as I’d dump down a hardly worn winter coat on the counter, or else a stack of Mills & Boons that my mother liked to read. I’d smile at her, saying, ‘You must be very proud,’ and she’d go all mock-modesty, replying, ‘Well one shouldn’t boast, but—’
    I think Alexa liked to work to pass the time, or just to get out of the house, but was ashamed to admit such frivolity to the likes of me – the type of person who works because she has to eat, and so forth. I didn’t hold it against her. No point. The Lakes has always been littered with two extremes of women: the ones who never work … and the ones who never stop.
    ‘How many days do you do at the gallery, Alexa?’ I asked, because I couldn’t think of anything more interesting to say to her.
    ‘Oh, just two or three mornings. I fit it around my MA.’
    ‘Your MA?’
    ‘My master’s,’ she replied. ‘I’m doing a master’s in cultural studies.’
    ‘Sounds … difficult,’ I said.
    ‘It is. It’s taking up far more of my time than anticipated. Adam keeps complaining that he’s lost me to the world of academia once again.’
    I noticed Kate was not commenting on Alexa’s degree and, sensing I knew the reason for this, didn’t say anything further.
    Alexa, as well as doing silly, pointless work to fill her time, loved to study. I have no idea what a master’s in cultural studies actually is, but I can guess the reason she’s doing it. So little people like me will think: Wow, not only are you incredibly beautiful but you’re really, really clever as well! How is that even possible?’
    She’s not the only attractive woman I’ve met with this affliction. I want to say to them, ‘Stop. Please , just stop. Youalready have what we all want. You got the beauty , you already got the free pass. It is enough.’
    ‘Will you be a doctor when you finish this one, Lex?’ Kate asked her.
    ‘No,’ she replied. ‘Gosh, imagine that! Two