The Distance Between Us Page 2

  While she cooked moussaka for dinner her thoughts returned to the previous night. Irritation and resentment simmered away in the pit of her stomach. They had gone to sleep after reading their books side by side in virtual silence. In a way she wished Charlie had taken her passive-aggressive bait and that things had escalated into a full-blown argument. At least then she could have aired her grievances. Anything was better than the current lack of communication that seemed to be building a gulf between them that at times felt insurmountable. It occurred to Tasha that last night’s disappointment would never have happened the other way around. Charlie would never miss a night out due to childcare arrangements. He was always out already so he never needed to cancel his plans last minute because she couldn’t get home in time. It was so unfair.

  At half past three Tasha was waiting at the school gates as first Max and then Bella came barrelling out of the door and into the playground in a flurry of grins, school bags and blazers. She scooped up as many belongings as she could, taking one grubby hand in each of hers to walk home. Flora, who was playing hockey, was being dropped off by another mum later on. Tasha couldn’t help but laugh as they chattered all the way home, full of energy and ready for the weekend. She tried to muster matching levels of enthusiasm when, really, all she longed for was a weekend of peace and quiet, to read a book uninterrupted, or something equally unheard of.

  ‘Are we still going to Richmond Park tomorrow, Mum?’ Bella asked.

  ‘That’s the plan,’ Tasha replied. ‘I’m hoping it’ll stay dry so we can have a nice picnic.’

  ‘Yum!’ cried Max. ‘Can we make sausage rolls?’

  ‘And take tomato ketchup?’ Bella asked.

  ‘We’ll see what we can do!’ Tasha laughed.

  They continued to plan their picnic all the way home. They were clearly children after her own heart: food was often their favourite topic of conversation.

  As they entered the kitchen Tasha screeched in dismay. ‘Oh, sh…ugar!’

  ‘What’s happened, Mum?’

  ‘Why is there water everywhere?’

  ‘It’s the machine,’ Tasha said. ‘It must have flooded.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ the children gasped, enjoying the drama.

  ‘Right! You go into the sitting room while I try and clean this mess up…’ Cursing under her breath, she took off her shoes and socks, rolled up her jeans and waded through the water to locate the mop. Bloody typical, she thought. All their appliances were conking out; some were as ancient as the house itself and in desperate need of replacing. This was going to be another expensive purchase if she couldn’t figure out a way to repair it herself.

  At eight o’clock the doorbell rang. Tasha opened the door and threw her arms around Rosie, one of her oldest friends.

  ‘It’s been too long!’ she said as she hugged her, taking the bottle of wine Rosie proffered and leading her into the kitchen. ‘Excuse my bedraggled appearance, I haven’t had time to change. The sodding washing machine broke…’

  ‘Oh, God! Any idea why?’

  ‘There was a blockage. After unscrewing the plug and draining it I found three of Charlie’s cufflinks, a hair tie and a safety pin… fingers crossed that’s all that was wrong and we won’t have to buy a new one.’

  ‘What a nightmare! But well done for fixing it. And how are my favourite little angels?’ Rosie asked, peering up the stairs.

  ‘Asleep, thankfully,’ replied Tasha, crossing her fingers.

  ‘What, even my goddaughter?’

  ‘She’s reading – I told her you’d go up and say goodnight.’ Rosie disappeared upstairs to have a chat with Flora while Tasha opened a bottle of wine and poured them both large glasses. Rosie had proved to be the most wonderful godmother. She was single and had no children of her own so was free to give due time and attention to Flora and her numerous other godchildren.

  Sometimes Tasha envied Rosie her freedom. She was a long-term singleton, by choice rather than through circumstance. She was a journalist who wrote a very successful blog about her single lifestyle in her free time: an extremely entertaining read, which had won her thousands upon thousands of followers and some lucrative advertising contracts. Tasha suspected her popularity was also partly down to her huge doe eyes and pouting lips – she looked as if she had had collagen implants but it was all annoyingly natural.

  ‘Flora seems well,’ Rosie said as she joined Tasha in the kitchen. ‘Is she still acting like a moody teenager?’ She took off her jacket and slung it on the back of one of the mismatched wooden chairs. Tasha’s furniture collection mainly consisted of hand-me-downs from both her and Charlie’s parents, as well as an assortment of junk-shop pieces and freebies she had picked up from Freecycle or even, in the case of their chest of drawers, the side of the road. Having spent every penny they owned on the house, they had never had much spare cash for its interior design.

  ‘Is she ever! She can be a serious handful. You wouldn’t believe the attitude! Especially at the moment. She’s a bit stressed about maths and she really struggled with her homework last night. I think I might ring her teacher and see what we can do to help…’

  ‘Poor Flora.’ Rosie frowned, taking the glass of wine Tasha offered her. ‘I always hated maths.’

  ‘So did I, so I’m not much use. Charlie was meant to help but he didn’t get home in time.’

  Tasha told Rosie about her cancelled plans the night before, knowing she would get a sympathetic response from her old friend. She had known Rosie since the age of eight, when her parents had moved into the farm down the road in Surrey and Rosie’s mum had shown up on the doorstep with a big shepherd’s pie. Tasha and Rosie had been heartbroken when Rosie’s family moved away a few years later, but they had remained the closest of friends through lengthy phone calls and regular visits during their school holidays.

  ‘How annoying. Why didn’t you just book a babysitter?’

  ‘It was too late at the last minute.’

  ‘Well, next time you should to avoid disappointment.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I promised myself last night. There aren’t many opportunities for me to go out and have fun so when they come up I need to make sure I am not relying on Charlie. It was actually the fact that he didn’t ring me earlier and give me time to sort something out that made me most cross.’

  ‘Why didn’t he?’

  ‘He said he was stuck in a meeting – but surely he could have slipped out for a minute or two?’

  ‘Mmmm, I’m sure he could have found a way. But he’s not an arsehole, Tash, you know he wouldn’t have done it on purpose.’

  ‘I know,’ Tasha said as she topped up their glasses. ‘I’m just feeling a bit frustrated at the moment...’ ‘Did you discuss it when he got home?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘No. I wasn’t in the mood.’

  ‘You know, you probably should have tackled it then and there.’

  ‘You’re right. I definitely feel worse having bottled it up. I’d almost rather have had a row with him to clear the air.’

  ‘It might not have ended up in an argument. And isn’t it always best to explain why you are annoyed so he can prevent the same thing happening again?’

  ‘I do know that. It sounds childish but I guess I want him to know without me having to explain it. He should realise how important these evenings with my friends are to me, to have a much-needed break. He should have had the foresight to realise he was going to get stuck and call me with enough notice.’

  ‘Men aren’t exactly renowned for their intuition.’

  ‘Sadly. Anyway, enough about me and Charlie, tell me everything about you.’

  ‘Let me just pop to the loo and then I’ll tell you all about the new features editor – he is so divine!’ Rosie sighed as she disappeared into the downstairs bathroom.

  Tasha laughed. She thought about Rosie’s advice and knew she was right. Sometimes she wondered whether she enjoyed the bubbling of resentment that seemed to well up inside her with surprising r
egularity. It was a mixture of self-pity and martyrdom, both of which she disliked intensely but which she realised were fast becoming old friends. She knew that all the marriage books and relationship advice would agree with Rosie, that she should air her feelings in a simple, non-accusatory manner, stating the facts and the corresponding emotions. But she never seemed to manage to do so. She wanted Charlie to know what to do without her having to tell him. She wanted him to just ‘get’ things, to be more in tune with her needs and her feelings.

  Rosie and Tasha polished off the bottle of wine over dinner. They caught up on each other’s news, marvelling at how different their lives were and laughing at the more hilarious aspects of family versus single life.

  ‘I admire you, you know,’ Tasha said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You are so confident. How did you become so independent? So self-reliant? What happened to the little geek with train tracks that I used to know and love so well?’

  ‘Good riddance to her. I suppose I needed to learn how to handle myself! My train tracks and bushy eyebrows were never going to get me far in life, were they?’ They collapsed laughing as they recalled Rosie’s headgear, reminiscing over the first time they had plucked each other’s eyebrows, leaving nothing more than a thinly tweezed line.

  ‘I need to get some of my confidence back,’ Tasha sighed.

  ‘You’re still an incredibly gorgeous woman,’ Rosie assured her. ‘You just can’t see it. All you see is a busy, exhausted mother of three!’

  ‘Perhaps we should go and have a day of pampering, just the two of us… leave Charlie in charge of the kids?’

  ‘I’d love that!’ Rosie said as she drained her glass. ‘Right, I’m afraid I’ve got to make a move… I’m off to a leaving do.’

  ‘God, your life!’

  ‘It’s fun, if a little exhausting,’ admitted Rosie.

  ‘I’m so jealous. Call me in the morning if there’s any gossip?’

  ‘I will,’ Rosie promised as she pulled on her jacket. Her blonde hair fell in a silky cascade onto her shoulders. It made Tasha green with envy. Her wavy hair needed constant taming and would only look that sleek after a good session with her trusty straighteners. Tasha was determined to get herself to the hairdressers before long for a much-needed cut. She tried to remember when she had last had a trim; it must have been almost a year ago.

  She waved Rosie off and went upstairs to check on the children. They were all asleep, Bella with a torch and her Harry Potter book on her chest. Tasha smiled as her heart burst with love for her daughter. She crept into her room and removed the book and torch, watching Bella’s chest rise and fall with each breath. Her dark brown hair curled softly on her pillow. She looked so peaceful.

  Tasha went back downstairs to tidy up before making her way up to bed. She brushed her teeth and took her make-up off, putting on her pyjamas and slipping under the covers. She spread out like a starfish, taking advantage of having the bed to herself, the sheets cool and crisp against her skin. She woke as Charlie nudged her to move across onto her side of the bed. He felt cold and smelt of beer as he pulled her towards him, spooning the back of her body as he wrapped his arm around her and nuzzled her neck. He was so familiar, so comforting, she fell back asleep in the crook of his arm, a smile on her face. Rosie might have the exciting, glamorous life Tasha often dreamed of, but she didn’t have this: a family. Tasha reminded herself just how lucky she was.

  An hour or so later Tasha felt rather noticeably less lucky having woken Charlie countless times in a futile attempt at stopping his alcohol-induced pneumatic drill impersonation. Finally accepting defeat, she got out of bed and made her way into the spare room, which doubled up as a storage unit. The bed was unmade and covered in towering piles of paperwork and clothes waiting to be filed, sorted and put away in the loft. Tasha cleared the mountain of debris onto the floor and snuck under the musty-smelling duvet to try and go back to sleep.

  Chapter Three

  On Monday morning Tasha found herself alone in the house once again, ploughing through a mountain of ironing that she had let build up for far too long. She lost herself in the monotony of the task, listening to Radio 4 as she worked. Her mind wondered back to the weekend. It had flown by in record timing, as they always did. Luckily the May sun had come out in force for their visit to Richmond Park. The children had run off exploring as they walked the winding paths that led through the Isabella Plantation, the deep reds and shocking pinks of the azaleas resplendent against the dark green foliage. They had stopped to admire their reflections in the Still Pond, posing for a photograph taken by a kindly stranger – the image of happiness as they smiled against the picturesque backdrop, the children beaming as they struck comedic poses for the camera. They had even cranked open the barbecue for the first time that year, Max doing his best to help as he turned the sausages. Tasha loved seeing Charlie and Max next to each other; they were so similar in so many ways. Max absolutely hero-worshipped his father – at the weekends he was rarely far from his side.

  Tasha, on the other hand, had spent most of the weekend feeling annoyed with Charlie. She didn’t even really know why any more. She was repressing an anger that seemed irrational. At times she wasn’t sure what the anger was even about. Frustration, yes, but at what? She found herself reminiscing obsessively about her former life as a GP, before Flora, before motherhood. Despite her frustration at the endless paperwork, the bureaucracy, the short appointment times and the exhausting hours, she missed the reward, the satisfaction of an accurate diagnosis, the challenge and the unlimited variety.

  Tasha continuously ruminated over her decision not to return to work after having had Flora. She had failed to anticipate just what a mammoth task it would be to retrain, to catch up on the medical advances that had been made in her absence. If she had returned to work part-time between each child she would not have allowed such an enormous chasm to open up in her knowledge; she could have kept a foot in the door. At the time she had thought that being a mum would be all she would ever want. She’d never anticipated the desire to have something more, something for herself, her own salary even. She’d never expected to feel so lonely, so cut off and so bored. She was embarrassed to admit it even to herself. Surely many women would be envious of her position? Charlie was just about able to support them; she had the privilege and joy of being there for her children no matter what, to watch assemblies and attend sports days and hear about the minutiae of their daily lives. She felt awful for feeling dissatisfied with her lot. She should be counting her blessings, not indulging herself with regrets and wishful thinking.

  Later that afternoon Tasha traipsed up to her bedroom to have a good clear-out. It was a job she had been meaning to get around to for months. Rummaging around for a top to wear last Thursday had been a near impossible task: her drawers were overflowing with clothes. She couldn’t remember the last time she had even worn half of them. Many of them didn’t even fit her now that she’d put on a few extra pounds. She decided to make a pile for charity and a pile to keep and was soon immersed in the process of sorting.

  Realising it was far too warm in the room, she threw open the windows and looked out. Their neighbour, Javier, who lived in the house opposite, was downstairs playing the saxophone. He did this most days when he wasn’t at work. Sometimes Tasha could hear the music, soulful jazz or blues, as it lifted on the breeze from an open window. She paused and listened, watching him for a minute or two. Suddenly he turned his head and looked directly up at her, as if he could sense her watching him. She blushed and quickly looked away, returning to her chest of drawers. She felt embarrassed, worried he would think she was a desperate housewife, stalking him from across the street.

  Tasha turned her attention back to the task in hand. As she pulled open the top drawer it occurred to her just how rarely she ever wore the sets of matching lingerie that lay abandoned at the back. In fact, she couldn’t recall the last time she had put one on. It seemed like a lifetime ago when Charl
ie used to surprise her with gifts of underwear, beautifully wrapped in layers of tissue paper, delicate lace and silk. She remembered him ripping the buttons off her shirt during one particularly passionate encounter in his enthusiasm to take off her clothes. She longed to experience that level of desire again. She still enjoyed making love to Charlie; it was comforting and familiar, easy even. They knew what worked and how to please each other, but the voracious appetite for one another that they had experienced at the start of their relationship had disappeared.

  Her thoughts turned back to Javier. When she and Charlie had moved into their house on Havers Street there had been an old lady called Barbara living there. She had been Flora’s first babysitter. She had moved out of London a year or so ago and Javier had moved in shortly afterwards. Tasha and Charlie had introduced themselves as they returned home from the park one day to find him unloading some boxes from his car. He was dark and softly spoken, with a thick Spanish accent and an air of old-fashioned charm. He had warm brown eyes and greying stubble that covered his face and matched the hair that sprouted from his chest, visible through the gap in his shirt.

  She remembered joking to Rosie on the phone that a good-looking doctor had moved in opposite, that she thought he might be a bachelor and ready for a set-up, not that Rosie needed any help in that department. She hadn’t enquired further but, through her covert observation – she wouldn’t go as far as to confess to actual spying – she had surmised that he was indeed single. She had fallen into the habit of tuning into his presence across the road, noticing if the lights were on, glancing over as he fixed his motorbike out on the street and saying hello as she walked past. He was always ready with a smile, a kind word for the girls or a joke for Max when they crossed paths. Maybe she should try to set him up with Rosie, after all?