Jamie jumped as his mobile rang, cutting through the silence of the house. He had been sitting at the table with his head in his hands, praying that Martha would come home. That she would give him a chance to explain. Not that he could explain it, even to himself. He just wanted to talk to her.
‘Hello?’ he said, his heart pounding. The number was withheld.
‘It’s me, Martha.’ Jamie shivered at the icy tone to her voice.
‘Martha! Where are you? I’ve been worried sick—’ he began.
‘I’m phoning to tell you that I’m going away for a few days,’ she cut in.
Jamie’s stomach dropped. ‘Oh God! No . . . please, Martha, don’t go. We need to talk.’
‘You might need to talk, but I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit.’
Jamie felt the tears flash into his eyes. He hardly recognised Martha’s voice. She sounded so different. So distant and angry. Obviously his email had had no effect whatsoever. ‘What about the kids?’ he managed to croak.
Martha let out a small sob. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep it together in front of them. I think it might be better if I get away for a couple of days until I can.’
Jamie put his hand over his eyes, as if doing so would block out the horror of what was happening. ‘Martha . . . please,’ he began.
‘I’ll call them later,’ she interrupted, sounding slightly more conciliatory. ‘I’ll explain that I’ve got a last-minute assignment.’
There was a pause. ‘Where will you be?’ Jamie said at last.
‘It’s none of your business, but I’ll be in LA.’
‘LA?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who with?’
‘Again, it’s really none of your business,’ she said, her tone even colder than before, ‘but I’m going with Charlie Simmons. I’ll call the children later,’ she finished, hanging up abruptly.
Jamie stared at the handset in shock. This was bad, really bad. Martha would never leave the children if she didn’t have to, and how the hell had she come to be going to LA with Charlie Simmons so suddenly? But the biggest and most pressing question, he thought, standing up and staring out over the back garden as Martha had done only that very morning, was how on earth was he going to hold it together himself in front of the children?
It was 3.15 p.m. by the time Mimi rang the doorbell. She had her own key but never used it, saying she preferred to see her dad or, on occasion, her mum, as soon as she possibly could.
Jamie opened the door and stood back as Mimi stepped through.
‘Hey Dad,’ she smiled brightly, immediately causing tears to well up again in Jamie’s eyes. ‘What’s the matter?’ she said, looking at him closely. ‘What’s happened to your face?’
‘Um, nothing . . .’ Jamie wiped his eyes and rubbed the scratches on his cheek. ‘Cut myself shaving,’ he mumbled unconvincingly. He grabbed Mimi and hugged her tightly to him. ‘I really love you, you know that, don’t you?’
He felt Mimi nod into his chest. They stood together for a few moments as he rubbed her back, more to soothe himself than her, until finally they broke apart. Mimi walked slowly into the hallway and dropped her bag on the floor, just as she always did. ‘Something’s not right,’ she said, looking around her slowly.
Jamie swallowed.
‘The house is the tidiest it’s ever been. What the heck is going on?’
Jamie followed her gaze. He had almost forgotten that he had spent hours cleaning. It seemed like a lifetime ago. It was as if the whole day had been suspended in time. ‘I, er, I decided it was time I cleaned up my act.’
Mimi frowned, her large blue eyes narrowing as she did so. ‘Well, about time too,’ she said, in that voice that was so like Martha’s, as she walked slowly into the kitchen, looking around her in wonderment as if seeing the house for the first time. ‘Where’s Mum?’ she said suddenly, spinning around to look at him.
Jamie looked away, unable to meet her eye. ‘She’s not here,’ was the best he could manage.
‘I can see that. Where is she?’ Mimi wasn’t going to be fobbed off.
Jamie rubbed his face, playing for time. ‘She’s . . .’ he began, just as the doorbell rang again. ‘That’ll be Tom,’ he said, heading for the door, relieved to have been saved from an explanation, for the moment at least.
Tom was pressing his smiling face to one of the small glass squares in the front door, his white blond hair visible in the square above. Jamie tried to smile back as he opened the door. Tom trudged past and dumped his bags beside Mimi’s on the hall floor.
‘Don’t I get a hug?’ Jamie said, his heart aching at the sight of Tom’s trusting, open face, so secure in his happy little life. The happy little life that was about to be blown apart.
Tom gave Jamie a perfunctory hug before following Mimi into the kitchen. ‘Wow, everything looks different,’ he said, looking around. ‘Tidy,’ he added, as he helped himself to a chocolate Hobnob from the biscuit tin and got himself a drink of orange squash.
Jamie leaned against the doorframe, watching his children as they settled at the table, ready to talk about their day, just as they always did before they would go off to do homework, play on their computers or listen to music.
He hesitated, then poured himself a coffee and joined them. Mimi looked up at him expectantly. ‘So, what’s going on?’ she said, as direct and no-nonsense as her mother.
Tom looked at Mimi in surprise, before turning to Jamie. Jamie felt his face burn under the scrutiny of the two pairs of eyes boring into him. ‘Well . . .’ he began, before shrugging helplessly, at a loss to know what to say.
Tom frowned. ‘Where’s Mum?’
Jamie took a deep breath. ‘She’s . . . well, she’s gone away for a few days.’
‘But she wasn’t well this morning,’ Mimi said quickly, and Jamie could almost see the cogs of her brain whirring as she spoke. ‘And she didn’t mention any assignments.’
‘No,’ Tom agreed solemnly. ‘She was throwing up this morning. So how could she go anywhere? I always have to stay in bed with a bowl beside me when I throw—’
‘Yes, we know!’ Mimi snapped. ‘So, what’s going on, Dad? Something’s not right.’
‘Oh God,’ Jamie mumbled to himself, rubbing his face again. ‘Look, your mum has had to go away for a few days unexpectedly . . .’
Mimi frowned. ‘Where’s she gone?’
‘LA. She had to do an interview for the book she’s doing . . . um, with that guy,’ he continued, deciding that keeping his explanation as honest as possible was the best idea. ‘You know, Charlie Simmons, the actor? He’s gone to LA and Mum has to follow him to see how he gets on.’
Mimi’s face crumpled slightly. ‘He’s the one she was photographed with in the paper . . .’
Jamie clasped Mimi’s hand. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘Some of the girls at school had seen it. They said Mum spent the night at his hotel with him . . .’ A fat tear slid down her smooth, pale cheek.
‘Oh darling,’ Jamie reached over to hug her awkwardly across the table. ‘That’s not true at all. I burnt a hole in her dress, so he lent her some of his clothes to wear. It was completely innocent!’
Mimi looked at him suspiciously. ‘You’re just saying that to protect her,’ she began, shaking her head. ‘Otherwise, why has she gone off to LA with him?’ She burst into noisy sobs as she finished speaking, and Tom, who never cried, followed suit.
Jamie watched both his children helplessly, unable to reassure them. The only way he could convince them that Martha was innocent was by confessing to what he had done himself and he wasn’t ready to do that just yet. He couldn’t even begin to find the words.
‘Come here,’ he said in a choked voice, standing up so that he could hug them both. ‘I promise you, your mum has done nothing wrong. She has just had to go on assignment for a couple of days. I spoke to her earlier and she is going to call you later to explain. So, dry your eyes and let’s do something fun.’
After a few moments, both children had calmed down. Mimi got up and took a tissue from the box on the window sill, with which she dabbed at her eyes. Tom wiped his eyes and nose on the back of his sleeve.
‘OK,’ Mimi fixed Jamie with her wide blue stare. ‘Do you promise, I mean absolutely promise, that nothing is going on between Mum and that guy?’
Jamie blinked as he thought quickly. It was strange that Martha had gone off to LA with Charlie Simmons, but it was only because of what he had done. She couldn’t be blamed in any way. ‘I promise you, your mum has done nothing wrong,’ he said, wishing so badly that he could say the same for himself.