SARAH

We knocked on the front door and I let Danny ring the doorbell but there was no answer to either. Paul's Mum and Dad often spend their days pottering around in their garden so we simply let ourselves in through the garden gate. This incensed Danny, as it always does,

'Mum! What are you doing?'

I chose to ignore the trace of petulance creeping into his voice,

'Going around the side. Grandma and Granddad are probably sitting in their garden as it's such a beautiful day.'

'No they're not.' scuffing his shoes against the brick wall, 'We go in through the front door. Ringing the doorbell. Like this.'

'Stop it Danny! I've had more than enough of your whining today. If you can't behave sensibly then we'll go home right away. Now stop doing that with your shoes, you're making a right mess.'

I grabbed his wrist and marched him through the garden gate before he could give voice to another complaint.

Some days you just can't win. Nothing you do is even remotely acceptable, nothing you say divert his attention. It grinds me down. I wonder sometimes what it would be like not to have to give a damn about any of it, husband, kids, none of it. I dream of a life I might have had where I am surrounded by beautiful things, beautiful people; where money is no object; where I had the brains and determination to make something of myself. The usual type of daydreams, I suppose everyone dreams of such things from time to time. Lately they have beensuperseded by another dream that comes to me during the night as well as the day. A dream so vivid that sometimes I think that it must be real and my mundane reality the product of my subconscious.

I am cooking spaghetti bolognese the same way I always do, tears in my eyes from chopping onions even though most of the cooking is done. All I have left to do is serve but I cannot strain the spaghetti, I empty panful after panful into the colander but it will not stick just slides through into the sink. I scrabble at the strands disappearing down the plughole, blinking back my tears, grabbing handfuls of warm slippery pasta that wriggle through my fingers to block the sink again. I try and try but fail each time and at every attempt the clamouring voices in the other room grow more strident, demanding food and attention. After the seventh effort, always the seventh, I give up. I wash the spaghetti down the sink, tip the sauce into the bin, wash the dishes and then I leave. I do not say goodbye just tiptoe along the hallway, remembering not to stand on the squeaky step by the foot of the stairs and I walk out of the front door which I do not shut but leave to swing.

I turn left out of the front door, heading not into town but to the park instead. I feel joyful, light-hearted and I even skip, taking care not to tread in the cracks between the paving stones for fear of bears. Carried away in the moment I take a wrong turn somewhere and end up in town anyway. I slow down to a walk, suddenly deflated and realise I am still wearing my apron. People have noticed and cross the road to avoid coming too close to me, I can hear their whispers and feel their disapproving stares on my back. I slow still further until I have stopped completely and am sat on the pavement crying as quietly as I can. A passer by mistakes me for a beggar and drops a grimy pound coin into my lap. I start to open my mouth to protest but then realise that my tears have run clear tracks down my filthy face, my apron has tattered and frayed, my shoes have seen better days. I am suddenly cold and hungry and grateful for the pound coin that will buy me a hot cup of tea if I can only stand up for long enough to make it as far as the cafe on the corner.

The first time I dreamt this I woke up after leaving the house but the fantasy seemed to become more elaborate with every passing day. I wondered where I would end up after my cup of tea, I even began to will myself into the daydream, morbidly drawn to the pain in the hope of another revelation. No opportunity for that whilst out visiting, Paul's Mum and Dad are quick enough to pick up on evidence of the children daydreaming, let alone me, it is a cardinal sin in their book.

We found them, as I suspected, in their garden, hard at work. Well, Paul's Dad was harvesting leeks under direction from Paul's Mum who was wearing a pair of suspiciously clean gardening gloves. They seemed pleased enough to see us, waving across the expanse of grass and mud, Paul's dad bellowing,

'Hi guys and dolls, good to see you all. Did you park the car out the front Sarah? We didn't hear you coming up the drive.'

'Hi Gordon. I didn't bring the car today, we walked. Paul said he'd pick us up in so he'll probably pop in for tea later on this afternoon if that's ok?'

The pair of them exchanged a glance at that point. I guessed that the length of time since Paul had last been to see them had been a recent and probably acrimonious point of conversation. Paul's Mum weighed in, tactful as always,

'About bloody time too. Not like he normally makes the effort. How are you kids doing?'

Johnnie murmured something  nondescript whilst Danny was too busy  pushing his way through the bushes to pay any attention. I put my best parent voice on,

'Danny, what are you doing? Get out of the bushes please, you'll scratch yourself. Grandma is saying hello to you.'

He turned around at that, only his face visible, crowned in green,

'Oh. Hello Grandma. And Grandad. Where's Sandy? I'm looking for him. He might be doing a wee in the bushes.'

Chances are Danny was right about that, Sandy spent a fair amount of the time he was forced to spend outside skulking in the bushes producing various excretions. Yet another reason I was keen to get Danny out of the bushes. Luckily, Paul's Mum seemed to share this sentiment,

'I think Sandy is sat by the fire Danny. It's a bit cold for him to be out today. Mind you, it's a bit cold for us as well, my nose is going blue! Come over here and give me a kiss and we'll go into the warm and see if  we can find you some biscuits.  You coming in Gordon love?'

I had the feeling that the last was phrased as a command rather than a request but chose to bite my tongue. It had the required effect, Danny extricated himself from the bushes and Gordon from his spade and we all trooped dutifully into the kitchen which was, as promised warm. Johnnie brought up the rear, rather more quietly than usual,

'You ok? You seem quiet today.'

He shrugged in his Johnnie way,

'Yeh, I'm alright Mum. Got a few things on my mind, you know. Nothing important. How's your arm feeling today?'

'Between you and me...it hurts like hell.' It did at that, I was regretting the fact that there are only so many painkillers one can take in a day and remain functional. 'If you want to talk about whatever it is...'

'Yeh, I know Mum. Really, it doesn't matter. You've got enough on your plate at the moment.'

There was some truth in that, I worried I had been neglecting Johnnie, 'Well yes, I do but I'm not too busy for you, ok?'

He looked embarrassed at that. Score one to me, I can still do the embarrassing Mum when I feel it necessary, it generally brings a smile to his face.

'Now come on in and cheer up. If we don't hurry Danny will have eaten all of the ginger biscuits and there'll be none left for us.'