The Only Boy For Me (16 page)

Everything seems very peaceful, and I’m in the kitchen when Charlie comes running in.

‘Mummy, did you know Mack is in our bath, and he’s got no clothes on?’

Oh God: I feel sure my response to this will be vital to Charlie’s whole psychological future.

‘Well that’s alright, isn’t it, Charlie? I mean, Mack can have a bath, can’t he?’

‘Yes, of course he can. But when I went into the bathroom he covered up his willy.’

I bet he did.

‘Yes, well, that’s OK too, isn’t it? I mean, some people are shy about that sort of thing, you know, Charlie.’

‘Yes, I know. But he used my flannel, Mummy. Tell him not to use my flannel.’

I think this might be some sort of defining moment: must stand firm, yet be reassuring.

‘Charlie, don’t be silly. You can have a clean flannel out of the airing cupboard at bathtime. There’s no need to fuss. Now, do you want crispy bacon and scrambled eggs, or just crispy bacon?’

He yells, ‘Bacon,’ and rushes off back upstairs and then I hear him shouting, ‘It’s OK, Mack. You can use my flannel to wash your willy, Mummy says she’ll get me a clean one for later.’

Mack eventually wanders into the kitchen, with a huge grin on his face.

‘I promise to bring my own flannel next time. Honestly, I nearly had a heart attack. What happened to the lock on the door? Did you take it off specially to traumatise house guests, or what?’

‘Charlie kept locking himself in. I nearly had to call the fire brigade the last time, so I took it off. I’m sorry he barged in on you like that.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. Alfie went through a phase of sitting watching me in the bath, and I got quite used to it. He didn’t like me using his flannel either, but there’s only so much silent staring a man can take.’

We spend the morning dodging Lego, but feel very calm and relaxed. Mack reads the papers and I cook lunch. I could get used to this. Manage not to burn anything, and Mack says it’s the best lunch he’s had in ages, which is a patent lie unless smart London restaurants have gone into terminal decline, but nice of him to say it anyway. We go for a walk in the woods, and Charlie tries to track down pheasants by leaping into bushes clapping his hands. He’s
astonished that this does not reveal a single one. Mack asks if we would like to come up to town next weekend and stay with him in his house, because Alfie and Daisy will be there and it might be fun. I’m rather staggered by this, but agree and say I’m sure it will be lovely. Can’t help feeling that meeting his kids is another crucial landmark stage, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it. But at the same time I’m glad he’s asked. Charlie says he would like to meet Alfie, but is not keen on girls because they are silly and whisper. Mack says he knows just what Charlie means, and I pretend to get annoyed which delights Charlie.

Mack leaves after tea, and drives off up the lane tooting his horn a lot which Charlie thinks is brilliant although I suspect the neighbours might not agree. Charlie and I spend ages wrestling with homework. He insists on drawing Viking warriors with machine guns, despite my assertion that this is both historically inaccurate and not what Miss Pike had in mind when she said they should write about what they did at the weekend. I ring Leila and Kate in the evening, and the general consensus is that meeting the kids is a vital next step, fraught with potential pitfalls, and bound to be a bit tense. But it also means he is serious. I go to sleep feeling dazed and confused, but very happy.

The next few days are frantic with work, because the dog-food jobs have got the go-ahead and the shoot is set for next week. Luckily the scripts are nothing to do with Mack, so I won’t have to face working with him again just yet. One of his junior creative types, Paul, has written them, so he’s the face of the agency for this job. I go into the office and have endless meetings with Barney, which Lawrence tries to infiltrate with a variety of pathetic excuses which finally provoke Barney into telling him to piss off. Paul turns up at
the casting, and turns out to be rather sweet. I tell this to Mack and he gets all huffy and says he hopes I don’t make a habit of having passionate encounters with agency personnel on shoots, because if I do he will just have to turn up unexpectedly to check how things are going.

A letter comes home from school to say lots of children in Charlie’s class have got nits. I get busy with the comb and shampoo, and sure enough Charlie has got them too. Actually I only find three, but according to the leaflet they breed at an astonishing rate, so there could be seven million by morning. I feel sick, and wash my own hair, twice. Try very hard not to share my revulsion with Charlie, but I needn’t have worried. He’s delighted – he calls them his nitters and wants to keep them in a bottle, so he can try to teach them tricks. I veto this firmly, and have a hideous time in Boots buying multiple bottles of nit shampoo. I decide to buy all the embarrassing goods at one time, so I take the opportunity to stock up on condoms. The woman behind the till gives me a very funny look.

I ring Mack on his direct line at work, and he answers the phone with a very curt, ‘What?’

‘What a lovely way to start a conversation. You must tell me where you learned your phone technique.’

‘Oh hello, sweetheart.’

He sounds very pleased to hear from me, which is always nice. I wonder if he’ll be quite so pleased when I tell him he may have nits.

‘Look, I’m just ringing to let you know that Charlie has managed to get nits, so you might be well advised to have a session with a comb fairly sharpish.’

There’s a long silence.

‘Oh dear, you aren’t terribly pleased about this, are you, I can tell. Come on, say something.’

‘Yes, yes, sorry. I was just thinking how delightful life with small children can be.’

‘Tell me about it. I’m sure I can arrange for Charlie to draw you some pictures if you’d like. He’s absolutely thrilled.’

‘Please don’t go to any trouble on my account. You know, come to think of it, I think the kids got them last year. Laura tried nettle oil or something, but then she gave up and we had to import some special Agent Orange stuff from the States because they got urban-guerrilla ones that nothing else would shift. Still, I’m sure Charlie’s got a much better class of rural types – bit of sheep dip and you’ll be fine.’

‘Oh stop it, it’s horrible. Oh, that reminds me, there’s something else I should tell you.’

‘Don’t tell me, let me guess. Ringworm?’

‘No, but I think I may have to have a new haircut, a bit like Demi Moore in that GI film. Would you mind terribly if I was bald next time you saw me?’

‘I think I might slightly, yes. Unless you were planning on doing lots of press-ups wearing one of those tiny little vests. That might be OK.’

‘Oh very funny. At least you’ve got short hair. I had a dreadful time in Boots buying nit cream, and loads of condoms.’

‘Got plans for the weekend, have you?’

‘Well, I hope so. But he might change his mind once he knows about the nits.’

‘Oh I doubt it. I shouldn’t think a few little headlice will put him off.’

‘You couldn’t be more specific, could you? I need cheering up.’

‘Well, I would love to, darling, but actually I’m in a kind
of board meeting at the moment so if you don’t mind I’ll call you back on that one.’

‘Oh fucking hell, Mack, why didn’t you say?’

‘I really must go now, sweetheart, but I’ll call you tonight.’

And he puts the phone down. This is all going very well; even nits do not appear to faze him.

Charlie is very excited about the weekend in London with Mack, and wants to know if I think we’ll get anywhere near Hamleys. I have long discussions with Mack about how helpful it will be if the first time Charlie meets Alfie and Daisy he gives them nits, but we decide that as we have used the toxic shampoo repeatedly it should be alright. I drive up on Saturday morning, with Charlie playing a long complicated game which turns the car into a spaceship. He is the captain, naturally, and keeps giving me instructions to fire lasers at the traffic, and go into warp drive on the motorway. I end up wishing the car did have lasers as it would be a brilliant way to deal with lorries.

We arrive just as Mack gets back from picking up the kids, and we decide to head off for lunch at Pizza Express. Alfie and Charlie instantly take to each other, and launch into endless chat about
Star Wars
and Pokémon. Alfie is like a mini Mack, which endears him to me instantly. Daisy is very quiet and watchful, and insists on sitting next to Mack, pushing Alfie out of the way so he falls on the floor. But otherwise lunch goes without incident, and on the way home I sit in the back of the car with the boys, and get a tiny smile of approval from Daisy. Apart from that she does her best to pretend I’m simply not there at all, which is perfectly understandable but I think this weekend will feel like at least a fortnight.

Mack has a beautiful house in Notting Hill, all stripped floors and state-of-the-art televisions. I count five separate remote controls. But it’s not exactly child-friendly, and vital bits of Lego fall down the cracks between the floorboards, which amplify the sound of running children into something resembling a herd of buffalo stampeding down a canyon. The kitchen is very minimalist, and the fridge turns out to be full of Coke and beer. Decide to go shopping for supper and take the boys out with me so Daisy can have Mack to herself for a while. I get another tiny smile.

The boys trot along quite happily on the promise of an ice-cream on the way home. I spend ages wandering about and buying huge quantities of food, and then we get home to find Mack and Daisy watching videos. The boys decide the film is for girls, and demand it’s replaced with something with guns. I leave Mack to sort this out while I try to fit the food into the fridge. Then we have a whispered conversation in the kitchen about the plans for tomorrow. Mack is holding out for Hamleys, while I, wanting to aim for something slightly more cerebral, am advocating the Science Museum. We end up pressed up against the kitchen door so as not to shock the small people next door.

‘I’m really enjoying this.’

‘Me too.’

‘No, I mean having you and Charlie here.’

‘Oh, yes, well, so am I. Though I’m not sure Daisy’s too keen.’

‘No, I hadn’t realised quite how possessive she’d be. Rather sweet really.’

‘Yes, but let’s not push it. We can go off a bit early tomorrow, so you get some time on your own with them.’

‘OK, but only after Hamleys. I’ve promised Charlie we’ll have a look at laser guns.’

‘Christ, Miss Pike won’t stand a chance.’

There’s a deafening crash from the living room. Alfie has managed to knock a coffee cup and a glass off the table and on to the floor in the middle of a sword fight with Charlie. There is smashed china and broken glass everywhere. Both boys look very crestfallen, and Daisy looks nervous. Mack does a bit of yelling, and then suddenly Charlie bursts into tears and says he doesn’t like being shouted at, and it’s not his fault, and he wants to go home, and Alfie bursts into tears and says he didn’t mean it, and Daisy goes very pale and looks tearful.

Mack says, ‘Oh Christ,’ and doesn’t seem sure what to do next, so I put my arms round Charlie for a cuddle and motion for Mack to do the same with his two. He finally gets the message and sits down on the sofa, whereupon they both sidle up to him for a hug. Peace is restored and we have a talk about how important it is to be careful with cups and glasses. Charlie offers to pay for the broken things with his pocket money, which is very sweet except he doesn’t actually get pocket money, because last time we tried it there were endless arguments about why he couldn’t borrow next week’s money. I suggest we start making supper with Charlie and Alfie being my special helpers. They love this and begin chopping up vegetables into very odd shapes with blunt knifes I have found in the cutlery drawer: the kitchen knives are all terrifying steel things, which look like they would slice off small fingers in a second.

Supper is a success, and even Daisy says the food is all right, and then we begin baths and bedtime which goes on for hours. In the end I give up and lie down on the bed with Charlie, stroking his back until he falls asleep. I know I should be firm and simply leave him to it, but the bed in the spare room is huge and he looks tiny in it. Go back
downstairs to discover Daisy is still up and Mack is looking desperate. Determined not to get drawn in, I offer to make coffee, and hear Mack insisting she goes up and tries to get to sleep. She relents and we have a peaceful half-hour drinking coffee. I decide I’ll sleep with Charlie in the spare room because, apart from anything else, Alfie has managed to move into Mack’s bed while nobody was looking, and is now fast asleep and will almost certainly be joined by Daisy at any moment. She’s now asleep in the top bunk bed in the small bedroom which Mack has kitted out for weekends with the kids, but Mack thinks it is highly unlikely that she’ll stay there.

‘This is not quite what I had in mind when I asked you up here for the weekend.’

‘No, but as long as they’re happy I think we should go with it.’

‘Yes, I suppose so, but I kind of hoped we might get some time to ourselves. I’m sorry I yelled at them earlier on. I’m not terribly good at crisis management with small children.’

‘I know, I noticed.’

‘My mum and dad didn’t really go in for hugging much; they preferred a good slap, to be honest. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they loved us, and they were no different to all the other parents round where we lived. But I’m not too sure how to handle things when it all goes pear-shaped. Laura usually took over.’

He looks anxious, which I find very endearing.

‘It’s fine, Mack. You’re allowed to shout, it’s just I think everyone was a bit nervous, you know. It was fine. They adore you, so you must be doing something right.’

Mack looks relieved, and we end up behaving disgracefully on the sofa and then we stagger off to our separate beds, full of sleeping children. I’m very pleased the weekend
has not descended into hysterical tantrums yet, but can’t help feeling a tiny bit overwhelmed by it all. Don’t really think I’m cut out for a stepgirlfriend role, and certainly not stepmother. I’m lying in bed trying to decide exactly what I am cut out for when Charlie wakes up and bursts into tears because he’s had a horrible dream where he got lost and couldn’t find me. I cuddle him back to sleep and try not to read too much into his dream, as he’s had similar ones in the past without the faintest hint of there being a man lurking anywhere in my life. But I’m glad I was there when he woke up.