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that made her sound
jealous of Rose. But it was a relief to be yelling, words
piling out of her mouth, an avalanche of the stored-up
frustrations of the last weeks. Everyone had been
stepping carefully round her mother as if she was a
house of cards that would collapse in a heap if you
breathed too hard. Perhaps it was time someone
shouted loudly enough to rouse Kathy and make her
realize what she was doing.
    But Charlie had heard Sean trying, and should have
known it was useless. Her mother seemed to
have passed through some boundary to a place
unreachable by logic, reason or any amount of
emotional pleading.
    'I know,' she said vaguely, 'and I'm sorry, but—'
    'But what? Never mind but ! Go after Sean and fetch
him back! Do you really want him to go, for good?'
    Kathy considered. 'Yes. I think I do. It's for the best.'
    'Well, I don't! Mum, please . . .'
    Her mother turned and stared at her coldly. 'Please
don't harangue me, Charlie. It's not as if Sean's your
father.'
    Charlie was so infuriated by this that she couldn't
answer at all, the words choking themselves off in her
throat. She served the spaghetti, tipping it in careless
dollops, splashing the sauce. She did three platefuls,
putting one in the oven for Sean in case he came back.
No, he wasn't her father ; he was better than her real
father, who'd cleared off when she was two. That
didn't mean she wasn't entitled to care whether he
stayed or not.
    'I can't eat this,' her mother said.
    'No, neither can I.' Charlie looked helplessly
at the two plates, then shoved them in the oven
with the third one, just to get them out of sight.
    Sean came back, and late into the night Charlie
tried not to hear the discussion on the other side of
the bedroom wall. She was frightened by this new
version of her mother, this person who had shrunk
deep into herself and couldn't be reached. Her
mother had always been calm, organized, hardworking
– above all, approachable. She had been
good at listening to Charlie, talking about problems
and uncertainties. Now, Charlie hardly knew how to
speak to her.
    Perhaps, Charlie thought, when she goes back to
work, things will be more normal.
    But Kathy had other ideas. A few days later she
announced her intention of resigning from her
Head of History at Charlie's school, selling the
house and moving out to a village. It was her way of
giving Sean a final ultimatum. Move out. Find
somewhere else to live. The house was hers, not
Sean's.
    Charlie had another attempt at reasoning with her.
'But Mum! You like your job! Suppose you can't find
another one? It's stupid to change everything . . .'
    Kathy was in one of her iceberg moods. 'Changing
everything is exactly what I want to do. Call it mid-life
crisis if you like. I'm not going back to school. I've
done it long enough.'
    'But you were so pleased to get that promotion!
And you've only been Head of Department for two
years.'
    'Doesn't mean I want to do it for ever. I've had
enough of the National Curriculum and being blamed
for everything that's wrong in the world. And of sulky
teenagers. And their tedious parents. And classrooms
and bus duties and spending hours each weekend on
marking and preparation. There are other ways to
spend my life, thank you.'
    'But – what about money ?' Charlie persisted. 'I
mean, at least teaching pays you – what will you do
without the money?'
    Her mother gave her a scathing look. 'Do stop
going on and on about money, Charlie. It isn't the
most important thing in life, you know.'
    'Perhaps not, but we still need it! What are we going
to live on?'
    'I've got that money my grandfather left me, from
the house sale. Enough to get me started. It gives
me the chance, Charlie, and I'm going to take it. Can't
you understand? I need to make a change, and now's
the time. I'm not staying as I am for another twenty
years or more, working myself into the ground. If we
can't manage – well, then I can go back to teaching.
I've got to give it a try.'
    Sean found himself a flat