It was her favorite room in the house. She loved the handmade wooden cabinets and large floor-to-ceiling doors that opened onto the garden and the fields beyond. She loved the way the room gave her light in the summer and warmth in the winter, as if it knew exactly what she needed at all times. Most of all, she loved the large table that she and Pete had placed right by the doors so that they could always see the garden. The table was made of reclaimed wood and she appreciated every notch and mark. The table had nurtured them through all the different stages of family life. It had witnessed those heady days when Anna and Pete had been a young couple—sex on the table, then parents of twin babies—mashed food smeared on the table, parents of toddlers—streaks of crayon on the table, parents of teenagers—moods around the table—and now when they were a family of four, two adults and two almost-adults, it witnessed spirited conversation.
Beyond the window it was dark and wintry and a few flakes of snow drifted down from heavy skies. Anna had switched on all the lights and the honey-gold glow made the room feel welcoming. She always felt grateful for her home and family but tonight, after her conversation with Claudia, she felt it more acutely than usual. Poor Claudia. Her life had been upended and right now nothing was certain for her, whereas Anna’s life had a predictability that she found deeply comforting.
Claudia had said that her life was perfect and although Anna hadn’t wanted to rub it in by agreeing, particularly when Claudia was low and vulnerable, her friend was right. Her life was pretty perfect. It wouldn’t suit everyone of course, but it was perfect for her and since she was the one living it, she was more than satisfied.
She glanced at the table, checking everything. All that was missing was her family.
As always Daniel was first to arrive, mostly because he was always hungry. Her husband, Pete, next, because he enjoyed this time of day as much as she did, and Meg last because no matter the time of day, she was almost always talking to one of her friends on the phone and virtually had to be dragged away from the call.
Anna felt a glow of contentment as her twins, her babies, sat down at the table.
The scent of garlic and herbs filled the air and she served pasta into the hand-painted bowls they’d bought on a family trip to Italy.
They all settled into their usual seats, Meg facing the garden, Daniel facing Meg, Anna and Pete sitting opposite each other at either end. Anna had given Daniel an extra-large portion of pasta in the hope that he wouldn’t need to raid the fridge later.
“Can you believe it’s almost December? They’re forecasting snow this week.”
Her remark earned no response.
Meg was checking her social media under the table even though phones were banned at family mealtimes. Daniel was humming a tune to himself and picking up the rhythm by tapping his fork on the edge of his bowl.
It was obvious that he couldn’t wait to get back to his room, where he spent most of his time composing music for his “band.” Even as a baby, music had soothed him and now it was his passion. Anna had listened to Mozart when she was pregnant, so she felt at least partly responsible for his musical talents. He wanted to be a songwriter, as well as a performer, and she had to squash the urge to nudge him hard toward a more secure career. Perhaps if she’d spent her time watching medical dramas on the TV when she was pregnant, he might have chosen to be a doctor.
“Maybe you can write me a Christmas song.” Although no doubt the idea of writing a song for his mother would be as embarrassing as her hugging him goodbye when she dropped him at school.
He didn’t respond, and she realized that he was wearing the tiny wireless earphones they’d given him for his birthday and he couldn’t hear her.
“Daniel!”
He jumped and looked up. “What?” Looking guilty, he pulled out his earphones. “Sorry. I’m rehearsing with Ted and Alex later, so I wanted to get this right. We’re playing at the school concert on Thursday.”
“I know.” It never ceased to amaze her that the tiny babies she and Pete had brought home from the hospital had turned into fully functioning human beings. She wasn’t quite ready to think of them as adults. Adults picked their laundry up off the floor and generally left the bed before midday. “I have tickets. I’m looking forward to it.”
Daniel looked panicked. “You’re coming?”
“Of course. So is Dad. We’re your parents. We always come to your concerts, plays, ball games—whatever.” That was her role, wasn’t it? To be there on the sidelines cheering her children on. Her parents had done that and she’d done her best to reproduce that same happy family atmosphere. When she’d had her own children she’d imported some of her favorite traditions into her new family.
“I know, and I appreciate it, but—” Daniel’s smile was a little panicked. “It’s great. No worries.”
What was she missing? She’d learned that with teenagers what they didn’t say was often as important as what they did say.
“I thought we could all go out for pizza afterward.”
If there was one thing guaranteed to make her son’s face brighten it was mention of pizza, but not today, apparently.
“Speak the truth, brother.” Meg slid her phone away, sensing conflict the way a shark sensed a drop of blood in the water.
“Shut up.” Two livid streaks of color appeared on Daniel’s cheeks as he glared at his twin sister.
“Daniel the spaniel.”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Why not? That’s what you are. You wag your tail and please people, just like Lola does. If you don’t speak up, people are going to walk right over you.”
Lola, their eight-year-old springer spaniel, heard her name and shot round the table to Meg, hopeful of attention.
Meg stroked her soft ears. “He should tell Mom the truth, shouldn’t he?” she crooned. “He has a girl, but don’t worry—he’s still going to love you.”
The red bloom had spread across Daniel’s face. “Sometimes I hate you.”
Anna sighed. On reflection, maybe her life wasn’t totally perfect. Sibling spats were normal, she knew that, but that didn’t mean they didn’t sometimes drain her.
As a parent you were required to be everything from a cab driver to a negotiator.
“Daniel doesn’t have to tell me anything he doesn’t want to.” She intervened gently, trying to remain neutral. “It’s important to respect people’s privacy, Meg.”
Meg’s eyes narrowed. “I’m speaking up for the greater good. Daniel would rather you weren’t there, but he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. If you’re trying to impress someone, you don’t want your parents in the front row. Just saying.”
Sometimes Anna wished her smart, spiky daughter would stop just saying. But she also wondered what was going on with Daniel, who, unlike his sister, had never given her a moment’s trouble. She worried far more about him than Meg, who was a born survivor. Whoever this girl was, Anna hoped she was kind.
She paused for a moment, searching for the right thing to say. “We’d like to be there to support you, but of course if you’d rather we weren’t there then that’s fine.”