‘Sure you don’t want a proper mattress?’ Dafydd asked. ‘It’s no trouble.’
‘I’ll be fine on the air bed.’ Diane was packing a small rucksack with her overnight kit. ‘Torch. Book. Phone. What else do I need?’
‘Your head examining?’ Elizabeth suggested.
Having already carted sleeping bags, pillows, Diane’s air bed, the Monopoly set and the guitar to the tent, Mimi and Jordan were now rooting through the food cupboard, loading goodies in to a cardboard box.
‘That should be enough, I think,’ Mimi handed the box to Jordan. ‘C’mon Jay. ’Night Elizabeth. ’Night Dad.’ She gave her father a peck on the cheek.
‘I’ll be out in a minute,’ Diane called after them. ‘Bagsy me the top hat.’
‘You’re not really going to play Monopoly?’ Elizabeth said.
‘I promised I would, but I’m counting on them getting bored before we get to the hotel stage.’
Diane went off to clean her teeth and Angel drifted in, phone in one hand, iPod in the other. ‘I’m going to have a bath then go to bed.’ She paused in the doorway, grinned and threw up a fist in triumph. ‘Result. I get a room to myself.’
Dafydd went outside. Elizabeth watched as he took a bin liner and collected debris. It was a commonplace scene – the man of the house clearing up after the family barbecue – but its ordinariness invested it with intimacy and it troubled her. She was starting to think of Dafydd as her man and these people as her family.
At the end of the garden the tent glowed blue and ghostly, a spaceship with Jordan as resident alien. She couldn’t imagine what Mimi saw in him. All she could think was that, whenever there were no adults around, he morphed into a vastly more scintillating young man. Why Mimi had agreed to Diane’s offer to act as chaperone was still a mystery. There had to be more on the negotiating table than the promise of a third Monopoly player.
Dafydd came in and began washing plates. ‘I’ve been eavesdropping. Mimi and Jordan are planning a midnight feast. They sound like a couple of five year olds.’ He nodded then, as if talking to himself, added, ‘I expect she’s missing Tomos.’
Tomos. Elizabeth had forgotten that Dafydd had a son but hearing his name, tossed carelessly into the conversation, threw her off balance. It was as though she’d got halfway through a maths problem then realised she’d been applying incorrect equations. Dafydd Jones + his children – his wife = 4 (not 3!) She should go back to the beginning and check her working. If Mimi were looking for a brother substitute, how did Jordan fit the bill? Tomos was ten. Ten year olds’ pockets were stuffed with football cards and gyroscopes and whoopee cushions. Jordan was fifteen. God only knew what was in his pockets.
Dafydd grimaced. ‘Sorry you had to get involved in this, Di. Maybe I did overreact.’
‘No worries. I’m looking forward to my night under … nylon.’
Diane had returned and was fastening her rucksack. As she opened the back door, Elizabeth held her breath, expecting to be embarrassed with If you can’t be good, be careful or something worse. But ‘Sleep tight’ was all she said as she left, a dancing pool of torchlight marking her progress up the steps and across the lawn to the tent where the door opened to swallow her up.
Dafydd whistled as he scrubbed the greasy plates and stacked them on the draining board. Elizabeth pottered around, stretching cling film over bowls of leftovers and wiping the work surfaces. Another homely tableau.
Angel returned, bringing with her the scent of peach and vanilla. Her cheeks were pink and her hair, hoisted up in a ponytail, was damp at the nape of her neck. She wore a T-shirt, a baggy, androgynous garment, the sort of thing Elizabeth relegated to her rag bag. But Angel would look stunning were she dressed in a bin bag. She took an apple from the fruit bowl and, as Mimi had done, planted a kiss on her father’s cheek. ‘I’m off to bed. Nos da. See you in the morning.’
They murmured their goodnights.
‘Can I get you anything?’ Dafydd asked.
Elizabeth searched for an entertaining reply, something to keep the mood light, but, as so often happened when it mattered, nothing came. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’
‘Hot drink? Nightcap? Hang on.’ He checked the cupboard. ‘The nightcap may be difficult. We finished the brandy last night.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We’ve got time to sprint up to the pub.’
‘I’m fine. Honestly.’
There was a self-conscious silence and then they spoke simultaneously ‘Dafydd…’ ‘Elizabeth…’ then simultaneously apologised. ‘Sorry.’ ‘Sorry.’
After Mimi’s outburst had been resolved, the evening had been awash with bonhomie. Appetites were regained and conversation flowed easily. They had overcome an obstacle, prevailed over adversity, and this had drawn them closer together. Even Jordan seemed infected with the mellow mood, not saying much but playing the guitar, supplying the backing track to the party. As dusk gave way to darkness and bats fluttered jerkily around the hawthorn tree, Elizabeth had become conscious of a delicious expectation building steadily as first Mimi and Jordan, then Diane, and finally Angel had retired to tent and bed.
Now she and Dafydd stood on either side of the kitchen, suddenly polite and hesitant, and she felt cheated, like a child who, having been promised a trip to the circus, instead found herself taking tea with a maiden aunt.
‘You look tired,’ he said.
Hardly surprising. She’d been up since dawn. In fact she’s barely slept in the past thirty-six hours.
‘Must be the sea air,’ she said.
‘There’s hot water if you’d like a bath. It’s a combi boiler so no need to wait for the tank to heat up. They’re very efficient. And economical. Dad says it cuts their bill by a third.’
‘Yes. We keep promising ourselves that we’ll get one installed.’
Plumbing talk. Still, Better to travel hopefully as Lenny Butler would have it.
She lingered in the bath, topping up the hot water, listening as the boiler fired up then cut out, delaying the moment of discovering whether this … this thing between them was going to come to anything. The deeper the water, the more perplexed she became. Why didn’t he come to check that she was all right? Didn’t he care? He should because if she stayed in the bath much longer, she was going to flood the bathroom.
When it was clear that he wasn’t coming, she yanked the plug out, dried herself, slipped on her nightdress and cleaned her teeth. Pulling her cotton robe securely around her, she opened the bathroom door. A gentle murmur came from upstairs. Angel must be chatting on the phone. She moved silently down the hall. No light was showing beneath Dafydd’s door. Both living room and kitchen were in darkness too but, as she stood at the sink, sipping a glass of water, she noticed that the tent was still aglow.
Smarting a little at Dafydd’s failure to wish her goodnight, she returned to her room. Diane appeared to have dumped all her possessions on the floor then scuffed through them. She couldn’t contemplate getting into a bed surrounded by such a mess (even though it wasn’t hers and would be invisible in the darkness). She folded Diane’s clothes – size eight jeans? Impossible – piling them on the chair, appalled that a grown woman could be so untidy.
Both she and Laurence were sticklers for tidiness and she couldn’t for the life of her understand why anyone wouldn’t be. A small effort now saved so much time, so much frustration, in the long run. Unfortunately, her sons had not inherited their parents’ love of order. Were she to tot up the hours she’d spent searching for railcards or shin pads or watches or once, and unbelievably, Ben’s trumpet (in the garden shed, for some unfathomable reason) or ironing clothes that had been worn for an hour then dumped on the floor … were she to tot up those hours, what might she have done with that lost time? (Read Proust perhaps?) Satisfied with her efforts, she plumped her pillows and climbed into bed, covering herself with the sleeping bag which she had opened out to form a quilt.
Earlier in the evening, during a quiet moment, she had locked herself in the bathroom and texted Laurence, Alex, Ben and Maggie, convinced that, in some telepathic conspiracy, they would try to contact her at the crucial moment and wreck … whatever the night might bring. She’d sent the same text to each of them. 
Everything fine with me (amended to ‘us’ in Alex’s case to let him know that Jordan was also ‘fine’). Hope the same with you. × E As an afterthought she added her sister to the list. They had last spoken a couple of weeks ago and although she’d told Rose that she was planning to visit Diane, it seemed as well to remind her. In Wales for a few days with friends. Home on Saturday. × Liz
Checking her phone, she was surprised to find five envelopes in her ‘inbox’.
No fatalities (cat or garden) so far. Need any shopping for the weekend? Mags ×
Bless her.
Houston hot. Work frantic. lol. Ben x
Same here. Rose × M&D coming for weekend so cleaning oven.
Glad you’re having a nice time with Di and your new friends. Counting the days – 2.75. × L. My Poire belle Hélène was a triumph.
not really but will keep til sat alex
(How predictable that the only hint of negativity came from her younger son.)
Five texts sent and five replies. Her plan to get ahead of the game had met with a one hundred percent success rate. What a shame that the game was off.
It was only ten-thirty but she was exhausted. Switching off the bedside lamp, she closed her eyes, but her brain refused to slow down, racing at a mile a minute, fuelled by rock stars and crashing waves, arguments and tents and sausages, red wine and disappointment.
Think about your day, Elizabeth.
Were she to think back over this particular day, she would remain awake all night. Instead she pictured the bedroom which she and Laurence shared, imagining it as it would be at this moment, their clothes hanging silently in the wardrobe, paired shoes on the rack beneath, the street lamp casting its beam across the unrumpled duvet.
It must have worked because she failed to hear the bedroom door open.
‘I didn’t want to startle you,’ Dafydd whispered. He was standing on the far side of Diane’s bed. ‘I just wanted to …’
She pushed herself up in the bed, pulling the straps of her nightdress squarely onto her shoulders, ensuring that her breasts were covered, wondering how much detail he could make out in the darkness.
‘Yes?’ She combed her fingers through her hair.
‘I wanted to say goodnight.’
It was too dark to see his face; to guess what he was thinking, but switching the light on seemed a brazen move, as if she were inviting him to look at her.
She fished around for something sensible to say, something that would keep him in the room. ‘I can’t help thinking we’ve spoiled your week, foisting ourselves on you like this. I don’t suppose you get that much time with your daughters.’
‘Not at all. You’re doing me a favour. The girls love having people around. The more the merrier. They get bored with me after a couple of days.’
‘Maybe, but anyone can see that they adore you. And they’re at that funny age, aren’t they?’ Moonlight was filtering through the curtains and she folded her arms across her chest.
‘Isn’t every age a funny age? We assume that our problems will dissolve once our children progress to the next stage. We imagine that as soon as they sleep through the night, or learn to walk, or talk, or read, or get themselves safely from A to B, parenthood will be a doddle. As if the acquisition of skills converts a newborn babe into something less challenging. My mum used to say, “Make the most of them now, whilst all you have to worry about is a wet bed and the odd temper tantrum.” We didn’t believe her. What did she know? It’s a miracle that man evolved at all when you think of the lessons he refuses to learn.’
Elizabeth was impressed with Dafydd’s reflections on what were often held to be women’s concerns. It was touching that he quoted his mother’s advice and, moreover, admitted that she’d been right. She doubted whether Laurence had discussed the subject of child development with his mother. It would have been a waste of time because Phillyda hadn’t been overly involved with childcare – Laurence-care. What were nannies and boarding schools for if not that? Laurence had done his bit with Ben and Alex but it had been limited to specific duties – swimming lessons, trips to Lords, visits to the barber’s, that sort of thing. Having fulfilled his commitment, he’d sign off and drift up to his study, leaving her to tussle with the negotiating and the bickering, homework and meals. It was easy to see how closely Dafydd had been involved with his children’s growing up. It must have been distressing when Gwenno upped and offed with Sam.
He might have read her thoughts. ‘When the girls were small, Gwenno and I both worked part-time. We shared childcare.’
‘You enjoyed that?’
‘Loved it. All those coffee mornings with yummy mummies.’
‘And screaming toddlers?’
‘No problem. We locked ’em under the stairs.’ He made an abrupt little noise, more like coughing than laughing. ‘We read books on how to be perfect parents, but refuse to take advice from the people who know. We can’t wait for the kids to be independent, then feel miserable when they don’t need us anymore. We moan about sleepless nights, or teenagers that won’t get out of bed in the morning then spend hours persuading friends that parenthood is the best thing in the world. The whole thing is an enigma. Start to finish.’
He sighed – a proper sigh, heavy with regret.
‘What’s the time?’ she asked.
He switched on the light and squinted at his watch. ‘Eleven-fifteen.’
Tonight he was wearing a washed-out T-shirt and checked pyjama bottoms. It appeared that the better acquainted they became, the more he covered himself up but maybe he was being considerate, not wanting to intimidate her by exposing too much flesh.
‘I didn’t like it when you were cross with me this afternoon,’ she said.
He half-sat on Diane’s bed, resting his left leg on the mattress, keeping his right foot on the floor. ‘I wasn’t cross with you. I was cross with myself. I was afraid I’d bamboozled you into—’
‘Bamboozled?’ she laughed. ‘I’m not sure what that means in this context.’
He swung himself across the bed, twisting to face her, suddenly close to her.
‘This.’ He leaned forward and kissed her full on the lips.
‘Oh.’
‘And I wasn’t too thrilled when you said that Lenny was “charming”. In fact I wanted to hit him.’
‘You weren’t jealous were you?’
‘Of course I was.’
His affirmation filled her with confidence. ‘This afternoon, when you were being cross, you told me that if I changed my mind about … you know … I should be sure of my motives.’
‘I can be such a pompous prick—’
‘Shhh. I have changed my mind. But as for a motive. That sounds too cold-blooded. I don’t think I’m trying to prove anything or punish anyone. I agree with you. I think it would be lovely. So, yes please, I would like to sleep with you.’
‘I’m glad,’ he said and, pulling her up gently by the hand, he led her out of the room.
He had placed the bedside lamp on the floor, softening the shadows and transforming the room into a snug cave. There were no clothes draped over the bed end or dumped on the chair. The bed, top sheet folded back and pillows plumped, looked wholesome and unthreatening.
‘You were sure I’d say yes?’ she said.
‘I was damn sure you wouldn’t. But there was no harm in having a bit of a tidy.’
Shoo-er. A bit of a tidy. His choice of words, the Welsh intonation, was warm and down to earth.
Up until now, this had all been theoretical. Suddenly she felt out of her depth. To begin with, how would they get from being vertical and clothed to horizontal and naked?
He seemed to sense her concerns. ‘Would a drink help?’ He pointed to the bottle of wine on the chest of drawers.
‘Thanks.’
He poured the wine and they chinked glasses.
‘Shall we go to bed now?’ he said, taking off his T-shirt but leaving the pyjama bottoms on.
Direct. Uncomplicated. No fuss.
Still wearing her nightdress, she lay down by his side, covered by the cool white sheet, their hips touching.
He rolled on to his side, studying her face. ‘You okay with this?’
‘I think so.’ She smiled. ‘But d’you think we might talk? Just for a while.’
‘Of course. What shall we talk about?’
‘Ummm. Tell me about clouds.’
‘Okay. Clouds are those big puffy things up in the sky. They can be white or grey, and they’re full of rain. Next question.’
‘Why did you choose me and not Diane?’
He paused. ‘Easy. Carl’s bigger than I am.’
It had been unfair of her to wrong-foot him like that and she remained silent, giving him time to compose his answer.
‘I like you very much, Elizabeth, and I feel drawn to you. You’re a beautiful, witty, intelligent woman and I’m incredibly flattered that you’re here with me.’ He paused. ‘You make me feel that I’m not such a bad guy after all.’
What an odd thing to say.
‘Was that ever in doubt?’ she asked.
‘You doubted it.’ He prodded her gently. ‘Didn’t you?’
She recalled her first sight of him (the second if she counted the near miss with his car), wandering around in his underpants. ‘I had you down as a show off. An arrogant little Welshman.’ She made a fist and punched him gently on the thigh. ‘Not bad looking, though.’
Her self-confidence grew with each confession.
‘The first time I saw you I thought, why the hell is this lunatic woman intent on denting my car.’
‘You knew that was me?’
‘Well you’re a cut above the bog-standard jaywalker.’
He pulled her to him, cradling her head against his shoulder, nuzzling his face against hers. His cheeks were smooth. That’s what he was doing when he disappeared – shaving. He smelled of soap and shampoo. She had been determined not to draw comparisons but, after Laurence’s lanky elegance, he felt solid and muscly.
She ran her hand across his chest, the hair dense and springy. ‘I’ve been longing to see what it felt like.’
‘And?’
‘We had a wire-haired terrier when I was a child…’
‘Now there’s a coincidence,’ he grabbed her hand and licked it. ‘My middle name’s Fido.’
‘Fool,’ she said. ‘While we’re talking names, there must be a reason for giving your daughters such … exotic names.’
He sighed. ‘Dreadful, aren’t they?’
‘Well…’
‘They were actually baptised Angharad and Mair.’
‘Really? So why…?’
‘Their idea. They went to dance classes – ballet, tap, you know the sort of thing – and they got it into their heads that dancers have fancy names. They wanted to be called Angel and Mimi. Gwenno and I thought it was funny. Clever. Harmless. We thought they’d get fed up with it. But seven or eight years later they’re still Angel and Mimi. We’d have taken a harder line if we’d known it would stick. Promise you won’t say anything. They’ll murder me if they find out I told you.’
A car engine revved close by and she heard the chunk of a car door shutting.
‘Who’s that?’ she whispered, stiffening and raising her head from his shoulder.
‘Nothing. There’s traffic up and down all night. The dunes are popular in warm weather.’
She sank back against him. ‘Sorry. I’m a bit edgy. I’m used to sleeping upstairs. I feel – I don’t know – vulnerable at ground level.’
‘Why don’t I lock the back door? If the campers want to get in they can knock. Angel’s no problem. She could sleep for Wales. We won’t see her before ten.’
‘Would you mind?’
‘No worries. I need a pee anyway.’ He rolled away from her, got up and went out of the room.
She yawned and shifted across the bed, lying in the indentation left by his body. She felt better now – more relaxed. A man who cared about children, who knew about clouds and the moon, who could read her mind, would surely be a tender lover. To be honest she already felt pleasantly satisfied. She closed her eyes, resolving to go with the flow – an appalling phrase but remarkably appropriate as she felt herself drifting.