This Holey Life by Sophie Duffy Page B

would suggest. She knows exactly what she is doing, has the measure of Bob and seems to enjoy being his wife. He must have hidden
talents. Very well hidden talents. Tamarine’s talents are more obvious. She keeps the house clean and even sweeps the street outside which is something you don’t see these days. And the
smell of cooking that finds its way into our house is quite enticing. I would say Bob Talbot has landed on his feet. As has Jessica, who now has clean clothes and help with her homework.
    Tamarine told me that although she herself is a Buddhist, her country is tolerant of other religions and therefore she would be happy for Jessica to come to our church anytime. Bob would be
happy for Jessica to be anywhere other than in his back garden kicking a ball against the house.
    So this week, during the embarrassing song, Jessica, in her Crystal Palace away kit, joins in with the actions. ‘This is cool,’ I hear her mutter to Rachel and Jeremy.
‘Normally Sundays are sooo boring. I have to wait for Dad and Tamarine to get up and then we like go shopping.’
    ‘We don’t go shopping on a Sunday,’ sparks up Olivia. ‘Unless we run out of milk.’
    ‘Lucky you,’ says Jessica.
    Olivia beams, Jeremy drools, and Rachel tries not to smile at the triumph of bringing a friend into her world and it not backfiring.
    And there is Steve, up at the front, singing along to ‘Shine, Jesus, shine’ and I envy him. For his lack of worrying. He says there’s no point in worrying. Worrying changes
nothing. Only hope can do that. And faith. And love. But most of all love.
    But it’s alright for Steve. Steve has thick skin and inner strength, a tough combination to crack. I, on the other hand, am like an egg. Knock me and I am likely to end up all over the
floor, broken, in a hideous mess.
    After the usual – to-ings and fro-ings and trying to keep the children quiet and smiling and small talk and roasting parsnips and tea and hand-patting – Steve and I
are alone again in the kitchen. He used to catch up on the odd jobs. I used to do my preparation. Schemes of work and lesson plans. Not anymore.
    The doorbell goes. Claudia. Steve looks at me and I’m pretty sure I catch a hint of worry as he gets up to answer. I check my list. Jeremy’s clothes are washed, ironed and packed,
waiting in the hall along with his cello (hallelujah!).
    ‘Darling!’
    I get to the hall in time to see Claudia embracing her son. He lets his mother kiss him, both of them slightly awkward, but there is relief there too. Things may finally be getting back to
normal. Normal? Can I let myself dare to hope Martin may be welcomed back home?
    Martin appears out of the shadows and smiles feebly at his wife.
    ‘Oh, hello,’ she says, as if she’d forgotten he’d be here which of course she hasn’t, because I can see she has put on her going-out face. Cover-girl eyes and
killer-red lips.
    ‘Good trip?’ he asks, impersonating someone who cares about his wife’s career. But I can tell he’s taking her in. The new shoes, the power suit. The
just-stepped-out-of-a-salon hair.
    ‘Very profitable yes, thank you.’ Claudia has morphed into another woman. A woman of power and strength and even more drop-dead beauty than before, all fired up, hurrying Jeremy
along. ‘Must get going. Cab’s waiting.’
    Martin follows his family outside, hands in pockets in forced nonchalance but he’s fooling no-one. We troop after my brother, standing in a huddle as he watches – a pained expression
on his bearded face – the cabbie wedge the very expensive cello into the boot of a battered Astra. ‘Where’s the car?’ Martin asks his wife.
    ‘I was too tired to drive.’
    ‘It is safe around here you know. My Saab’s still got all four tyres.’
    ‘Of course.’ She looks unconvinced, horrified in fact, her power and strength evaporating in the toxic Penge air. As if our street was in Kabul or somewhere. She’s probably
wearing a bullet-proof