She had to be the vainest woman I
had ever met. Her hair was never out of
place and she always kept up with the latest, most expensive fashions. What else did she have to spend her money
on? Her darling only son had grown up
and had the misfortune, in her eyes, to marry me. The barely concealed contempt
that she had for me always carried on her voice in conversation. I pretended not to notice for Jack’s sake. The
only thing that was going for me was the fact that I cooked and cleaned well enough.
When mum died, I stepped in as
surrogate mother for my six younger brothers. Daddy worked constantly. I cooked,
cleaned up after them, read to them and was their counsellor. When I left they
were broken-hearted. I hope it was more
than my housekeeping skills that they missed.
As I plumped the cushions in the sitting
room, Jack had that imploring look again.
‘Can we tell her tonight Connie?’
‘You are past the twelve weeks.’
‘Can I think about it Jack?’ I’m
still a little bit nervous.’
He was about to talk me around
but I cut him off. ‘I’ll tell you what, why don’t I make that apple pie that
your mom loves so much?’ You know, with the cinnamon crumble?’ That seemed to
sway him enough to put the pregnancy out of his head for now.
I busied myself with the pie and
I resolved that I would not tell her tonight. If I had my way I’d never tell
her.
As I sprinkled the cinnamon into
the crumble mix, I thought I might add a little extra something this time. I could blame it on the hormones. Daddy always
said my apple pie was to die for.
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