‘It’s okay,’ Kerry says tersely.
‘That’s Mia, Mummy,’ the woman’s daughter announces. ‘She’s in my class.’
‘Hi, Audrey-Jane,’ Mia says shyly. ‘Hi, Tabitha.’ The blonde woman’s daughter grins, showing missing front teeth.
The auburn mother musters a smile. ‘Er, I’m Lara, this is Emily …’
‘Kerry.’
‘Nice to meet you, Kerry,’ Lara says rather coolly, as if still unconvinced over the fags issue.
‘You’ve moved into Maisie Cartwright’s house, haven’t you?’ Emily asks. Christ, does everyone know everything around here?
‘That’s right, she’s my aunt actually. She’s moved to Spain …’
‘So I heard. Is she enjoying it?’
Kerry casts her mind to the postcard she received this morning which she could hardly bear to read:
I’m so happy that you, Rob and the children will be living in the cottage. I hope you have many happy years there …
‘Um, yes, she seems to be.’
‘Lucky woman,’ Emily says with a prim smile as they all start marching briskly towards school. ‘So, how are you settling in?’
‘Oh, we’re doing fine, thank you,’ Kerry says blithely.
‘My mummy forgot the Egyptian feast,’ Mia murmurs to Audrey-Jane.
‘God, so did I,’ Emily exclaims.
‘Me too,’ adds Lara, seemingly unconcerned, ‘but I’m not sure about food-sharing in the classroom anyway. I mean, you can’t be sure where everything’s come from …’ She winces at Kerry as if expecting her to agree, and the two friends fall into a discussion about various crimes against nutrition. Diluted cordial at the school Christmas party, fun-sized Mars Bars hidden during the Easter egg hunt … that’s the thing about living somewhere like this, Kerry realises. Everything’s so damned policed. You have those Beach Buddies, scanning the shoreline for so much as a discarded ice lolly stick, and mothers checking each other out as their ravenous children surge through the school gates at home time to be handed punnets of cherries and bottles of water.
As they turn into a side street, Kerry glances at the chalkboard propped up outside a sandwich shop.
Char-grilled mozzarella and figs on lightly-toasted walnut sourdough
…
‘Figs!’ she blurts out. ‘Look – FIGS!’
‘Sorry?’ Lara gives her a quizzical look.
‘Figs! They have figs here,
and
they’re open …’ And that’s not all.
Manchego cheese with dates and Serrano ham …
‘Are dates Egyptian, Mia?’
‘Er, I think so. I don’t like ’em …’
‘It doesn’t matter what you
like
,’ Kerry says quickly. ‘Oh, and look, they do chargrilled chicken with spinach and honey and pomegranate dressing …’
‘The Egyptians had pomegranates,’ Tabitha exclaims as Kerry marches into the shop.
The gangly, dark-haired boy behind the counter couldn’t be sweeter, allowing her to buy an array of fruits and seeming unperturbed by the fact that she doesn’t require them to be turned into a sandwich.
‘You’ve just saved my life,’ she says, clutching the bulging brown paper bag.
‘Any time,’ he says grinning.
‘Well, thanks again. I’m so glad I spotted your shop. I hadn’t even noticed it until today.’
Outside, she shows Lara and Emily her purchases. ‘Well, that was very slick,’ Lara remarks, ‘but now we’re late and you know what Miss Pettifer’s like if they miss the bell.’
Be like that then
, Kerry muses as they march onwards in a tense, stony-faced group.
Pour scorn upon my Egyptian offerings that I managed to pull together less than twenty-four hours after my marriage went tits up.
*
Perhaps, Kerry surmises later, she
has
managed to pull off a small feat today, and not just for the school banquet. She has, after all, survived the first morning after Rob’s announcement. She may have shed a few tears but she hasn’t lain weeping with the children stepping over her in a puddle of gin on the kitchen floor. And when Anita arrives that evening, having driven down to Shorling straight after work, Kerry has already decided that, somehow, she’ll find a way through this thing that’s exploded in her face.
‘He’s the last person I’d have thought would do this,’ Anita declares, sipping tea in Kerry’s kitchen.
Kerry nods. ‘I know. Nice, reliable, respectable Rob – maybe it serves me right for being so complacent.’
‘But it’s insane, Kerry. It’s as if he went mad that night. You don’t think he’s ever done anything like this before, do you?’
‘No,’ Kerry says firmly. ‘I really don’t …’
‘And …’ Anita pauses. ‘I don’t suppose you can forgive him?’
‘How can I possibly when she’s pregnant?’
‘But …’ Anita pauses. ‘What if she’s lying and it’s not his?’
Kerry rubs her hands across her face as the sound of
The Bare Necessities
drifts through from the living room. ‘The thing is, it
could
be, and he’s certainly assuming it is.’
‘Why, though? He can’t even remember it happening. She might have made the whole thing up. Maybe they didn’t even do it—’
‘Oh, he’s got a history of being unable to remember whether he did it or not,’ Kerry cuts in bitterly. ‘Said it happened with me.’
Anita frowns. ‘Like some kind of blackout thing, you mean?’
Kerry nods miserably, the tears flowing unchecked now as Anita envelops her in a hug.
‘I’d want to kill him,’ her friend murmurs. ‘I can’t believe the stupid sod has done this …’
‘Me too, and you know what the worst thing is right now – the thing I’m most dreading?’
‘Yes,’ Anita says softly. ‘How you’re going to tell the kids.’
And so later that evening, bolstered by Anita’s mercy dash, Kerry sits with Freddie and Mia on Freddie’s bed. ‘Listen,’ she begins, resting the storybook on her lap, ‘you know Daddy’s been staying in London these past few weeks?’
Mia nods while Freddie investigates his left ear with a finger. ‘Yeah. Read the story,’ he commands.
‘In a minute, darling. It’s just …’
‘Are you getting revorced?’ he cuts in.
‘Why d’you ask that?’ Kerry’s heart judders.
‘Tom’s mum and dad are getting revorced. He told me at school. He’s gonna have
two
bedrooms.’
‘Oh,’ Kerry says as Mia throws her a startled look. ‘Well, er, the word’s actually
divorced
, honey, and I don’t know. I mean, yes, maybe …’ Her children’s dark eyes are upon her, radiating alarm. ‘Daddy-has-a-new-girlfriend-they’re-having-a-baby,’ she blurts out in a rush.
There’s a startled silence. ‘They made a baby?’ Mia exclaims.
‘Um, yes.’
‘How?’ demands Freddie.
‘They just …’ She clears her throat. ‘They just did, like we made you.’
‘With kissing?’ Freddie asks.
‘Er, I expect so, yes …’ Kerry is aware of Mia snuggling closer and wrapping her arms around her.
‘Is Daddy gonna live with the new baby,’ she whispers, ‘and not us?’
‘I don’t know, darling,’ she says, pulling both of them close. ‘We’ll have to see.’ Silence seems to fill the small room with its jumble of books and games piled messily onto shelves. Kerry can’t even hear the sea.
‘I know what men and ladies do,’ Freddie says, brightening. ‘They take their clothes off and bounce on the bed.’
Mia glares at him, then up at her mother. ‘No they don’t. It’s seeds and eggs. I read it in a book.’
‘That’s right, sweetie. It was in that bodies book I gave you.’
‘Daddy did that,’ Mia adds, turning to her brother. ‘His seed met her egg.’
Freddie frowns. ‘Where?’
‘In London,’ she says knowledgeably.
‘In … in her body actually,’ Kerry says firmly.
‘Whose body?’ Freddie asks.
‘His girlfriend’s. She’s, um … called Nadine.’
Cupping a hand over her mouth, Mia leans in to whisper into Freddie’s ear, making him dissolve into giggles. ‘What’s that, Freddie?’ Kerry asks.
‘She said it’s in her vagina.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘The baby’s in there, in her vagina.’
‘Well, not exactly but you’re nearly right – it’s not too far away from there and that’s probably where it’ll come out …’ Kerry blows out air and feels herself sweating. ‘Anyway, enough about babies. I don’t suppose you’re hungry, are you? Would you like a treat before bed?’
‘Can I have Coco Pops?’ Freddie asks, as if startled by his good luck.
‘Coco Pops?’ Mia repeats. ‘Are we allowed them at bedtime after our teeth?’
‘Sure. Why not?’ Kerry says. ‘In fact, I’m going down to get two bowlfuls right now and you can both eat them in bed.’
‘Yeah!’ Freddie exclaims. ‘And I’m not doing my teeth again neither.’
Kerry gets up, relieved that her children have been so easily cheered up after her shock announcement. She’s grateful, too, to have a simple task to occupy her, even if it is only filling two bowls with contraband cereal. In fact, right at this moment, it feels like
exactly
the right thing to do.
‘Mummy!’ Freddie shouts as she makes for the bedroom door.
‘Yes, Freddie?’
‘Will he still be our daddy?’
She frowns. ‘D’you mean when the new baby comes?’
‘Yeah.’ He nods solemnly.
Kerry bites her lip, willing herself not to cry, at least not until she’s reached the sanctuary of the kitchen. ‘Of course he will,’ she says. ‘Don’t worry, darling. Daddy loves both of you and nothing will ever change that.’
‘Migraine better?’ Eddy enquires as Rob saunters into the office on Thursday morning.
‘Yes, much better thanks.’ He plans to get the pleasantries over with as quickly as possible so he can hide behind his screen and at least pretend to be working.
‘Unusual for one to last for two days,’ Eddy adds with a smirk.
‘Er, yeah. Anyway, I’m fine now,’ Rob says, marching towards his desk with what feels like a ridiculously bouncy walk in order to display his wellness to all. Does everyone know, he wonders? Surely Nadine hasn’t said anything yet. During their brief, slightly terse conversations during the past few days, she’s assured him that she has no intention of ‘making a grand announcement’, as she put it. She’s at her desk at the far end of the office, prim and expressionless in a dress with tiny purple flowers all over it. Hair neat, red lipstick immaculately applied. She flicks her gaze up at Rob, then quickly back down to her screen.
Rob switches on his computer and stares at it. His first task today is to write his second Miss Jones column, although at this moment it feels as insurmountable as building a cathedral with his bare hands. On this grim, drizzly October morning, the very concept of sex seems appalling; dirty, misguided, leading only to cake-throwing and despair. Yet he has no choice other than to get on with it. Having missed two days of work, and being incapable of switching on his laptop at home, he’s hopelessly behind with everything. He needs to talk to Kerry but, understandably, she either cuts him off or won’t pick up the call. How can he possibly write a coherent sentence with all of this whirling around in his brain?
Gazing at his blank screen, Rob tries to force his brain into writer mode. As they work three months ahead – they are already planning the January issue – his first Miss Jones column has yet to provoke any reader response, so he has no idea if he got it right with the food-in-the-bedroom one. For this issue, Eddy has suggested the topic of ‘Why women sometimes go off sex’. How the hell should Rob know? He’s not a woman, as he’s reminded his editor on several occasions. ‘Think like a woman then,’ Eddy instructed him with a snigger.
Okay, think.
Think.
It’s not easy, considering his wife has left him and God knows when he’ll next see Mia and Freddie. He also can’t quite believe that Nadine plans to go ahead with this pregnancy, but Rob can’t allow his thoughts to venture down that sorry route now. Using all his faculties to tune out the background chatter, Rob tries to think himself into being a woman. Right. He is now not only a woman but a woman who has
gone off sex
. More than frigid, she is virtually deep-frozen. She would rather have a cup of tea or an episode of
EastEnders
– anything rather than her boyfriend’s mauling hands all over her.
How has Rob’s life ended up like this? This isn’t how he’d envisaged himself as a rookie journalist nearly twenty years ago. He’d imagined travelling to war-torn countries, crafting insightful pieces and making a name for himself. Rob glances around the office in mild alarm. Catching Nadine’s eye, he quickly turns back to his screen. It’s only six hundred words, he reminds himself. Get on with it, idiot.
Before we talk about what you can do
, he types quickly,
we need to look at why I might not be in the mood right now. Maybe I’m stressed at work and you’re not paying me enough attention when I come home, shattered, after a terrible Tube journey …
These days it’s assumed that Mr Jones’s entire readership lives in London. ‘Why live somewhere that tries to be like London but is smaller and crapper?’ Eddy once remarked. ‘Crappier,’ Rob yearned to correct him.
Damn, now he’s lost his thread. A small photo in a silver frame eyes him from his desk. It’s of Mia and Freddie on a Majorcan beach a couple of summers ago; they’d been thrilled by the tiny fish that had darted around their legs. What are they doing right now, he wonders? Has Kerry told them yet? If they were terribly distraught – as he imagines they were – perhaps she’s kept them off school and they’re all huddled on the sofa, discussing what a despicable father he is. Rob blinks at
the photo again before placing it carefully in his desk drawer.
When he looks up, Nadine is strolling towards him. ‘Hi,’ she says, her eyes flicking towards his screen and a small smile crossing her lips.
‘Er, hi, Nadine.’ He wills her to go away and play with her gonk pencils or something. Instead, she starts reading the text on his screen. ‘“Maybe I’m not in the mood right now”,’ she teases in a breathy voice. ‘“Maybe you need to pay me a little more attention instead of coming home and spending an hour offloading about work …”’