Everything is Fine

The first in a collection of short stories

There were 250 people at their wedding. It was a bringing together of two families, and all their friends too. As she stood at the sink, rinsing ketchup from a bamboo plate, she remembered it as a blur. It had rained, and she had stood in her underwear looking out at the beautiful country house garden, watching it dripping off the trees, and watched as men all in black had brought the gold-flecked chairs back inside. Her mother had cried. His mother was stony-faced throughout. There was a point where the maître d’ had walked past a table where she and Pete had been doing their rounds, and she remembered smiling at her mum’s friend from work while hissing through her teeth ‘get the music back on!’. In all the photos she was beaming.

Next door’s cat snuck in through the back door and interrupted her thoughts. She turned off the tap and shooed him outside, not wanting the kids to see him. Last time, Art had pulled his tail and he’d turned around and scratched Rose, leaving long welts across her pale little arm. She looked at them now, zoned out in front of the TV, sliced up apple going brown in front of them. It was often the case, for Rose. Art would get up to something, and she would bear the brunt of it. This morning, he had happily shredded a picture she had been working on yesterday, sitting sticking on tiny bits of tissue paper blossom. He was so little, he didn’t know. Rose had patiently picked up the crumpled remains and put them in the bin, not even protesting. Such a kind girl, so understanding, thank goodness.

Wiping her hands, she turned to the fridge and started to think about dinner tonight. It had been a while since they’d had anyone over to dinner, and she was feeling a little edgy about it. Not the dinner itself, she’d just pulled out that lamb recipe that always got compliments, that was already in the oven. With some sort of pomegranate and feta salad. Except now that Caroline was a vegan perhaps without the feta, and then some of her interesting rice with bits in and, something with sweet potato? And her homemade baklava for dessert, which was already sitting on the counter far out of Art’s reach, syrup soaking through layers of filo, cooling down ready to ooze out later. They would talk about that time they’d gone to Corfu just after uni, drinking traffic light coloured cocktails and whizzing around on mopeds. She’d had that red striped bikini top. Long before the kids. Hadn’t worn a bikini in a while.

Pulling out bits from the fridge (thank goodness she’d had the foresight to buy pomegranate seeds because trying to deseed a pomegranate now would be one task too many) she called to the kids ‘last five minutes, guys’ and ran two at a time up the steps to run the bath, picking up discarded jumpers and a couple of firemen on the way. Pouring in the tangerine scented bubbles, she noticed her heart was pounding and she sat on the edge of the bath for a while, swirling her hand through the water and remembering her breathing exercises. A couple of years ago, she’d sat across from a young girl in the doctor’s office, learning about anxiety. She can’t have been long out of university that girl, but the breathing exercises were still useful. It had felt like they’d only just got started when the sessions came to an end, but they only offered six sessions and there was no way they could afford to go private. Anyway, Pete saw it as a bit of an indulgence really, therapy. Navel gazing, he thought. He wasn’t really one for talking about feelings. Said it was best just to get on with it.  But the sessions had been useful, teaching her to pause regularly during the day and check in with herself. That the feeling of rising panic she’d get didn’t mean she was going mad, but that something was telling her body that there was a threat present. Just as if a predator had come looming out of the dark, her body going into fight, flight or freeze. Usually nowadays the predator was trying to get shoes on wriggly feet, or realising there wasn’t any milk for her much-needed morning coffee, or realising Pete hadn’t done something she’d expected him to do. She’d breathe – in for 4, out for 6, and usually the panic would slowly come down again. Not always. It had helped her too to notice how often she was holding her body tight – jaw clenched, shoulders up round her ears. It amazed her to notice that. The way she could be doing Playdoh with Art and would suddenly realise her heart was thumping. In for 4, out for 6. When the sessions had finished the doctor had given her some Sertraline, because she still ticked all the boxes for anxiety and depression. They hadn’t really talked about depression, come to think of it. There hadn’t really been time. Her thoughts wandered back to Corfu. That young therapist would have looked great in her red striped bikini.

Downstairs was still silent, and she realised the programme had rolled into the next episode. Oh well, there was still time. 6pm now, if she worked backwards from when they arrived at 8pm, as long as they were out the bath by 6:30pm, that was 15 minutes for stories, hopefully they’d be settled enough by 7 and an hour would be enough to get everything else ready. Pete would be home around 7, he’d said, so he could deal with the requests for water and trips to the toilet while she got the rice and salad ready. She figured she had ten minutes, so she pulled her phone from her back pocket and sat on the toilet lid, scrolling through neutral coloured nursery photos and images of curly-haired children wearing linen dungarees. Would it be too much to buy matching pairs for the kids? She loved the unisex clothes that were available now, but she remembered the reaction she’d got when they’d turned up at her in laws with the kids in matching leggings. As her finger hovered over the ‘pay now’ button, she heard the front door open and Pete rattling through the door, wheeling his bike in. She shoved her phone back in her pocket and turned off the bath in one swift movement, suddenly feeling like she’d been caught red handed. ‘Hi!’ she said brightly as she came down the stairs, ‘you’re home!’

‘Hiya’, Pete unclipped his helmet and laid it on the table in the hall, ‘I figured you might need a hand before Caroline and Dev come, knocked off a bit early’.

She gave him a kiss, and picked up his helmet, walking past him to put it away on the porch shelves. She’d painted each of them a different colour one lazy summer day when she was pregnant with Art, Rose helping her sweep chalk paint over the wooden slats, both of them covered in pastel blue by the end of the day. Blue for a boy. She noticed they had oily fingerprints on them now, and made a mental note to give them a once over at the weekend. Her and Rose could do it together, as a bit of special time.

‘Thanks so much’, she replied, turning back to Pete, who was wiping off his forehead and heading in to see the kids. 6:15pm now, time to turn off the TV and get them upstairs, ‘come on kids! Bath time’. She walked into the TV room, where Pete was covering Rose in sweaty kisses and she was laughing, eyes still firmly fixed to the screen. Turning it off, and fielding the noisy protests, she picked up Art in a fireman’s lift and tickled him up the stairs, hoping the complaints would turn into giggles. This time, they did. She quickly stripped his clothes off, throwing them into the laundry basket and plopping him into the bath. Rose and Pete were still downstairs, laughing together, and she noticed a wave of irritation. 6:17pm. ‘Did you get the pistachios?’ she called down, but they couldn’t hear, so she shouted a bit louder – ‘Pete! Did you get the pistachios?’ Art looked up, with a beard of bubbles around his mouth. She smiled, tightly. Pete came up the stairs two at a time and popped his head around the door, ‘Shit, no sorry love’ – she jerked her head over at Art. Too late ‘Shit!’ the little boy repeated.  ‘Oops sorry, sorry love. I didn’t but I brought wine, and a few beers for me and Dev’. He disappeared again, back to Rose and hushed laughter. They always had some sort of secret, those two, little games, little plans, dark heads together. She had to stop herself feeling paranoid at times, wondering if it was her they were laughing at. Of course it wasn’t.

‘Pete’. She poked her head out the bathroom, one eye on Art, ‘Can you take over so I can get dinner finished?’ ‘Two secs’, he called back. Art was intent now on filling cups with water and pouring them out, so she pulled her phone back out, clicked the ‘Pay now’ button and then called again ‘Pete, I really want to get on with it’. ‘Alright, alright, keep your hair on’, he winked at Rose as he walked over to the bath, both still laughing and flushed in their enjoyment of each other. Grabbing a towel, he scooped Art out of the bath without warning and the little boy howled instantly, in sheer outrage. ‘You can’t just do that!’ she exploded, noticing a pulsing behind her eyes ‘he’s a human being, you have to let him know what you’re doing! It’s his body!’. As Pete retorted ‘He’s fine!’ she grabbed a flailing Art from his arms, without waiting to meet his eyes, and carried the wailing boy into the bedroom, whispering soothing words into his ears. ‘God that was worth coming home for’ she heard Pete mutter to Rose. She could almost hear the eye rolls.

It took 40 minutes to calm Art down, encourage him into pyjamas and get him into bed and asleep, hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, cheeks flushed pink. She stayed for a moment to watch him, in for 4, out for 6. A wave of exhaustion came over her. Maybe they would cancel and she could just get into that bath herself, move the toys out of the way and close her eyes.

But no. She hauled herself off the floor, and found Rose still in the bath, singing a song to herself while she poured water between cups. She noticed her heart start fluttering again – how many conversations had they had about Rose being too young to be left in the bath on her own? It would take a minute for something terrible to happen. But now wasn’t the time for that conversation, not now, not again, there wasn’t time.

‘Pete?’ she called softly, and heard him respond from Rose’s room. She poked her head around the door and found him sitting against Rose’s bed, looking at his phone. That wave of irritation rose up again but she didn’t let it out of her throat. It was going to be a nice evening. ‘Hey’, he replied ‘is Art asleep at last?’ ‘Yes, they’re coming soon and I really…’ in for 4, out for 6… ‘I really need to get the dinner finished’. ‘You do that, it’s fine, don’t worry, we’ve got ages. I can get Rose into bed’. In for 4, out for 6 ‘Ok’ she said ‘Do you think you could do that, maybe, now?’ He sighed ‘Yes, of course’. He followed her out of the room, into the bathroom and picked up a fresh towel, one of the fluffy new ones she’d been sent by her mum for her birthday. ‘Come on Rose’, he said as she started down the stairs again ‘Let’s get to bed, Daddy’s in trouble again’. Her grip tightened on the banister but she carried on down the stairs.  

In the kitchen, she put on some music and started gathering things together. Her heart stopped for a moment when she realised so far Caroline would only have rice and salad to eat, which probably wasn’t very welcoming was it, so she pulled some chickpeas out of a cupboard and started cobbling together a stew with tomatoes. Her own mum was an excellent cook, and as she shook the chickpeas into a pot she had a memory of watching her mum’s strong hands swiftly cutting a whole chicken into pieces. She pulled some paprika out of a cupboard and stirred it in, along with some dried apricots, grabbing a lid out of the drawer with her other hand. That would be ok for now, she thought. Next, salad. She took vegetables out of the fridge, yanking the sticky door that they really needed to fix, and started dicing cucumber, hands working fast, nice regular chunks that she scraped into the blue & white ceramic bowl they’d got for their wedding – a nod to Corfu. As she started chopping parsley she felt a little pride in how efficient she was, how quickly she could pull together a meal. A meal-prepping robot. She’d had enough practice since the kids came along, spending most of her life in the kitchen these days getting snacks, clearing up, cooking three meals a day for them and usually something extra for her and Pete.  She imagined them sitting at the table together this evening ‘This looks wonderful!’ they’d say. And she’d smile, but not too broadly, didn’t want to be arrogant. Effortless, that’s how it should seem.

‘Mags’ Pete called down the stairs, breaking her thoughts. ‘Rose wants you’. She froze. Quickly ran through in her head what needed to be done, and went back up the stairs. Rose was sitting up in bed, shadows under her eyes, smile on her face. ‘Mummy’, she said ‘I want you to be with me’. Not now, not now! ‘Ok poppet, of course I can be here just let me tell Daddy some things then I’ll be right back’. She ushered Pete out of the room. He looked exhausted, still in his cycling gear, hair now stuck to his head in dry spikes. She took a breath, and put her hand on his arm.

‘We’ve got about 40 minutes’, she said ‘we both need a shower, and just to finish the salad and get the rice ready, that’s it. Could you do the rice and salad and I’ll get Rose to sleep?’ ‘Of course’, he said, giving her a hug. He went into their bedroom and she heard the shower turn on.  She went back into Rose’s room and sat down on the floor by her bed. ‘Close your eyes, my love’. Rose snuggled down, and Maggie turned on her lamp, making clouds move across the ceiling.  ‘Will you sing to me, Mummy?’ Rose said. Oh. Maggie felt her shoulders drop. Her lovely Rose, who she had barely looked at for the past few hours.

‘Of course’. As she sang, she wondered how many times she had sung these same songs, first to a tiny baby struggling to breathe in an incubator, then to a baby home at last in her arms, a baby she never wanted to put down. Now to two strong, healthy children falling asleep in their own beds. Children who increasingly needed her less, who every day astonished her with their questions, their incredible imaginations, their games which spanned worlds and creatures and sometimes new languages. 7:40. She let herself stay and watch Rose as she slipped into sleep, her face relaxing, eyelashes dark against her cheeks just as they’d been since the day she was born, mouth slightly open so that you could see the new gaps in her teeth.

Maggie stood up and stretched. 15 minutes before they arrived. She sniffed her armpits. Maybe she could skip the shower. She walked into the bathroom next door, pulled the plug out of the bath (why could Pete never seem to do that?) and scooped the bath toys up, opening a window to let the moisture out. Catching herself in the mirror, she saw mascara smudged around her eyes and her hair frizzing out of her ever present ponytail. With quick, smooth movements she wiped her eyes, shook out her hair and had a quick once over the bathroom with a wet cloth to get rid of the toothpaste smears. Letting the water drain out of the bath she made a mental note to check the bath again before they arrived, particularly as they’d spend the afternoon in the woods.

The doorbell went. Shit. Shit shit shit. They were early. Who comes early anymore? In for 4, out for 6, Maggie walked down the stairs, aware of Pete clattering in the kitchen. Opening the door, she set her face into a smile ‘Hiiiii!!! SO good to see you’.

Caroline stood with a big grin on her face, thrusting a bottle of champagne towards her. Maggie felt herself relax. Caroline, with her freckled face and wild curls, her oldest friend. They’d met on the first day of school, when Maggie had been standing lost in the middle of what she remembered as an enormous room full of children, and Caroline had just taken her hand. ‘Mags! You look knackered. Come on, we’re celebrating!’ Maggie rubbed her eyes again, wondering if she’d actually washed off her mascara before or just rubbed it around her face. She took the bottle of champagne and stepped aside, as Dev leaned in for a kiss and walked into the kitchen carrying a six pack. ‘My man!’ she heard him say to Pete, followed by some loud smacks which she assumed were claps on the back.

‘What are we celebrating?’ she said to Caroline, as they walked behind him into the kitchen. Pete was standing at the counter spooning the chickpeas into a bowl. He’d set the table beautifully with a candle in the middle, the lamb smelled amazing and, as he handed her a glass of wine, she felt relief wash over her. ‘Pete!’ Caroline said ‘This looks incredible!’ He smiled at her, ‘Thanks Caz! I can’t take the credit, Mags’ effort’ Maggie smiled at him. That was nice. ‘Well it all looks amazing. Let’s open the champers first, we’re celebrating! I just heard today that we got the New York contract! I’m heading over there in a fortnight!’

As Pete whooped with excitement, Maggie felt her body go numb. She’d known it was on the cards, of course, but she hadn’t let herself think about it really happening. Caroline, who not only had been by her side through her wedding, but was the first to meet both of the children. Caroline who she called when things just felt too much, to hear her enthusiastic greeting every time she heard her voice. Caroline was always happy to hear from her, always made her feel like her days were still interesting even when all she’d done was gone to soft play. They’d both lost their own mothers since they first met, and had quietly become each other’s go-to person. But while Maggie had been desperate to become a mother herself, to create a family home filled with warmth and….life, Caroline had no interest in having children. She wanted to stay free, unencumbered. And now she would be living across the world. Free, and so very, very far away.

Caroline had been with her when she’d had to go into hospital early, leaving their lunch to usher her into a brightly lit reception and a cold hospital gown when her indigestion turned out to be too-early contractions. Lying in bed in a stark room, getting to know a damp stain on the ceiling, a useless stitch in her cervix to try and keep Rose in there a little bit longer. Caroline had sat with her, every day, in silent solidarity when Rose had been in NICU for the first weeks of her life. As Maggie had sat next to her incubator, watching that tiny body covered in wires, waiting for those all too rare opportunities when she was allowed to hold her, and try and feed her, Caroline had been there. Pete had to go back to work so quickly, but Caroline had taken weeks off to just sit. Maggie remembered seeing Caroline’s face light up when they were told, after four long weeks, that Rose could finally go home. And she remembered her tight face, sitting on the floor in Rose’s bedroom, as Maggie and Rose cried together figuring out how to be a mum and a baby without any nurses around.

Maggie couldn’t find even a glimmer of happiness for her news. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep – as she opened them she saw Caroline looking at her, tears in her eyes. ‘I know’, she said, coming close and wrapping her arms around her ‘I know’. Maggie breathed out, pleading with herself silently ‘don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry’. ‘It’s great news’, she managed to say, ‘really Caz, this is going to be so great for you’. Her words caught, and she smiled at Dev, standing over them all. ‘And what about you, Dev, where are you at with it?’ ‘I’m going too!’ he replied, beaming. ‘we’re hoping I can be part of the relocation package, I’m sorting out work from New York for now but we’re talking about whether I might be able to join Caz’s team at some point’. He put his arm around her ‘I’m just following in her wake at the moment, mate, even if I just bum around when we’re there, she can have me as a kept man for a while.’ They looked so excited. Pete caught her eye, frowning. Maggie tried to find a glow, somewhere, but her heart was lying, stony, on the kitchen floor.

Dinner passed her by. There were appreciative noises, Caz made a fuss of the chickpeas, Dev ate a huge amount of lamb. Maggie picked at hers, wondering how old the lamb had been when it was killed and who its mother was and whether she’d been sad. At one point Dev asked her about work herself, and Maggie found herself talking about different ideas she had for when Arti was a bit older. ‘It must be hard, though Mags’, Dev replied ‘I mean, all that studying and you spend your days singing nursery rhymes! Don’t you miss it?’ Maggie swallowed. ‘I do, of course I do. Some days I feel like my brain has atrophied. But there’s just no point’ her words tumbled out ‘I mean, even if I found another job, by the time we pay for nursery for both of the kids I would have literally zero money left, I’d be paying to go to work which just seems ridiculous, and I’d never really see the kids so what’s the point?’ She’d tried to go back to work when Rose was a year old, but Pete’s job was so inflexible and she’d been off all the time as Rose brought home all the new germs she was meeting at nursery. And she’d missed her. Not just missed her, she’d ached for her. So they agreed that she’d be at home, and then Art came along pretty soon after that. Had they agreed? It wasn’t really a choice, was it. ‘It just makes sense, for now at least, and I’ll never earn what Pete earns’ she noticed the familiar pang, seeing him flying in his career as she stayed in the same place. Literally the same place, moving from the kitchen to various rooms in the house, bundling up children to take on adventures then bundling them back home again. She felt that pang rise into panic, breathing in for 4, out for 6, as she pushed away thoughts about what would happen next. It would be three more years before Art was in school, and she would have the time to think about herself again. 6 years not working. Who would want her then? As she looked up, she realised the conversation had moved on to Pete’s work.

As he talked about team members, and the bonus he was waiting for, and the brilliant feedback he was getting, she pushed her chair back and went upstairs. Checking in on Rose, sleeping curled on her side around a plushy bear, her breathing slowed again. Art was in a starfish, spread across his bed, toys scattered on the floor around him. Maggie went into the bathroom, closed the door and sat on the toilet, letting her shoulders sag and her head hang down. She sat there for a few moments, her forehead practically on her knees, hands curled into fists, allowing her thoughts to race. Hearing plates being cleared downstairs, she stood up quickly, flushed the toilet and splashed water on her face again. She noticed a ring of grimy brown lining the bath, soap scum stuck on to a rubber duck. She ignored it, heading back down the stairs.

They were getting out clean plates, and the kettle was boiling. Dev was standing, holding her baklava. As she walked in, Dev asked ‘it is honey in here, isn’t it Mags?’ She nodded. Caroline looked at Pete ‘I told you, it’s fine I’ll just have a cuppa, I’m stuffed’. Dev placed the baklava in the centre of the table as Pete laughed. ‘Mags, you idiot! I can’t believe you forgot. Caroline can’t have honey, remember? Honey isn’t vegan’.

Maggie walked over to the kettle and started making a pot of tea. Hands moving swiftly, purposefully, a tea making machine. Tea bags in the teapot, cups down from the shelf. Blue and white, a nod to Corfu. In for 4, out for 6.

This is the first in a collection of short stories about women and girls, and the ordinary impactful moments we deal with every day. I’d love your feedback, it’s fairly unedited and all opinions are welcome