It didn’t matter that Pete told her he would take care of things. In fact the nicer he was, the worse she felt about nipping off to London. He had given her some spending money, urging her to get herself ‘something nice’. She attempted to assuage her guilt by leaving things as ordered as possible. The kids would come downstairs to find cereal in bowls, with spoons by the side, school shirts ironed and hanging on the doorframe of the lounge. She had even made rounds of sandwiches for her mum that were clingfilmed and on a shelf in the fridge, clearly labelled with a Post-it note.‘For God’s sake, Jacks!’ Pete observed. ‘They aren’t babies, they can get their own breakfasts. And the lady coming in said she’d do your mum’s lunch. You have to stop making work for yourself. I know you’re tired, but you don’t help yourself, love. If you eased off a bit and let everyone else do more, things would be easier for you.’‘I like to be in control, I like things to be done properly,’ she answered as she wiped down the drainer by the sink.‘I had noticed.’ He sat at the table and poured milk on to his cornflakes.
