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At the back of the wardrobe, the jacket zip glints shiny and silver. She gropes through old coats, toppling over some shoe boxes that are in the way. They fall at her feet, scattering things from their old life back in the city. It would be better to throw it all away, start again completely. But what about when Esther is older? She already wants to know so much, to possess her mother’s thoughts completely.
At last she feels the soft leather sleeve is in her grasp, but as she pulls the jacket toward her something soft brushes against her cheek. Startled, she ducks her head. Darkness all around. Then it darts into the periphery of her vision. Grey and gold. Fine, like a movement of light. She flings her arm back and thrusts her open palm at the creature, crashing it into wardrobe door that wobbles and vibrates with the impact. She stands for a few seconds waiting for the door to still before taking a peek. The moth’s wings are flat on the white melamine. The body has opened up, leaving a faint smear beneath the wings. It has left an imprint on her palm too. Like a shadow of itself, she thinks. She feels a little smug at the smoothness of the kill, if only someone were here to congratulate her. But Esther is at school, busy with the things that occupy precocious eight-year-olds. Besides, she would act unimpressed; roll her eyes, make some comment about how animals are sentient beings. Abby will keep this small victory a secret. Catching her breath, she wipes the smudge on her hand away on the back of her jeans. She kicks the boxes back in the wardrobe, retrieves the leather jacket and heaves the wardrobe door shut. There are bound to be more in there, little beasts.
Tidy life, tidy mind. Abby likes the expression. She tries to live it. She tries. Every day before work the breakfast things are cleared, the washing hung, and the sofa plumped. It is a ritual that she must follow, or the day will go awry in some way. Looking for the jacket has slowed her down. She doesn’t need it either, she tells herself, tossing Esther’s’ barely touched breakfast in the bin. She looked for it on a whim; an attempt to connect with her old self. Sliced strawberries in a soup of yoghurt fall on top of carrot shavings and last nights’ pasta. What a waste. She shouldn’t have said anything to Esther, because that’s how the row started that morning.
‘Strawberries used to be your favourite,’ she had said, her back to her daughter as she loaded the dishwasher.
Esther stirred the yoghurt with the back of her spoon. ‘My tastebuds must have changed.’
Was she pouting? Abbey slammed the washer door closed.
Abby started to butter half a bagel, surreptitiously looking up warning signs of anorexia on her phone. Her screensaver is a picture of them fruit picking last summer after they moved to Manbury. They had stuffed their faces with soft fruits, laughing until their bellies ached.
‘Eat this,’ Abby slid a plate across the table with the bagel on it. ‘Then it’s time to get dressed for school. And take that jumper off.’
‘Can’t I wear it over my shirt?’
‘Of course not. It’s not uniform, Est.’
‘It is chilly. You wanted to put the heating on last night.’ That was true, but they couldn’t afford to have heating on at the beginning of September. Esther shivered theatrically, bit into the bagel.
Abby was relieved to see her eat. But God, she did look thin. The threadbare jumper, with chewed cuffs and holes at the elbows, couldn’t disguise it. Was that why she wore it all the time, hiding the signs?
‘I did say that. But you know you’ll be in trouble if you don’t wear full uniform.’ Abby had begun to feel troubled about her Esther’s attachment to the jumper. It went everywhere with her; weekends at her Dads’, stay-overs at friends. Lately she even took it to bed with her. ‘It’s falling apart at the seams. It belongs in the bin.’
This had caused Esther to dump the half-chewed beigel and flee to her room. Abby waited until they were downstairs putting coats on and tried to wrestle it off her one last time. Esther marched off, tears in her eyes, but she threw the jumper behind her in the hall.
‘You are acting like a baby, it’s only a top! Is that what you want people to think, that you are a cry-baby?’ The words sounded mean, floating in the clear morning air.
‘I don’t care what people think, you care what people think,’ Esther replied.
By the time they reached school things were calmer. Abby pulled her scarf up over her face, she couldn’t bare having to say hello to anyone. Especially the cashmere mums, with their neat hair and too-white smiles. Placing Esther’s school bag over her shoulder she leant down and stroked her cool cheek.
‘Can we go to Lala’s later?’
Abby pretended to think about it. ‘I don’t know.’
Esther pouted and batted her eyes.
‘Maybe.’
Esther’s eyes sparkled green and needy, like Abby’s.
‘I’ll ask Sapphire.’ Abby lied, and chewed her bottom lip until the flesh broke, and her daughter had disappeared into the building.
Chores done, Abby sits at the kitchen table, opens a packet of ginger nut biscuits and turns on her laptop. She bats away a reminder about the energy bill and nibbles a biscuit. The job is a wallpaper design for a company that supplies big retailers. Rows of swallow-like birds cross over forming a diamond pattern. She is meticulous in her work, spending ours changing the a shade so that it complements the others. The background turns silver-grey, a lilac tint is added to the birds’ feathers. The colours will fit neutral schemes. Not her personal taste, but commercial. A cheesy tune comes on the radio. Footsteps on the dancefloor, remind me baby of you. Teardrops in my eyes, next time I’ll be true. The leather jacket looks at her from where she slung it on the back of a chair. She flips to a different a station, dunks a biscuit in her tea.
The jumper. Why can’t she stop fixating on it? It was their first Christmas in the flat, when a parcel arrived from a distant aunt. There was home-made jam, a Dundee cake, a red woolly jumper and a card containing a cheque (sensing what was inside the envelope, Abby accidentally tore it in her rush to read the amount). On the card was a picture of a traditional nativity scene, pregnant Mary looking for safety in the desert. In spindly writing, the aunt enquired into Esther health and education. Signing off with:
I hope the jumper will keep Esther cosy. It was knitted by a fascinating new member at our craft group. I mentioned your unfortunate circumstances, and she produced this beauty in just three days!
The cheek, she hardly knew the old lady. Abby pictured the two old women, cackling away about her over cake. She tossed the card in the bin and ran to bank the cheque before they closed for the holidays. She had expected Esther to hate the jumper, with its lopsided snowflake on front and thick yarn. But when she came home from a sleep-over at Lala’s, she seemed enchanted by it. lopsided snowflake on the front. She laughed the bubbling, addictive giggle that Abby reminded Abby of her baby years. It was only a jumper! She shouldn’t let it come between them. After all anger, as she had learned in therapy, was really fear out of place.
When there is nothing else to add to the design, she starts searching for moth sprays. A website specialising in pest extermination shows pictures of devastated wool carpets, velvet curtains and once-gorgeous sofas, dotted with holes. The culprit, Abby reads, is named Tineola bisellialla. Otherwise known as the common clothes moth. It is just one of more than 19,500 species of moth around the world. The number seems terrifyingly large. But they are not all the same, moths. The larvae of the Bombyx mori produce silk. Odd, she thinks, that one species destroys, while the other creates. The biselliela love dark places, like wardrobes. She shudders at the thought of them, multiplying in the dim corners of her bedroom. They love wool and cashmere. Items she values and cannot afford to replace. She reads on, deciding it best to know her enemy, the better to destroy it. This genus start off as an egg, which after a few weeks becomes larvae that can spend months or even years developing into pupae, before hatching into adults. Complete metamorphosis. But the moth she killed does not chew clothes. The feeding takes place at the larval stage. Female adult moths rarely fly. So, it was probably a male that Abby caught. She looks at her palm, there is still a faint mark on the heel of her hand.
It is almost pick up time and her tea has turned stone cold, but the design is far from ready. She will work on it while Esther is away at her Dads’. Because neither of them drive, handover is at at a train station, equidistant between their respective homes. They will need to leave early for the train in the morning. He always chooses the most inconvenient time. She grabs the jumper from the communal hall and runs up the two and a half flights to Esther’s room to pack her weekend bag. Quickly, she examines the jumper for tell-tale signs, the sticky mat larvae leave behind. Nothing. But she is certain the odious jumper is the source of the infestation. Didn’t she take it to her Dads’ last month? He still lives like a student, playing at being an artist. She came home smelling of weed last time, her clothes musty and unwashed. Or what about the old lady knitted it, could she have put a curse on them? Abby throws things in the bag, hop-stepping over clothes and books on the floor, dodging glitter that has spilled from a jar. With a great effort, she chucks the jumper on a high shelf. Hopefully, out of Esther’s reach.
She zips up her leather jacket and snaps the buttons closed. Knots a headscarf over her dyed red hair. No point in trying to fit in with the other mums. They can see through her anyway, like a sheet of ice. The afternoon is sunny and cool. Manbury looks pretty. It has become popular with middle-class townies who can work from home. They came for the train links to the city, the nice parks and the cheap houses prices. Then they colonised the High Street, opening expensive baby boutiques and organic food shops. Everything Abby had to escape. She had an innocent childhood. She wants the same for Esther, but she fears that her daughter has inherited her rebelliousness. The knack for self-sabotage; the rage that made her throw the Dundee cake from her Aunt against the wall that Christmas Eve. The crumbs and pieces of fruit had tasted sweet through her tears.
Parents are clustered at the school gate, talking about weekend plans. The atmosphere is febrile and excited.
‘Where have you been hiding?’ Sapphire’s eyes light on the leather jacket. She has red lipstick on that emphasises her fantastic lips.
Abby smiles. Surely Sapphire can see though her too? ‘I’m not hiding. I’ve got a contract at the moment. Been keeping my head down. You know.’
Sapphire and her husband were her first friends when she arrived in Manbury with Esther, a little withdrawn and wary. They are her only friends, in fact.
‘It’s Fri-day,’ Sapphire jolts her arm, her faux fur coat is soft and tickly. ‘Any plans?’
‘Esther is away tomorrow.’ Abby bites her lip again, tasting blood.
‘Come to mine? Pizza, wine, kids in front of the telly.’ Sapphire knows Abby gets tense when Esther goes away.
She is being so nice. Treacherous Abby.
A rush of children swarm toward them, interrupting the conversation. Neat black shoes, grey tights and coloured jackets. Esther’s long brown hair is in bunches. She fights the urge to ask why she has changed the plaits she had in this morning.
Thinking of the good wine and guilty about their row, she whispers to Esther, ‘What do you think Est? Pizza at Lala’s house?’
Esther turns and throws her arms into Sapphire’s coat, ‘Yay! I love your house.’
Abby looks away until the embrace is over. Hand-in-hand, the two girls run fast in the direction of Sapphire’s place.
‘They are so tall. How did that happen,’ Abby says.
‘I can’t bare it!’ Sapphire beams. Her facial expressions frequently contradict her words, making her hard to read. ‘Can you believe her brother Cassius is a teenager already? Doesn’t even know we’re alive. I’m just a washing machine, cook and cleaner – you know.’
Abby laughs. Sapphire hasn’t worked since Lala was born.
‘You know we’ve been looking in to freezing my eggs. I am so broody.’
‘Really?’ Abby looks at her, ‘Is Ali up for that?’
‘He hasn’t said no. Anyway, who cares? It’s me who’s gonna do all the work. Us women end up do everything, right? Look at you, school runs, doctors’ appointments. It’s unpaid labour. And you, supposed to support yourself!’
‘Right.’ They are both feminists, they agree on the important stuff. ‘Aren’t there dangers? With the age of the eggs…’
‘How is the Bastard Ex?’
‘Ummm.’
Abby realises this evening is probably a mistake and tries to think of an excuse to go home. There is packing to do, her commission. But it is too late. They are turning the corner to Sapphires. The girls are already at the house, a double fronted Victorian with wisteria over the door, a squeaky front gate. They are performing some sort of dance routine in the front garden, with Esther following Lala’s instructions.
‘I need your designer eye,’ Sapphire says, happy to drop the previous subject. She shrugs her coat onto the floor as they enter. The girls fall acrobatically over the sofa in the front room. Abby follows Sapphire into the kitchen. A bottle of wine and two glasses are produced. ‘Shall I do the kitchen red? Or would that be too much?’
Abby glances around at the black cabinets, gold fixtures and grungy walls. Sapphire has a distinct style, and she is in the habit of updating her interiors frequently.
‘It could be overpowering.’ Abby takes her drink. ‘These goblets are nice.’
‘I know, you can fit more in,’ Sapphire winks and settles herself on the other side of the broad kitchen table, glass in her hand. She pours some crisps into a bowl. ‘I shouldn’t eat these, but.’ She bites a large crisp and groans. ‘By the way, you are looking hot right now mama. Seeing anyone?’
Abby winces and swallows some wine. ‘I was. It didn’t work out. It’s fine.’
Sapphire tips her head to the side, a frown creases her pretty forehead.
Abby must not drink too much. ‘Esther doesn’t need the disruption, she needs stability.
I’ve made enough mistakes.’
Sapphire nods, encouraging.
‘I’m worried how the split has affected her. She gets these obsessions. It’s hard to
know if it’s a real problem, or just me projecting. When she goes away, I feel crazy with worry.’ Saying it aloud, Abby hears the lie. She feels lonely, that’s all. ‘I don’t trust him to look after her. I wasn’t perfect. She saw things she shouldn’t have – ‘
The backdoor opens. Ali’s tall frame fills the door. Seeing Abby, he almost retreats back down the steps to the garden.
‘Darling. Look who’s here!’ Sapphire throws her arms up and grabs him around the waist. ‘It’s been ages, right? Doesn’t she look great?’
‘Great,’ he says, leaning to peck his wife on the cheek. Politely, he moves around the table and does the same to Abby. ‘What a nice surprise.’
‘Haven’t you got that friend, Jez? Jem? Divorced. I see a blind date in my crystal ball.’
‘I know who you mean.’ Ali stretches, showing his upper arm muscle beneath his t-shirt. ‘Nice guy, could you date a golf man, Abby?’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ Sapphire follows Ali with her eyes as he goes over to the fridge, ‘He’s loaded, right? Runs that construction company, drives a Merc.’ Sapphire widens her eyes at Abby.
Ali opens a beer and takes a pull, keeping his back to them.
Abby says, ‘I’m interested, hook me up.’
‘Got to get back to my shed. I’ve got some more calls to make while the US are still up.’
Usually, Abby would make a joke about Ali’s job in FinTech, how obscure and boring it is, but instead she turns the base of her glass in her hand, watching her distorted expression reflected in the glass.
‘When you’re done, will you go for pizzas? San Marco don’t deliver, and it’s got to be sourdough.’
‘Course. The girls are staying, right?’
Abby smiles. Her hands are shaking. She wants to finish this drink.
He squeezes Sapphire’s shoulder on the way out. Sapphire rolls her eyes, all work, work, work with that one. The sound of the telly floats from the living room. Abby cannot tell what the show is about. Something fluffy, with gender conforming representations of girls, knowing Lala’s taste.
When they have finished eating, and drinking more of the nice wine, Ali sits down to join them.
‘I’ve got to go,’ Abby says quickly, pleased to see him. ‘I’ll get Esther.’
‘Let me walk you, it’s late,’ he says.
Sapphire waves her over to where she is lounging on the sofa. They hug goodbye. Her lipstick has bled to the corners of her mouth, her body feels warm and giving, but Abby does Abby catch something in the tail of her eye?
The streets are black and eerily still. Ali makes jokes. He pretends to be a bear and chases Esther up the hill to their house. She plays along. She likes Ali, everyone does.
‘I’ll wait,’ he says at the door.
Abby walks Esther up the stairs and tells her to brush her teeth. She gives her mother a long look before she goes up one more flight to the bathroom.
Ali is leaning on the door frame, half in and half out.
‘I can pretend it never happened.’ She says, going to close the door.
‘What if I can’t?’ he jams it open with his foot.
‘Fuck off, Ali. You’re happy. You’re having another baby, so I hear.’
‘No!’ He looks surprised. Then, ‘That’s just… sorry. The last thing I want is anyone to get hurt.’
They are standing very close. His stubble has grown and she wants to reach out and touch it.
‘Mummy!’
‘One second darling!’ Abby pulls the door too and stands on the step. ‘Ali, our daughters are best friends.’
‘If that’s what you want. But I can help. Like we talked about – do you want some money. Do you need some?’
She wishes she could shut the door, never think about him again. But it is too late for that.
‘Is that how this works.’
He pulls a roll of notes from his pocket. He must have gotten the cash when he picked up the pizzas. She hates him. But there is no question of him asking for it back. She puts her hand out. The light in the hall flickers, their hands come up apart. It was something flying past the bulb. Is that Esther? She can feel her. But when she goes back in the hall for a look, no-one is at the top of the stairs.
‘Tomorrow. I’ll be alone all evening.’ She pushes him away and closes the door. He stands for a minute, a shadow in the streetlight behind the glass.
Water is running, she must be in the brushing her teeth. Maybe she didn’t see anything.
‘Straight to bed after this Est,’ Abby says. Pushes the bathroom door and stops.
A huge brown wingspan fills the wall above where Esther is standing over the sink. The brown wings are lightly furred, dappled with a blue-black pattern. Two white rings like huge eyes in the centre of each wing stare at her. She can make out some of the face, almost feline. Esther is examining her teeth in the mirror, oblivious. She has either not noticed or is not bothered about the giant insect hovering above. Abby moves forward, instinctively reaching for her daughter. The antennae twitch. It sees her, or senses her. She stops halfway into the room, afraid of provoking the creature.
‘Come out, Est. That’s enough.’
‘But I haven’t washed my face.’
‘Doesn’t matter now.’ Abby controls her voice; she does not want to sound afraid. But she is. ‘Hurry up, I said.’
In the bedroom Abby rushes Esther into her pyjamas and under the covers.
‘You know where you are going tomorrow.’
‘Dad’s,’ Esther rolls her eyes. ‘It’s OK, Mum. Don’t be scared. I always come back, don’t I?’
‘You better.’ Abby’s voice is shaky. But when they embrace, her heartbeat slows to normal. She strokes her daughters’ hair. The girl grips on to her and whispers that she loves her.
On the way to her own room, she gently closes the bathroom door without looking in. She puts the cash in her knicker drawer and undresses quickly. In her jean pocket she finds the cedar wood pellets that Sapphire gave her; she doesn’t use chemicals, natural products work just as well and just deter moths. Heavy-headed and dry-mouthed, Abby falls fast asleep, picturing a can of moth spray she forgot about that is under the kitchen sink.
Abby wakes in the dark, desperate to piss. She opens the bathroom door a crack. There is the bath, the towel rail and tiny cabinet. Finally, the sink. The giant moth is gone. After the toilet, she douses her face with water and looks at her reflection. It looks distorted, like in the wine glass. Esther was right. Abby laughs and tells herself, Don’t be scared. In the kitchen she opens her laptop. She starts work on the pattern. If she can finish the design this morning, the whole weekend will be hers, she will be free to spend time with Ali. To do what she wants. The moth could not have been real, it must be something Abby imagined.
She feels alive with ideas. The bird wings become a natural brown; the feathers more detailed. She adds branches with white blossoms for the birds to perch on. It is light outside when she stops and goes to wake Esther. She can hear her gentle snore behind the door. Abby knocks. No answer. Just the gentle rustling of a sleeping body. She pauses, ready to knock again. Then kicks herself at the formality. Imagine! Asking permission to enter her own daughters’ room. She turns the handle and takes a step in. At first it doesn’t look like Esther. Wings tucked neatly by its side, nestled in the bedclothes. Two huge antennae fill the window, throwing shadows on the opposite wall. Shreds of red yarn are scattered around the room. It seems to sense Abby and, slowly, turns its furry face to look at her. Beautiful arched eyebrows, rosebud red lips. She is pouting. This time, Abby’s heart stops completely.