Ed was in the kitchen, with a large glass of Dutch courage in his hand. He wanted Ali back, and to do that he had to have his mind free from clutter to concentrate on it. And, he hated to admit it, by clutter he meant Orla and the lovely Nicola Jones.
Telling Orla would be tough. She wouldn’t take this kindly. His vision of sharing a beer with Harrison Ford, convivially slapping him on the back and maybe, just maybe, barbecuing a few steaks together was blurring at the edges, becoming indistinct and hazy. It was never going to happen now, his dream of setting Hollywood alight with his sheer brilliance. Once he ditched her, Orla would make sure that it would never happen. It was going the way of all his other dreams—playing for Manchester United, captaining the England cricket team, having a number-one smash hit, keeping all his hair until he was sixty, getting through Christmas without going overdrawn. He just hoped the dream of getting back with Ali was worth it.
He phoned Orla’s flat, knowing full well that she would be out. Age was turning him into an emotional coward, he knew he should have done this face-to-face, it was the right thing. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Orla’s soft American brogue sounded tinny on the answerphone.
“Orla,” he began. “This is a terrible way to do this. I know I shouldn’t. But I’m English. I can’t help it. Orla… I need… I need you… I need you to understand that I have to end this. This… This… I have to end it. There’s a chance that Ali and I might get back together. A remote chance, but I have to take it. I know now it’s what I want. I have to do it for the kids. For Ali. For me. For a thousand other reasons that I’m not sure you’ll understand. And I’m really sorry. Really, really sorry. I thought it might work out between us, but… Well. I’m sorry. Really, I am. I hope you’ll find someone who’ll make you happy.”
Ed hung up. The last time he remembered dumping anyone was when he was about fifteen, and it didn’t seem to have got any easier. He took a slug of his drink and his fingers were trembling. Oh, well. Going for the double. Nicola would be more simple. There wasn’t the guilt involved there, none of the complications that came with working alongside Orla and having to continue a business relationship, at least for the time being. Nicola was delightful, but she was as wispy and as insubstantial as her dresses and her pretty blond curls. He needed a woman with substance, not someone who could be blown away on a stiff breeze. He should have known better than to get involved with her, particularly when his heart had never really been in it, and it was cruel merely to use someone as a benchmark.
With a bracing swig of wine, Ed dialed Nicola’s number. This time, the well-rehearsed speech flowed better. “Nicola,” he began, “this is a terrible way to do this. I know I shouldn’t, but it can’t be helped. Nicola, I can’t see you again. Not in the romantic sense. There’s a chance that Ali and I might get back together, and I know now it’s what I want. I have to do it for the kids, for Ali and for me. And I’m really sorry. Really, very sorry. I hope you’ll find someone who’ll make you very, very happy.”
Ed replaced the receiver and sat back, rubbing his hands over his eyes. The kitchen door creaked open, and Elliott came in. He sat down on the stool next to Ed, one finger inserted in the hole where Barney’s eye used to be.
“Does this mean that Mummy’s coming back to live with us?”
“You shouldn’t earwig on other people’s conversations, Elliott. What have I told you?”
“I wasn’t earwigging!” his son said indignantly. “I was tiptoeing past like a quiet little mouse, and my ear fell against the door. And you were talking very loudly.”
“Well, don’t do it again,” Ed said.
“So, is Mummy coming back?”
Ed sighed. “I don’t know, Elliott. But I hope so.”
“I do miss her, Daddy.”
Ed put his arm round his son. “So do I.”
“What will Christian do when Mummy comes back? He won’t have anyone.”
“What a shame,” Ed said.
“I know,” Elliott said brightly, “perhaps Christian could have Miss Jones or Orville, now that you’re finished with them.”
“Elliott, you and I must talk about the fundamentals of dating sometime.”
“Now?”
“It can wait.” Ed finished his drink. “Now I must go and get myself spruced up. I’m going out.”
“With Mummy?”
“Yes,” Ed said, only hoping he was right. “One of Tanya’s friends is coming to baby-sit.”
“But we haven’t got a baby?”
“You will be good, won’t you, Elliott?”
“I’m always good,” he said with a tut.
Ed stood up. “That, Elliott, is a matter of perspective.” He checked his watch. Time for a long, relaxing soak in the bath and a quick shave.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, Elliott?”
“Will we still see Christian if Mummy comes back to live here?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Mummies and daddies don’t work like that,” he said.
“Oh.” The smile disappeared from his son’s face. “I do like Christian, you know.”
Cut out my heart and watch me bleed, Elliott!
“He’s a lot of fun.”
“I’m fun too,” Ed said.
“But you can’t skateboard.”
“I’ll pay for you to have lessons.”
Elliott’s mouth turned down some more. “That isn’t the same.”
“Then I will learn, Elliott,” he said. “Watch this space.” I will bloody well learn!
There was a tinkling of glass behind him and Ed spun round. A brick had come through the kitchen window and landed in the washing up bowl in the sink with a dull splash. Elliott had gone white. Ed rushed to the hole where the window used to be in time to see a familiar figure disappearing out of the drive at a run. The flowery roller blind flapped in the breeze, its pom-pommed edge tapping rhythmically against the window.
“Are you okay?” Ed asked.
Elliott nodded, for once at a loss for words.
Ed fished the brick out of the onetime soapy water. There was a note attached to it with string. Ed picked the knot open and unfolded the dripping note. YOU BASTARD was all it said.
“Bollocks,” he said with a sigh.
“Daddy, it isn’t nice to swear in front of children,” Elliott gasped, clearly having recovered his powers of speech.
“This is one of those rare exceptions.”
“Who did it, Daddy?”
“Miss Jones,” Ed said flatly. Seemingly, the wispy, insubstantial Miss Jones had not taken her dismissal very well.
Elliott folded his arms and puffed heavily. “I’m going to have to change schools, aren’t I?”
Ed squished the note in his fist and tossed the house brick back into the water. “Quite possibly,” he said.