Second Time Around. Erin Kaye

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       Chapter 4

      Jennifer sat in the passenger seat in the car on the way home feeling decidedly downbeat. And she’d no reason to; she’d had a great day out with her best friend and Matt had a proper job at last.

      ‘What did you think of Ben Crawford?’ said Donna, suddenly. ‘Wasn’t he cute?’

      ‘Was he? I hadn’t noticed.’

      ‘He was a bit young, though,’ mused Donna, as if Jennifer hadn’t spoken.

      Jennifer blushed and stared out the window. She hadn’t thought him that much younger than her. Maybe ten years. Was that too much of an age difference? But what did it matter? Nothing was going to happen between them. He wasn’t the least bit interested in her and he had a beautiful girlfriend.

      The car came off a roundabout and started the gentle downhill approach to Ballyfergus. In the failing light, the countryside was a patchwork of dark shades of green, interspersed with the lights of the many farmsteads that dotted the rolling hills.

      And yet in spite of the calming beauty all around, her heart was not at peace. She was troubled with recollections of the way Rebecca had kissed Ben – so boldly and right in the middle of the busy restaurant. He had looked a little embarrassed, certainly, but what man could say no to a girl like that? He couldn’t wait to drag her off to the bar so they could spend time together, alone.

      What was this unfamiliar emotion that troubled her so, that felt like anger but wasn’t? She placed a hand on her neck, recognising it at last for jealousy. She was jealous of Rebecca. It was a ludicrous notion – that she should be jealous of a girl she didn’t even know because of a man she’d only just met. But it was there nonetheless, nestled in her chest, hard and mean like a stone.

      He was the first man in a long time to arouse her interest. She recalled with pleasure the way her heartbeat had quickened under his gaze. She’d thought she’d sensed some sort of primitive attraction between them, but now she wasn’t so certain. Had she imagined it all? And even if there was some sort of connection between them, it clearly wasn’t enough to compete with gorgeous young women half her age. And what hurt most was the knowledge that, though she was in good shape, she was past her prime. If she wanted a partner in life, it was no good looking at younger men. She had to set her sights a little lower and the age limit a little higher. And though she hated the idea of a computer dating site, perhaps Donna was right. At her age, she thought despondently, she had to be realistic.

      It was almost dark by the time Donna dropped her home. She walked wearily down the side of the house and entered by the utility room, not bothering to switch on the light. She closed the door, took a step forwards in the dim light and the toe of her foot connected with something soft on the floor. She stumbled, caught her ankle on the corner of a cupboard door and almost fell.

      ‘Ouch!’ she cried out in pain, dropped her bags on the floor and grabbed on to the worksurface. Tutting crossly, she flicked on the light. A pile of laundry, Lucy’s things, lay in an untidy heap on the floor and the cupboard door hung open. She could see now that she had ripped her tights and grazed her skin.

      ‘Is that you, Mum?’ called Lucy, as she came and stood in the doorway. She was wearing a pair of pyjamas and a horrible, old, grey dressing gown that used to belong to David. ‘Are you all right?’

      Unable to stop herself, Jennifer said irritably, ‘No, I’m not. I nearly took my foot off on that door. Did you leave it open? And what’s this dirty laundry doing all over the floor?’

      ‘I couldn’t find any washing powder,’ said Lucy defensively. Muffin, who took an age to get anywhere these days, appeared loyally by Lucy’s feet, his head cocked to one side.

      Jennifer let out a loud sigh. It wasn’t fair of her to take her bad temper out on Lucy. She gathered up her handbag and shopping bags. ‘I’m sorry, Lucy. It’s lovely to see you. Did you have a good week?’

      ‘Yeah. Great.’

      ‘Well, come here and let me give you a hug,’ smiled Jennifer, picking her way over the laundry to Lucy. Even in three-inch heels, Jennifer was still some inches shorter than her daughter. She put her arms around her and immediately felt her stiffen. She released her and swallowed the hurt, remembering a time, once, when Lucy could not get enough of her mother’s hugs. Where had that loving child gone? And what was wrong with her face? ‘Those spots around your mouth look sore, pet.’

      Lucy put a protective hand to her chin and turned away. Jennifer, remembering what it was like to have bad skin, felt sorry for her. Perhaps she was finding her university course hard going – stress could cause an outbreak of spots. But Lucy was no longer in her teens – she shouldn’t have to live with skin like that. ‘It might be acne,’ she suggested, walking over to the table and setting her bags down on the worn seat of a pine chair. ‘Maybe the doctor could give you something for them.’

      ‘It’s not acne.’

      Jennifer kicked her shoes off, leaving them where they fell on the worn lino. ‘No, you’re right. It doesn’t really look like acne. More like a skin infection.’

      Lucy removed her hand from her face and said, angrily, ‘Mum, it’s not a skin infection! It’s just spots. Ugly, yes. Disgusting, yes. But just spots! They’ll go away soon enough.’

      Jennifer took a deep breath and counted to five. ‘I’m only trying to help,’ she said quietly. Lucy said nothing in reply and then another thought occurred to Jennifer. ‘Are you eating properly? Because sometimes when you don’t eat enough fruit and –’

      ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ cried Lucy, this time raising her voice. She gripped the back of a chair with both hands until her knuckles went white. ‘Don’t you know when to leave it, Mum?’

      Jennifer, genuinely perplexed and hurt by what she perceived as her daughter’s over-reaction, said, ‘Well, I’m sorry. I thought … never mind.’ She glanced through the utility room door at the pile of laundry. ‘Don’t tell me the washing machine at your digs is still broken.’

      ‘Yep.’