Claustrophobia by Tracy Ryan Page B

should take over the kitchen for once. Seeing you’re home later than you used to be.’
    Pen stiffened, but a glance showed he was speaking innocently – it was not a reproach, it was goodwill. The dining table was laid with cloth and cutlery, something steaming under tinfoil on a cork mat at the centre. Pen lifted the cover and saw a deep-layered lasagne dripping at the edges.
    â€˜Impressive,’ she said, raising her eyebrows. It wasn’t the weather for hot, heavy pasta, but Derrick had such a puppy look on his face – the sort that meant pat me for having tried – that she bit her lip and did not say it.
    â€˜I have to confess,’ he began, as they sat to eat, ‘I cheated.’
    Pen blinked. ‘What do you mean?’ Even used trivially, the words chilled her.
    Derek grimaced. ‘It was bought. From the deli counter at the organic store.’
    Pen sighed. ‘Don’t feel you have to do extra just because I’m working more. I’m still on top of things, you know.’
    â€˜I know,’ Derrick said, placing his hand over hers. ‘It’s only because I thought you’d like to come home to dinneryourself for once. I know you’re on top of things – you’re a wonder. I’m very proud of you.’
    She looked at him with detachment. The words, once swallowed willingly – once taken as further proof of their solidity, their permanence together – glanced off now, even felt patronising.
    He must have sensed this, because he added, ‘No, I really mean it. I know I’ve probably left a lot of this stuff up to you, not because you’re ‘the wife’, you know, Pen, but because you were at home more than I was. But I want you to know I have appreciated all that. And I’m thinking … well, for instance, when you’re on night shifts and so on –’
    Pen placed her other hand on top of his. ‘Derrick, it’s no big deal. And it’s not as if you imposed on me. I’ve made my own choices, haven’t I? Stop worrying, darling.’
    He smiled. ‘Okay.’ Then anxiously watched as she ate. ‘Is it good?’
    Pen nodded.
    â€˜Did you have a good day?’
    She nodded again, and tried to listen as he went on to tell her about his day, the various staff dramas, the new student exchange program and how hard it was proving to find host parents for the incoming European kids. Already there were two boys signed up from Germany.
    â€˜I suppose if all else fails, we could board them here for a little while.’
    â€˜Hmm.’
    â€˜Pen? I was saying, if the host families aren’t ready in time, we could put one or two kids up here. Just short-term.’
    Pen was startled. ‘No, Derrick – it’s not a good idea, withthe work to be done around this place. I’m sure we don’t need the stress.’
    â€˜Fair enough.’ Derrick cocked his head sideways. ‘You okay, darling?’
    â€˜Yes. Well, I’m pretty weary, but yes, I’m okay.’
    Thinking of her day, Pen started to laugh softly.
    â€˜Like the Wicked Queen in Snow White ,’ she thought, ‘plotting how to be rid of her rival.’ How astounded Derrick would be, could he really get inside her head. ‘I’ve been talking with your ex, your amata , your femme fatale, your nemesis. Your brightness and bane .’ It was too absurd.
    And yet it seemed more real, the scent of that fruity perfume; more substantial, than this hard table, this dense, rich food, this flesh-and-blood husband sitting opposite her. He was pale as ever – but now he seemed ghostly. To her shock, she thought, ‘I wonder what Kathleen could have seen in him.’ And then felt immediately guilty for the notion.
    It was worst of all when they went to bed that evening. Pen could tell Derrick was in the mood, charged with feeling from the special effort he had made to spare her the evening