LITMIR.BIZ

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soundproofing.’

      ‘I’m not being sexist. I’m being accurate.’ Ben winks at me and I throw a balled-up napkin at him. ‘The women in our family are more garrulous and the men more circumspect, on the whole.’ Although not right now. Liam seems determined to make his point. Ben is walking the thin line of taking him seriously and yet fuelling the debate that would be better closed down. ‘We work in a world full of clichés and assumptions but there’s nothing wrong with that. Those things are stabilising, helpful. We need to be able to categorise and order,’ adds Ben.

      Liam shrugs because he can’t bring himself to agree. He’s too young for such heavy-handed certainty. He still sees nuance and complication everywhere. His world is delightfully in flux. ‘I bet you never relied on cliché, Abigail, when you were interviewing and stuff,’ Liam declares. I smile inwardly. He may be feeling argumentative with his parents but he’s remembered to be polite to our guest.

      ‘I’m sure I’m guilty of slipping one in on several occasions,’ admits Abi, diplomatically.

      ‘Abi used to be a TV presenter in the States,’ I explain to Tanya, in case Liam hasn’t told her.

      ‘Less of the past tense, if you please,’ says Abi. I can hear that she’s trying to sound amused but isn’t.

      ‘Oh, sorry,’ I mutter, colouring.

      ‘You’ve gone red,’ Imogen points out, unnecessarily.

      ‘It makes the stripe in your hair look totally and absolutely white,’ declares Lily. I want to kill her.

      Instead I run my fingers through my hair and try to sound unconcerned. ‘I meant to pick up a kit yesterday when I was in town but work was hectic; I only got a thirty-minute lunch break.’

      ‘A kit?’ asks Abi. Then she understands. ‘Oh. Wow. Do you dye your own hair?’ Her tone is incredulous. I’m embarrassed but maybe my expression comes across as one of irritation because Abi quickly changes her tone. ‘Oh my God, that is so impressive. I honestly thought you must pay a fortune in some fancy salon. You look amazing.’

      I do not enjoy the process of dying my hair. I don’t like the smell or the waiting around, plus I’d like to be the sort of woman who can afford to go to a salon for the job, but mostly I feel cheated that I’m already turning grey, even though I’m still in my thirties. It doesn’t seem right. Grey hair is for grandmas and I am nowhere near that stage. No rush at all. I’ve no desire to age gracefully; I do what I can to push back the inevitable.

      Tanya, bless her, picks up the conversation. She asks the girls which is their favourite Disney song. Soon, everyone joins in. My grey hair and home dye kits are forgotten as people shout out, ‘Let it Go,’ ‘A Whole New World’, ‘Circle of Life’.

      The rest of the lunch passes without incident. My sore head is easing but probably only because I’ve had two glasses of wine.

      ‘A Sunday roast: just what the doctor ordered,’ comments Abi as she puts her knife and fork together and leans back in her chair. This is the first hint she’s given that she might have been even a tiny bit hungover; I’m in awe, she’s superwoman. She’s the last to finish – she had the most stories to tell and besides, she eats the tiniest bites. Lily and Imogen have been waiting patiently, nailed to their seats through years of training that you can’t leave the table until everyone finishes. Lily immediately seizes the opportunity to hop down from her seat and climb on Liam’s lap. I see Tanya melt when he wraps his big arms around his tiny sprite of a sister. Lily likes sitting on his knee because when the adult conversation gets too boring for her to follow, but she doesn’t feel ready to slink off on her own, he keeps her amused by whispering in her ears. Silly jokes and sounds that send her off into peals of giggles.

      ‘I was wondering, how long are you staying, Abigail?’ Ben’s question is shot over the clatter of my gathering up the used plates. I shoot him a quick look of reproach, one I hope he sees but no one else does. He doesn’t catch it because he’s determined not to; he’s staring at Abi, not me. He’s smiling. He looks affable enough. There’s only me who would know he’s asking her to pack her bags. I get it. I know what he’s thinking – it’s been a fun weekend but tomorrow is Monday, we should get back to being normal. ‘We have a busy week ahead of us,’ he adds, as though it’s a simple observation.

      Abi smiles – if she’s picked up on his hint, she doesn’t seem bothered by it. ‘Really? What’s going down?’

      Ben must have checked the family calendar before we sat down to eat because he rattles off our commitments with impressive confidence. ‘It’s Imogen’s Brownie investiture.’ Abi pulls her face into a picture of awe to show she’s impressed, Immie beams back, thrilled to be centre of attention. ‘Lily has a school trip to a working farm and Mel is a parent volunteer, so is going along too.’ Abi gasps excitedly and claps her hands in glee, as though she can’t imagine anything more fun. ‘Liam needs to practise for his internship interview.’ Ben’s list obviously isn’t simply a point of information; he’s hinting she needs to get out of our hair. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I wish he’d drop it. ‘Mel has also got an extra shift to do at the shop because she needs to make up the time from Friday.’

      ‘OK Ben.’ He’s being rude now.

      ‘And I’m in the middle of a big audit at work.’ He turns to look at me, reminding me of as much, I suppose. I assumed Abi would stay for the weekend but she hasn’t made any noise about catching a train tonight or tomorrow. I suppose we do need to know her plans so that we can make our own, but I can’t stand the idea of shooing her out the house.

      ‘I haven’t quite decided,’ says Abi. ‘Mel, so sweetly, said I could stay as long as I needed.’

      ‘Of course, you’re so welcome,’ I gush. I mean this, at the same time as I know it really isn’t a helpful thing to say. I throw Ben a look that’s begging for his understanding. He relents.

      ‘Yes, absolutely. I’m just saying we’ve a very busy week next week. I hope you don’t think we’re rude if we’re not around too much to look after you.’

      ‘Not at all,’ Abi assures him with the broadest smile. It’s inscrutable. ‘I’m pretty self-sufficient. So, Liam, what is this internship?’

      ‘I’m hoping to work in the Houses of Parliament.’

      ‘Wow.’

      ‘But it’s really competitive.’

      ‘Well, you are gorgeous and principled and have the confidence to question your parents’ passive, institutionalised sexism – I’d say you’ll cut through the competition.’

      ‘Abi!’ I squeal, laughing as I know she’s joking. Liam reddens.

      ‘Just kidding.’ She turns back to Liam, ‘Maybe I could help with the interview practice,’ Abi offers.

      ‘Really?’ I ask.

      ‘I’m not saying I’m an expert but . . . ’ she laughs. ‘But my entire career is based on interviewing people. I do know how to carefully solicit particular information, even when a person doesn’t want to give it.’ She beams encouragingly at Liam; he’s looking at the table. ‘I know how to then present that information to make someone look erudite, original. I can coach you.’

      Of course she’s an expert. This is great news. What an advantage. I glance at Liam to see if he hates the idea of Abigail helping but he shrugs, seemingly OK with the suggestion. I have a feeling Abi might be able to provide the zing and edge; help him stand out. I’m grateful.

      ‘That’s so kind,’ I gush.

      ‘Well that’s settled then, I’ll stay until after Liam’s interview,’ she says enthusiastically.

      I daren’t look at Ben – the interview is not until the week after next. Instead I say, ‘Now who’s for pudding?’

      ‘Oh, me please, I can diet tomorrow,’ Abi says

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