Free The Flood by Maggie Gee Page A

skin and dark curly hair. Sometimes when she looked at Franklin, his powerful body reminded her of Thomas … but these were thoughts that she had to suppress before they leaked through and infected Elroy.
    Today she was too tired to watch the bath. As she was washing up the tea-things, Elroy came home. He took off his jacket, called ‘Hello’, and stood in the doorway to the kitchen. ‘Kiss,’ he said. ‘I need a kiss.’
    She pecked his cheek and asked, ‘How was your day?’
    ‘Oh, usual problems. There’s water in the basement. It might affect the electrical systems. I’m dealing with it.’ He was faintly dismissive. These days he didn’t bring his problems home. ‘Where are the boys?’ he asked, more warmly.
    ‘They’re in the bath.’
    ‘They’re early, then.’
    ‘Yes, there wasn’t any school today. I took them to the zoo.’ She didn’t add, ‘I went to college, and left the boys with Kilda in the Towers, and she may have taken them God knows where.’
    He nodded, approving of her as a mother, which made Shirley feel fraudulent. ‘What’s for dinner?’ he asked, commandeering the paper she’d meant to read after washing up.
    ‘I didn’t know you were coming home. I ate with the boys. But I’ll fix you something.’ Shirley was tired, and her voice was reluctant, though she loved Elroy, and the wifely part of her thought her husband deserved a hot supper after working all day in the hospital. Why couldn’t he ring, though, and give her some warning?
    ‘It’s OK,’ said Elroy, picking up her tone, turning away abruptly and making for the hall. ‘I might ring Colin. We’ll pick up some food.’
    Which meant they would stay out till midnight.
    He didn’t sound annoyed, just resigned; she was often tired when he came home.
    Too tired to talk, or make him supper, but not too tired to study, she thought. She heard him talking on the phone. Then he dipped back into the kitchen, and smiled. ‘I’m going to go say hello to the boys. I’ll get them into their pyjamas.’
    ‘Take Winston Bendy Rabbit, will you?’ Winston adored his Bendy Rabbit. Much of life consisted in re-uniting them. Elroy took it through, waggling its ears at her.
    She was left by the draining-board feeling guilty. Her mum had always cooked tea for her dad; it would be waiting when he came in from the park, and they ate together, at the little table; the children were fed earlier and shooed out of the way, for it was understood that Dad came home exhausted. And afterwards he always said ‘Thank you, May,’ and sank into his armchair for a read of the paper. And then she would wash up, and come and join him. They sat there, silent, in a circle of light. Somewhere, surely, they must still be sitting there, lit by the table lamp, stooped companionably …
    Where? She would never go home again.
    And it wasn’t perfect – Dad could be a bastard, and look at Mum now, so slight, so tiny, as if she only half exists, without him.
    Shirley wasn’t May, and Elroy wasn’t Alfred, and twins were tiring, and so was study.
    Mum never managed to do a degree. I do my best, Shirley thought, as so often. She wiped the surfaces, washed the cloth, and went into the sitting-room to read her textbook, thinking, if I keep quiet, Elroy might do the boys’ bed-time.
    Slowly the domestic fog slipped away and her mind began to tune into pleasure. Culture, to Shirley, still meant the far continent, the world away from this flooded city. Elegant voices, silver architecture, long straight roads, a world of luxury –
    Though Shirley and Elroy were far from poor. She was a wealthy widow when she married him; Elroy, who had then been younger, less established, had a new job now, more money, more status, high up in hospital management. Both of them had grown busier, older. The relationship had changed, but then, Mum said that children always changed a relationship. ‘One day they’ll be gone, and then you’ll miss them.’
    Briefly, Shirley