Just a Family Affair Read Free Page A

university close enough for her to pop back for the day if she felt like it. Her older daughter, Sophie, was on yet another jaunt to Australia with her boyfriend Ned, and it was Lucy’s greatest fear that they would never come home.
    Last of all, and late, because they were always late these days, would be Mickey’s brother James, his wife Caroline, and their three children, who were all under five. Lucy prayed that James and Caroline would be on speaking terms. Their relationship was pretty strained at the moment. James, it was safe to say, was not a new man, and Caroline was volatile at the best of times. At least everyone would muck in today and look after the kids so she could have a bit of a break.
    All in all, that made a total of twelve for lunch. Lucy wasn’t fazed. She preferred catering for large numbers. It was what she was used to. She’d been hopeless at cooking for just her and Mickey; half of what she prepared had ended up in the bin or the dog’s bowl each night. Today she was cooking two enormous fillets of beef - one medium, one rare - and her mouth watered at the prospect of the beetroot-red velvety slices. Batter for dozens and dozens of Yorkshire puddings was already resting in a jug in the pantry.
    She padded down to the kitchen. Every time she walked in, it still gave her a shock. The kitchen at Honeycote House had long been legendary. Hundreds of meals, impromptu parties and spontaneous celebrations had taken place around the enormous table in its midst. No one cared that the doors of the antiquated kitchen units were hanging off their hinges, or that the plaster was falling off, or that the walls hadn’t been redecorated for years. But two months ago Lucy had finally decided that enough was enough. If you looked at it in the cold light of day, and not through a fug of wine and smoke and laughter and cooking smells, it was a disgrace. She had looked around one morning and seen nothing but grease stains and cobwebs. Time for a makeover, she’d decided.
    Lucy was no princess. She gutted the kitchen herself, manhandling the old units out into the tack room where they could be used to store animal food and cleaning equipment. Then she’d been through all her old gadgets and utensils, chucking out anything broken or out-of-date. The process had been exhausting. She’d found mementos and treasures from years ago. Postcards from long-lost friends. An old Rimmel lipstick, the smell of which brought the past rushing back to her so vividly it turned her stomach. Cocktail sticks and paper cases that reminded her of all the sausages on sticks and fairy cakes she’d done for children’s parties over the years. A gingham bun-holder trimmed in ric-rac that Sophie had made for her, which Lucy had proudly displayed at dinner parties for years, even though her guests had looked askance at it. Tupperware boxes that still smelled of the picnic food they’d once held. Lucy felt flayed alive emotionally as she forced herself to rid the kitchen of anything remotely rancid, which was pretty much everything.
    She’d sat for hours looking at the row of empty champagne bottles that used to sit on the top shelf of the dresser, the occasion they had marked inscribed on each label in thick black pen. Why was she so desperate to hang on to them? Would life change one iota if she took them to the recycling centre in Eldenbury? All they did was gather dust, and, if she was honest, remind her of times that could never be repeated. She forced herself to drop each bottle into the bin in the supermarket car park, wiping away tears with her remaining hand, hoping desperately no one would spot her. As the glass shattered, it occurred to her that over the past couple of years nothing had happened worth celebrating. It had been a period of farewells, as first Patrick had moved out to live with Mandy, then Sophie and Georgina had flown the nest, leaving Lucy and Mickey to rattle around in Honeycote House, which had always been