‘Not any that I picked up on, no. That was probably the worst part – that there must have been signs, and I just didn’t see them.’
Kerry nods. ‘Well, you shouldn’t blame yourself. I didn’t see it coming either …’ Perhaps it’s the bottle of wine they’ve shared, or the fact that they’re not in a restaurant, on a
date
-date, but Kerry finds herself telling him about Rob and Nadine and the baby. He listens attentively as she describes the achingly miserable handovers of the children, and chuckles appreciatively at the thrown birthday cake incident.
‘God,’ he says, ‘you’ve had a lot on your plate. You seem to handle it so well, though …’
‘Well,’ she says with a shrug, ‘I guess I’m just about emerging from the fug. Um … shall we open another bottle?’
James smiles. ‘Why not? I walked here anyway. This is a really lovely evening, Kerry.’
She fetches the wine from the fridge and opens it. ‘It’s nice for me too. I was actually surprised when you asked to meet up. I’d thought you were a bit, well … distant and distracted until then.’
A small shrug. ‘Well, you did imply I’d run over my incontinent wife …’
‘James, I’m
so
sorry about that …’
‘No,’ he chuckles, ‘it’s fine. Anyway, by the time I saw you in the shop, drooling over my brownie, I’d figured out who you are. And it was such a coincidence, I thought, well, why not just ask?’
She frowns. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘Oh, you’re getting pretty well known around Shorling, you know. I hear customers talking about you …’
‘Really?’
‘It’s that kind of place, isn’t it? French tutors, piano lessons – kids around here aren’t allowed to be idle for a minute.’
‘Oh yes, the hot-housing. I’m sure I’m going to be reported for not signing up Freddie and Mia for at least three activities a day …’
‘Well, you probably couldn’t have picked a better place to teach piano. And you know what’s funny? I was going to call you about lessons a couple of months ago. I’d scribbled down the number from your ad, then Buddy went mad – one of his barking outbursts – and I must have dropped it …’
‘So you wanted to play?’ Kerry asks.
He grins. ‘Well, I do play, a bit. Then I thought, who am I kidding, with the shop and everything – when will I have the time? Anyway,’ he adds, ‘the piano’s Amy’s.’
Kerry nods. ‘So you’d feel strange playing it …’
‘I don’t know, maybe. I haven’t, not since she left.’
She studies his face, and as his kind, grey eyes meet hers she finds herself asking, ‘Why don’t you play mine?’
James shakes his head. ‘I haven’t played for two years, Kerry. I’m beyond rusty. More like completely seized up …’
‘I won’t judge you,’ she says firmly. ‘In fact, I promise I won’t comment at all. I’d just like to hear you play.’
He smiles then. ‘Okay, then you’ll play something for me?’
‘Agreed.’
They head through to the music room, and as James starts to play, missing notes and muttering apologies, Kerry wishes she hadn’t asked him. She’s on the verge of asking him to stop, as he’s clearly not enjoying this – but how can she do that without sounding like some mean-spirited judge on a talent show? Then something changes, and his shoulders relax, and she can almost
see
the tension leaving his arms, hands and fingers. And what he’s playing is … lovely. It’s not perfect, there’s still the odd slip-up, but it’s a sweet, pure melody, and all the more moving for being so simple.
He stops and gives her a sheepish look. For a moment, Kerry doesn’t know what to say. ‘That was lovely,’ she murmurs finally. ‘Sorry, I said I wouldn’t comment but …’
He blushes and smiles. ‘Thanks.’
‘Um, I don’t think I know it.’
‘No, well, I wrote it.’
‘Really? You wrote that? It’s beautiful, James. Would you play it again?’
He shrugs and starts to play. This time, Kerry can’t help sneaking a look at his handsome face with those soft grey eyes and full lips. And she wants – the realisation almost makes her tumble off her stool – to kiss him. Should she? Her lips haven’t been in close contact with anyone’s apart from Rob’s since last century and, God, they hadn’t exactly done much kissing before the split. She
really
wants to kiss James, though, and not just because he is undeniably easy on the eye. It’s seeing him play, a little uncertainly but so sweetly; it’s acting as a powerful aphrodisiac. Some women are turned on by watching a man cook, or emerging from the sea, James Bond style in snug swimming trunks. But for Kerry, watching a man play the piano is the thing …
God, what would happen if he launched into Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No. 2? She’d have to leap on him immediately …
She’s biting her lip now, her mind racing as the small, shabby room with its faded floral wallpaper fills with beautiful music.
Possible outcomes if I kiss James: he likes it, it feels great, or he’s completely horrified and pushes me off and explains – politely, of course – that I’ve totally got the wrong idea. Oh, what the hell. Do it, when he stops playing …
James stops. Kerry senses her cheeks flushing as he turns to her. His eyes are
so
lovely and, crucially, he’s not giving the impression that he finds her repulsive. Do it, just do it …
‘Mummy!’ comes the voice from upstairs.
Kerry flinches, then exhales forcefully. ‘Oh. Sorry – hang on a minute …’ She springs up from the stool and goes out to the hallway. ‘Freddie?’ she calls upstairs. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m not well, Mummy,’ he wails.
‘Okay, I’m coming …’ She hurries upstairs, expecting to find him sitting up in bed, anticipating a cosy chat. But he’s pale and sweaty as she places a hand on his forehead. ‘Oh, honey, what’s wrong? D’you feel sick or something?’
He shakes his head. ‘Who’s in our house, Mum?’
‘Just a friend, sweetheart. We’ve had dinner …’
‘Is it Brigid?’
‘Um … no, it’s a man called James. The one who gave us Buddy, remember?’
‘Yeah.’ He pauses. ‘My ear hurts and there’s stuff in it.’
‘Oh dear. That doesn’t sound good.’ She clicks on his bedside light and peers into his ear as best she can. ‘It does look red, Freddie, and there’s a bit of sticky, leaky stuff here …’ She touches it gently. ‘It feels hot, too. I think
you’ve got an ear infection …’ He nods glumly. ‘I’ll take
you to the doctor first thing in the morning. You can stay off school and have the day with me.’
Tears fill his eyes and he grabs for her hand. ‘There’s corns in it.’
‘What?’
‘There’s corns in my ear.’
‘What d’you mean, corns? People get corns on their feet, not in their ears – what are you talking about, Freddie?’
‘Yellow corns,’ he mumbles.
Kerry inspects his ear again – it’s definitely gummy in there, and she can detect an odour – a sort of rotting-vegetation whiff. ‘D’you mean you
put
something in your ear?’
‘Yeah.’ He bites his lip. ‘I put yellow corn in it.’
‘But …’ Picturing James waiting patiently downstairs in the music room, Kerry shakes her head in disbelief. In fact … maybe he’s
not
waiting patiently. Maybe he has already put on his jacket and quietly let himself out. ‘I can’t remember the last time we had sweetcorn,’ she murmurs. ‘I know you don’t really like it.’
‘It was at Nanny and Nonno’s.’
‘But that was last weekend! That’s what, at least four days ago, five if you had it on Saturday …’ Freddie nods, and Kerry shoots him an alarmed look. ‘Are you sure you put it in your ear? You’re not just making this up, are you?’
‘Yeah. No. I’m not telling a lie, Mummy.’
‘But why?’ And now James will be walking home, thinking, well, that’s that. Pleasant enough meal, but Kerry obviously doesn’t have space in her life for a proper, grown-up evening.
‘’Cause I don’t like it,’ Freddie says simply.
‘Yes, and there are lots of things I don’t like,’ she exclaims, ‘like eggs and mushrooms and tinned tuna, but I don’t go stuffing
them
in my ear, do I—’
His bottom lip wobbles and she cuts herself short. Of course she doesn’t; she’s an adult and her son is a five-year-old, scared little boy.
‘Oh, honey,’ she murmurs, pulling him close. ‘Does it really hurt?’
‘Yeah, and it’s stinky as well.’
‘I know, love. I can actually smell it from here. Listen, I think I’d better take you to hospital right away.’
‘Can the doctor get it out?’ He is crying now, his cheek hot and wet against her face.
‘Yes, of course he can.’
He sniffs and wipes a pyjama sleeve across his face. ‘How?’
‘Don’t you worry about that,’ she says. ‘That’s what they’re for, darling. Now let’s get you up and dressed.’
James is still there, amazingly, when she and a still-sleepy Freddie appear in the music room. ‘You probably heard all that?’
‘Yes, God … is there anything I can do to help?’
‘Thanks but I’d better deal with it.’ She smiles wearily. A few hours ago she’d felt like the old Kerry in her blue dress and lip gloss with her hair blow-dried; now, she’s been pinged firmly back into Mum-land.
‘I’d drive you,’ James offers, ‘but I’ve had half of that bottle of wine—’
‘Yes, me too. That’s going to look great in A&E, isn’t it? Wine-breath mum brings in little boy who’s had sweetcorn festering in his ear for nearly a week …’ She laughs mirthlessly. ‘
And
I’m going to have to wake Mia and bring her with me.’
‘Well …’ He frowns. ‘You could call a cab and I could stay here until you get back …’
‘That’s really kind of you, but Mia would freak out if she woke up in the night and found you here.’
‘Oh, of course …’
Kerry bites her lip. ‘It’s just that she doesn’t know you …’
‘My ear’s still leaking,’ Freddie whines.
‘I know, darling.’ She rubs her hands across her face, as if trying to erase the fact that this is actually happening.
‘Shall I call you a taxi?’ James asks hesitantly.
‘Yes please. Phone’s on the worktop by the cooker. You sit here, Freddie’ – she indicates the armchair in the corner of the music room – ‘and I’ll get Mia.’
Minutes later she’s lifting a sleeping Mia from her bed and gently feeding her arms into her red dressing gown, then carrying her downstairs and into the waiting taxi. She says goodbye to James – not even a peck on the cheek – and he’s gone, slightly huffily she thinks now, but what else was she supposed to do?
‘Shorling General?’ the driver asks.
‘Yes please.’ She closes the car door and looks out at the inky night sky. It’s nearly 11 p.m., the taxi smells pungently of Magic Tree, and she can hear Buddy barking fretfully in the house as the driver pulls away.
Serves me right, Kerry reflects, stroking Mia’s hair as she rests her head on her lap, for having lewd thoughts in the music room.
‘Luke,’ James says, ‘I’m not coming into the shop today, okay?’
‘What’s wrong, Dad? Have a big night last night?’
‘No, not at all. I was home by half eleven, which you’d have known if you hadn’t been out spending our takings.’
‘Yeah, and the rest. Dirty stop-out.’ Luke sniggers and peers into the toaster where something appears to be incinerating. ‘How did it go anyway?’
‘It was …’ James shrugs. ‘It was nice.’
‘Seeing her again?’
‘Don’t know,’ he says briskly, unwilling to go into detail. In fact, he’s only just starting to make sense of it himself. Dinner had been great, but being cajoled into playing the piano had unnerved him – does Kerry ask every man who comes round to play for her, like some kind of audition? Maybe he’d passed it, as there had certainly been a
moment
, after he’d played his song, when he’d sensed a distinct spark between them. But then the leaky ear thing had happened, and James had felt awful for being unable to help; plus, Kerry’s sudden coolness towards him had suggested that, really, he shouldn’t have been there at all. Who could blame her after all the horror of her cheating ex and his pregnant colleague? Sure, James was dumped too, but compared to Kerry’s situation he feels – perhaps for the first time – that he might have got off pretty lightly.
‘Are you going to do website stuff instead?’ Luke asks, inspecting his handsome reflection in the shiny chrome kettle before pulling on a grey hoodie over his T-shirt.
‘No, I’m having a day
off
. You know, the old-fashioned concept of not actually working every single day? And doing something for yourself instead?’ It comes out sounding sharper than he’d meant.
‘Er, yeah. All right, Dad.’ Luke rolls his eyes.
‘I might see a film,’ James adds.
‘Great. Something foreign and completely weird, yeah? Oh, and listen, I hope you don’t mind but Charlotte’s parents are off to their holiday house for Christmas – the one with the hot tub and a Jacuzzi. And she’s asked if I’d like to go too.’
‘What, for actual Christmas?’ James’s brows shoot up.
‘Er … yep.’
‘But that’s, like, four days away!’
Luke shrugs, at least having the decency to look embarrassed. ‘You know how it is, Dad. We’ve only just got back together …’
Yes, so I bloody heard.
‘And it’ll save you getting so much food in,’ Luke adds lamely.
‘Yeah, I suppose so.’ James musters a faint smile. ‘I was hoping for a quiet Christmas anyway.’
‘Great. Thanks, Dad. I knew you’d be cool about it and I’ll only be gone a couple of days.’ There’s a quick hug from his son, then he’s gone, leaving James regretting his grumpiness when Luke was being perfectly pleasant. And hadn’t James told Kerry that he desperately needed some space? It’ll be great, having Christmas Day all to himself. He’ll be able to, um … what exactly? Watch so much TV and gorge on so many chocolate brazils that he makes himself feel ill? He has never spent a Christmas alone and now, at the ripe old age of forty-three, he’ll have to figure out how to do it. If he still had Buddy, they could go for a long, festive walk that would at least give the day a sense of purpose and structure.
James makes a coffee and wonders what to do next. He’s become so unused to having time on his hands that he is, literally, incapable of knowing how to fill it. Should he call Kerry to find out if they managed to excavate the sweetcorn last night? How would they do it – with a little suction device like they use at the dentist’s? It seems rude and uncaring not to get in touch, but maybe it’d be a bit much to call right away. He’s forgotten how to be with women, that’s the trouble, especially one who’s so attractive and intriguing, yet gives the impression that she doesn’t actually need anyone very much at all. Not a boyfriend, anyway. James feels terribly out of practice with this kind of stuff. He’s been single for nine months now, and the last person – Sarah with the pie-crust collared, libido-murdering nightie – wasn’t what you’d call a proper girlfriend. She’d been a client; he’d built a website for her angel-channelling business. Then he’d sort of fallen in with her, or rather, fallen into her four-poster bed with its dreadfully-painted cherubs peering down from the canopy. It was disconcerting, having sex beneath the gaze of dozens of chubby little baby faces. Off-putting in the extreme. So James had retreated, deciding he was finished with women – until Kerry had appeared in the shop, oohing and ahhing over his chocolate brownie … Perhaps the cherubs/pie-crust-nightie combination hadn’t killed his sex drive after all.