Lola's Secret by Monica McInerney Read Free Book Online

the house had to be cleaned, or the garden needed weeding. Or, like today, when she’d sighed and said she wasn’t sure how on earth she was going to finish making all the relishes and chutneys she’d promised for the school street stall on the weekend, as well as plan for their Christmas trip to visit his family.
    “You’ll manage, Carrie. You’re great at that stuff.”
    His compliments had long lost their luster. At first, she’d fallen for them. “What’s the point in me cooking dinner?” he’d say. “It’s never as nice as your cooking.” “How come I can never get my shirts as white as you can?” She’d enjoyed the praise until she realized it was a way of him wriggling out of ever doing his share. She’d had to force him to cook dinner even occasionally, and force herself not to complain when it was invariably barbecued sausages and oven-baked chips. And why did he have to make such a song and dance of it any time he did do some housework? “I’ve emptied the bin. Look, Carrie.” “I’ve just swept the verandah.” “The grass looks great now that I’ve mowed it, doesn’t it?” What did he want, a medal? She did all of that and more every day but she didn’t present him with a printed list of completed chores every night when he walked through the door, did she?
    He seemed to take great delight in stirring up the children, too, coming in most nights from work around seven, just as she’d got them fed and bathed and about to settle into quiet pre-bedtime activities. She’d asked him time and time again to keep his voice down, not to start tickling little George or playing chasey with Delia and Freya. “Not play with my kids at the end of a long day? They love playing with me, don’t you, kids?” Of course they agreed with him, and of course they hung off him, squealing with fake terror at his wild piggy-backing, shrieking with pretend-fright when he found them during games of hide-and-seek, dragging him by the hand to show him this or that. “Watch me, Daddy!” “Look at me, Daddy!” Carrie knew she should have stood by smiling, enjoying the sight of father-children bonding, been glad that she had a husband who took such pleasure in his children. So why did she feel only a burning combination of jealousy and resentment? Because as soon as Matthew came in, the children couldn’t care less about her. She became their maid, their cook, their cleaner, relegated to secondhand citizen.
    She loved them still, of course she did. Always. Hugely. She loved Matthew. Of course she did. Didn’t she? But sometimes … More than sometimes, more often than not lately, she wished she could spray them all with some sort of immobilizing potion, not just the children, but Matthew too, just for a day or two, to give her some breathing space. In her day, in her life, in her head. It was the constancy of it all that was killing her. The relentlessness of it all. The feeling of never finishing anything properly. Of being a mouse on a wheel, except the wheel was a conveyor belt of housework, children’s demands, children’s arguments and tears and squabbles. She couldn’t even have a shower without one of them either coming into the bathroom to ask her something, or standing outside knocking until she was forced to turn the water off. “Mum?” “Mum?” Their voices were an endless soundtrack in her head. Delia had wanted to get a cat, and Carrie had shocked her and herself by her vehement “ No! ” One more voice in the house, asking, begging, pleading for attention and food? At least the cat would have washed itself. Perhaps she should have turned into a cat-lover rather than a mother. But knowing her luck, she’d have ended up with a house full of cats, and turned into a mad old lady smelling of …
    “Mum, Freya bit me!”
    “So bite her back,” she said to Delia. The mobile phone rang in her handbag. Someone else wanting something from her? She had nothing else to give. She let it ring