According to YES by Dawn French

beer. She looks at Rosie.
    ‘What?’ says Rosie.
    ‘What?’ says Iva.
    ‘You’re staring at me, Iva.’
    ‘Free to look, isn’t it? No tax on that. Just watching you with the soup, you are liking, yes? Liking so much, like you have not eaten food for three years. Hungry, hungry. You must have busy day, no?’
    ‘It’s my day off.’
    ‘OK. So, you been doing what? Walking or shopping or what? To make you so hungry?’
    ‘I’ve just been enjoying myself, Iva.’
    ‘Enjoying yourself. Yes. I can see somebody is happy.’
    ‘When is your day off?’
    ‘Tuesday.’
    ‘What will you do?’
    ‘I go to Greenpoint. In Brooklyn. Little Poland, and I eat with
my friends. I can speak there. We speak. My language. And I go to my bank. Put my money there, for my plane home three weeks in summer.’
    ‘Oh, lovely. So you will see your daughter?’
    ‘Yes, I will see.’
    ‘When did you see her last?’
    ‘The summer before.’
    ‘Last summer? Blimey. That’s a long time.’
    ‘Yes, she live with my sister, and I will bring her to America for college.’
    ‘Oh, that will be great. How old is she?’
    ‘Fourteen.’
    ‘Do you have a picture? What’s her name?’
    A pause. It all becomes a bit too difficult for Iva.
    ‘No. I keep her for me. No photo, no name for you. Just for here …’ Iva pats her heart, and gets up to wash her plate.
    ‘Sorry, Iva, I didn’t mean to pry or upset you. It must be so hard for you.’
    ‘No. Not hard. Not difficult to keep her safe inside me. That’s the job of the mother. You should try.’
    ‘Yes. Maybe one day.’
    ‘One day, if it doesn’t go all the shape of a pear.’
    ‘Pardon?’ Rosie asks.
    Iva clatters around clearing up. ‘Nothing. You be careful. This family …’ Iva makes a spiral with her index finger next to her forehead, indicating that they are crazy.
    Rosie laughs, ‘I’m here for the boys, that’s my concern.’
    ‘Yes, good. That is right. Goodnight.’ Iva purposely turns the lights off, save one that’s over the cooker, and always left on overnight.
    Rosie is still finishing her soup, and sits alone and quiet in the strange night light, feeling distinctly like someone’s just taken a nosey peek inside her.
    Meanwhile, in their bathroom, naked Thomas is brushing his teeth and looking directly into his own eyes in the mirror. He is checking to see if any guilt is discernible. He doesn’t think it is. Why? It hasn’t happened that often, but it
has
happened. Could it simply be that he doesn’t actually feel guilty at all? Maybe, he thinks, a person is entitled to no regret and no shame if what they have done feels so … right? He’s not going to strangle the joy with guilt. Especially not when he doesn’t even feel one single tiny tug of it.
    What he
would
feel guilty about is hurting Glenn, because she hurts so much already, she’s fragile somewhere inside that brittle front. So. No. He won’t be visiting these questions again. Besides which, how can he feel a jot of sadness looking at THIS in the mirror? He smiles to himself, finishes cleaning his teeth and struts back into the bedroom.
    Glenn is sitting on the bed, turned away, as usual, putting this and that safely into her bedside drawer.
    Thomas stands boldly, nakedly, on the opposite side of the bed, hands on hips. ‘I’m getting fatter,’ he says, flagrantly slapping his belly.
    Glenn glances behind her, ‘You seem just fine to me.’
    Thomas looks down at his bright green pubes, ‘Happy St Patrick’s Day, honey!’
    ‘Yes dear,’ she replies. ‘Happy St Patrick’s Day.’ She begins moisturizing her hands. Thomas hums ‘Fly me to the moon’ as he pulls on his pyjama bottoms, tucking his secret away.

Another Breakfast
    It’s an ordinary weekday, and Rosie is in the twins’ bedroom corralling them to get dressed, to get their school gear ready, and to get to breakfast. She is herself still dressing, throwing on a bright red cardigan over a blue polka-dot dress and