Strictly Love

Katie would be the first to admit she was a control freak extraordinaire who wanted everything to be so perfect she made Anthea Turner look positively sluttish. She was the sort of woman who rose at six to clean out her kitchen cupboards, or iron and fold laundry. Charlie always teased her that her favourite room in the house was the large walk-in airing cupboard on the landing, where sheets, pillow cases, towels and blankets all sat neatly side by side in carefully orchestrated rows. White single sheets next to white doubles, coloured singles next to coloured doubles. Everything in its place, and everything easy to find.

It always smelled fresh and wholesome, and Katie would never admit to anyone the illicit pleasure she felt in running her hand over the smooth surfaces of freshly ironed sheets. But it was hard work maintaining such high standards with children in the house, although, by and large, till Molly had come along she had managed. Of late, Katie could feel those standards slipping. She had been so desperate for a third baby, despite Charlie's reservations. Now there were days when even she wondered why.

Charlie had touched a nerve, damn him. In the past Katie would have had the house tidy and tea on the table when Charlie walked in. To her that was part of the deal. She was the one at home, after all, it only seemed reasonable to cook the bacon for the person who provided it.

Emily had never got on with that attitude. ‘It just seems so regressive,’ she'd frequently said to Katie over a glass of wine when Charlie was away on business.

Katie had shrugged her shoulders.

‘I don't expect you to understand,’ she'd said. ‘But if you knew my mum, you would. She put her career above everything: her marriage, her family. It tore our family apart. I'm never going to do that.’

Katie had had feminism shoved down her throat from an early age, and was sufficiently her mother's daughter to buy into the career dream until she'd met and fallen for Charlie. The minute she knew she wanted to have children with him was the day Katie said goodbye to her career. She was not going to make the same mistakes as her mum. Her children and husband would always come first. The trouble was, no one had told her how hard that would be. Or that she'd feel a small part of herself dying every day, subsumed into becoming someone's wife, someone's mother. What had happened to Katie? No one really cared any more …

‘Let me know when it's ready,’ said Charlie, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl. ‘I've just got to go online and check some deals out.’

‘What now?’ Katie was dismayed. She was rather hoping that Charlie might join her in the kitchen and share a glass of wine with her as she cooked, like they used to do. She knew she should be glad about Charlie's recent promotion, as it meant more money and security, but his job was beginning to take over their life. The company seemed to be expanding at an alarming rate. Charlie's whole topic of conversation these days seemed to be about acquisitions and mergers, and he was away on business more than he was home.

‘Five minutes, tops,’ he said, already heading for the stairs.

Katie sighed. The chances were she wouldn't see him for another hour.

‘I'll just get on with the tea, then,’ she said disconsolately.

‘Okay,’ said Charlie. ‘At least it's not chips.’

‘Why?’ Katie had a feeling she knew where this was going. Charlie had been having little digs for weeks now.

‘Oh, nothing,’ said Charlie sheepishly, stopping on the half-landing

‘Don't do that,’ retorted Katie. ‘Tell me what you meant.’

Charlie looked a little embarrassed. ‘I was only joking.’

‘About what?’ Katie's tone was icy. Even Charlie, who had the skin of a rhino, picked up on it.

‘It's just … Since Molly …’ Charlie was looking like he'd rather be anywhere than here. ‘You didn't used to be – it's just that – well, you're looking a bit more cuddly these days.’

‘You mean I'm fat.’ Kate felt as if she had been punched in the stomach.

‘No. No. Not fat.’ Charlie was desperately trying to recover the situation. ‘It's – well, I mean, after the boys you lost weight much more quickly. Anyway, cuddly's good. You know I don't like skinny women.’

His voice trailed off. And it was true. In the past she had managed to shed the baby weight in a few months, but this time around it seemed not to want to budge.

‘You think I'm fat.’ It was a statement. Not a question.

‘Nooo – not fat exactly, but you have to admit it, love, you're a – a tad on the lardy side. Nothing that a few weeks on a diet won't cure.’

The comment was delivered in a manner that was clearly intended to be light and humorous, but the result was anything but.

Katie stood open-mouthed as Charlie disappeared upstairs. Not for the first time she wondered if workload was the thing that really kept him late at the office …

‘How was your day?’ Rob greeted Mark as he came through the front door.

It had been a long day and Mark was glad to be home, even if it wasn't quite the home he wanted.

‘Bloody awful. You?’

‘Oh, you know. Kids running riot. Kids taking drugs. Kids being suspended. The usual.’ Rob's job as head of history at the local comp gave him nearly as much pleasure as Mark's job gave him.

‘Fancy a beer?’ Mark kept resolving that he wasn't going to drink this early in the week. And kept giving in.

‘Thought you'd never ask,’ said Rob. ‘Pint at the Hookers?’

The Hookers' real name was The Boxer's Arms, but because of the propensity of rugby players who went in there, it was commonly known as the Hookers. Although urban myth had it that it was once a knocking shop – a myth that Barry, the urbane landlord, did very little to dispel.

‘Just let me wash my patients’ spit off my face and get changed,’ said Mark, ‘and then I'm all yours.’

Ten minutes later they were propping up the bar and putting the world to rights.

‘The usual, gentlemen?’ Barry already had their pints lined up for them. ‘You're a bit late tonight, if I may say so.’

Bloody hell, Mark thought in dismay, I'm becoming such a regular the barman knows what time I usually come in. How the hell did that happen?

‘If we're not careful, we're going to end up becoming permanent fixtures,’ Mark said glumly, looking round to see the usual regulars transfixed to their usual spots. Is that how people already saw them?

‘So?’ said Rob. ‘I like it here. It's my kind of pub.’

‘You know what's going to happen to us,’ Mark said moodily, staring into his pint.

‘No, what?’ Rob was scanning the bar for possible talent. Rather a waste of effort considering most of the regulars were middle-aged men, but, ever the optimist, Rob never liked to miss out on any opportunity that came his way. Mark envied that optimism and the confidence that went along with it.

‘We're still going to be sitting here in ten years’ time,’ said Mark. He paused to listen to a song on the jukebox. ‘It's like this song – the laughs in the late-night lock-in will fade away and we'll have nothing left but sad, pathetic memories.’

‘And your point is?’ said Rob.

‘Well, look at us. We‘ve already been drinking in here for years. We stay here any longer, we'll end up fossilised.’

‘You know your trouble?’ asked Rob.

‘Nope, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me,’ replied Mark.

‘You need to get out more. It's time you faced up to the truth. You're wasting your time with Sam. She's gone for good. Time you moved on, mate.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Mark responded with a wry smile. ‘And this is really the place to do that.’

‘It has been known to happen,’ said Rob, tapping his nose and looking smug.

‘When was that then?’ teased Barry, earwigging their conversation as he wiped down the bar. ‘The dark ages?’