A Perfect Home Read Free Page A

contemplated having more wine but this would break her self-enforced rule of one glass a night. After a few minutes she poured an inch or two of Chardonnay into the large glass and mixed it with some soda water. Surely a spritzer didn’t really count?
    The table was half covered in fairy cakes. On reflection Claire thought it had probably been a mistake to throw the defrosted raspberries into the cake mixture, which made them look soggy and unappealingly pink.
    The phone rang and Claire leapt up to answer it before it woke Ben. She knew it would be her mother, Elizabeth.
    â€˜I’m not disturbing you, am I? You sound like you’re eating.’
    â€˜No, it’s all right, Mum,’ Claire said, trying not to sigh.
    â€˜William not home yet, then?’
    â€˜I’m sure he’s on his way. Actually I’m in a bit of a rush; the house is being photographed –’
    â€˜He’s just like your father used to be …’
    Claire wished she’d just pretended William was there.
    â€˜â€¦ Coming in whenever it suited him, no thought to me waiting for him after a hard day at work and looking after you. In the seventies we thought the next generation would be better, but they’re all the same. Men! Better off without them, if you ask me. Honestly, Claire, I don’t know why you don’t put your foot down. You’ve got to stand up to him. That’s what I used to do.’
    Claire could remember lying in bed with her hands over her ears, trying not to hear her parents shouting downstairs.
    â€˜Of course your father was usually with another woman,’ her mother continued. ‘I always suspected that. I knew deep down but always forgave him. And look what he did in the end. Look where I ended up: dumped in a bedsit while he gallivanted off to California with his teenage bride.’
    Claire didn’t dare remind her that the woman her father had finally left her for was nearly thirty. ‘It’s a twobedroomed flat, Mum, not a bedsit. And it’s been twenty-six years since he left. You could have moved house. You could have found someone else.’
    â€˜And let someone do it to me all over again? No thank you, I’m not that stupid.’ Claire closed her eyes. She was used to this. She’d listened to her mother’s tirades since she was ten years old and her assault on marriage hadn’t lessened when Claire became a bride herself.
    Elizabeth had been baffled by her daughter’s wish to get married, especially to an accountant. Since Claire’s father had left, she’d brought her daughter up to believe that marriage was a pointless institution that could only fail.
    Claire had been determined to prove her wrong. Her marriage, unlike her parents’, would work. Happily ever after, just like in the fairy tales.
    â€˜I’ll see you at the school fête tomorrow,’ said Elizabeth.
    â€˜You don’t need to come, Mum. William has promised to take the afternoon off to look after the children while I’m on my stall.’
    â€˜And you believe him?’
    â€˜Mum! I’m sure he’ll try his best to be there.’
    â€˜Well, I’m coming anyway, Claire. I’m longing to see all your things displayed on your stall. This will be a big day for you, the first time you’ve shown your work in public.’
    â€˜It’s a primary school summer fair, Mum, not a major exhibition at the V&A.’
    â€˜It’s important; three years at art college shouldn’t be wasted on just being a housewife.’
    â€˜Yes, Mum,’ said Claire, and she added polish banisters to her list.
    â€˜Nightmare evening,’ William said, suddenly seeming to fill the kitchen. ‘The train was late, then I went to get the wood for the living room shelves but they didn’t have the right thickness. Can you believe it? It’s a standard measurement. So I had to go miles out of my way to bloody B&Q.’