Free The New Woman by Charity Norman

found God in her fifties. Nothing wrong with finding God, of course. Simon was all for it, in theory. The problem was that Wendy had always been neurotic and self-obsessed, and her new hotline to the Almighty seemed to have made her worse.
    She sprang out of the car, wearing a flowered skirt and a necklace that looked like a daisy chain. ‘Hello, everyone!’ she called. ‘Isn’t this lovely?’
    And there was Dad, stooping to pick up his grandson. Nico had an arm around his neck and his legs around his waist, gabbling on about the plane they were going to make together.
    Thank God, thought Simon in relief. Dad’s home.

Eight
    Simon
    It should have been a perfect family day. The kitchen table had been set for lunch, with the folding doors opened right out so that they were practically sitting in the garden. From here they could see the new tree, now planted close to Charlotte’s.
    The death of his baby sister was Simon’s earliest memory: a grey, sad time when excitement turned into tears and silence. He sometimes wondered whether his life would have been different if she’d lived. Perhaps she would have been a friend to him in his teenage years. He could have done with one.
    His mother brought out the highchair for Nico. He climbed in and perched in splendour, looking like an umpire at Wimbledon.
    ‘Please, can Eyelash and Grandpa sit next to me?’ he asked, pointing at the seats on each side. ‘Eyelash here , and Grandpa here .’
    ‘That chair used to be mine,’ said Simon, as his parents took their allotted seats. ‘You made it, didn’t you, Dad?’
    His father smiled, but he seemed distracted. ‘I did.’
    A breeze lifted the edges of the lace cloth, carrying in the heavy scent of oilseed rape from Gareth’s crop. Someone—Eilish, Simon guessed—had arranged a bowl of roses as a centrepiece for the table. They were creamy yellow; fallen petals lay scatteredon the lace. The scene could have been an advertisement for air freshener.
    ‘This is so Home and Garden ,’ said Wendy. ‘You are clever, Eilish. Everything you do is effortlessly beautiful.’
    Eilish barely managed an answer. She’d caught a bad cold, apparently, and was feeling lousy. Simon could see that she was wearing more make-up than usual, but it didn’t hide how bloody ill she looked. His father had the bug too. The pair of them were behaving like zombies. Simon hoped Nico wouldn’t come down with it.
    Wendy’s remark was followed by silence. Even Nico temporarily stopped chattering as he drove his Jeep along the back of his chair. Simon hated awkward silences. He found them . . . well, awkward.
    ‘Four generations around the table!’ he gushed, rubbing his hands together. ‘That makes you an uber matriarch, Granny.’
    ‘Makes you an uber prat,’ said Kate. She was smiling, though. He nudged her ribs with his elbow. She nudged him back, a bit harder. They’d done a fair bit of elbow-nudging over the years.
    ‘Children, children,’ chided Meg, just before he felt Kate kick him in the shin. Childhood games. Kate might be a pain in the backside, but she was his sister.
    They were all about to tuck in when Aunt Wendy cleared her throat. ‘Aren’t we going to thank our great provider for this bounty?’ She closed her eyes and held out her hands to each side. A joyous smile played across her mouth. One of her neighbours was Kate, the other Luke, and both kept their hands resolutely out of her reach.
    ‘Off you go then,’ said Meg indulgently. ‘But get a move on, Wendy, love, because I’m starving and would quite like to make a start on the bounty.’
    ‘Grandpa, will the plane really fly?’ asked Nico, speaking around the sausage he’d managed to sneak into his mouth.
    ‘Shush.’ Luke tickled his hand. ‘Shush for ten ticks, while we say a prayer.’
    Wendy wasn’t quick, though Simon had to admit she was thorough. She offered thanks for their loving family, for their safe journeys, for permitting them all to live