I like living on my own!
In an effort to banish evil thoughts and fairytale notions, I had thrown myself into another cleaning frenzy and the house was now polished and shiny, fragrant and dust-free. I’d arranged the cushions Caroline had sent, bought flowers, hung a few more pictures and splashed out on another hideously expensive perfumed candle.
I did miss my children from time to time, but there was a certain appeal in the constant hot water, peace in which to work and coming home to rooms scented with the essence of fig and gardenia rather than late-night bacon and abandoned socks.
In addition to churning out plans round the clock, I’d been making the most of the light evenings and had cleared all sorts of stinky vegetation from the depths of the pond and started digging up the flowerbed that ran along the fence. Perhaps it was the physical activity that was helping me sleep better – my nightmares were rare now – and it was all serving to keep my mind off whatever was going on over the road.
Almost.
I knew Jinni was back because her windows were flung open and she was having a tree cut down. The sound of the electric saw sliced through the still afternoon and I could smell the sawdust and broken leaves hanging on the warm air as I walked down to the town. There was a truck parked on her gravel, the back filled with lopped-off branches. Clearly she had won the day over the preservation order!
She’d also sent me a text – ‘am back see you soon thanks for keeping an eye’ – but she hadn’t come the short distance over the road and knocked on the door.
I felt sad because I missed her, hurt she’d not been honest about why she was warning me off and a bit stupid and somewhat nauseous at the vision of her and David having unromantic, uncomplicated sex before he thoughtfully disappeared after breakfast.
I dragged my eyes away from the old rectory. I had other friends. Gabriel had sent me a chatty email asking how I was and Malcolm had sent one of his terse ones saying it must be time for another lunch. Fran was still threatening a night out; Nikki had theatre tickets for next week.
In the meantime, I’d organise the steak and kidney night, possibly inviting Gabriel along, especially if I did it on the weekend Ben was threatening to come home. Tilly had told me Gabriel was fed up that Malcolm still wasn’t letting him do anything meaty, so maybe, away from the office, they could bond over the short crust (I was hoping Malcolm would show equal enthusiasm for a pie as for pudding; I always felt rather faint at the prospect of boiling suet).
I would say it was to thank them both for their kindness and help when my mother had gone AWOL. Strictly speaking, I should invite Ingrid too, but she’d argue with Malcolm and I’d be embarrassed if the conversation turned to …
I jumped as the phone rang. Tilly sounded buoyant. ‘Shane called and I’ve got three days’ work NEXT WEEK!’
‘That’s wonderful, what is it?’
‘Something about bullying. I need school uniform.’
‘What? Would it fit you?’
‘Thank you, Mother!’
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ I said lamely, cursing myself for being insensitive, as Tilly rattled on.
The wonderful Shane, who had apparently gone to school with the equally sainted David (he had apparently referred to Tilly as ‘striking’, which had gone down extremely well) had a company doing what was known as Theatre in Education – TIE – and Tilly had been promised a part in the next production, which was touring schools after the May half-term. Now, however, one of the girls in the current play had got glandular fever and couldn’t finish the last week of the run. Tilly had been sent the script and was to step in.
‘As far as I can see, I just have to cry a lot,’ she was saying, ‘and tell one of the teacher’s my life isn’t worth living … Anyway, they said they’ll get the costume and I’ll have to wear the same tie as the others, but actually, you know, the skirts and jumpers are navy blue so if I had my old stuff … I haven’t put on THAT much weight since I left school …’ She gave me a sharp look.
‘Of course you haven’t,’ I said.
I’d wandered into the kitchen and turned the kettle on while she was talking, but now found myself back at the front window looking at Jinni’s place. Her front door was open.
I switched my attention back to my daughter. ‘But aren’t you quite old to play a school girl?’
‘I told you! It’s like that in TIE. Everyone’s in their twenties. Well, Shane isn’t. He’s 41 …’
I found I’d turned around again. The front door of the rectory had closed. As I gazed at the building, I saw the outline of what looked like Jinni cross an upstairs window. And behind her …
It was over in a split second. It was a man, for sure, the right height probably. There was no car outside. But he’d probably left his car in a side road. Hoping I wouldn’t notice him slide into the house. They wouldn’t want to flaunt it in front of me, would they? Not when they couldn’t stand the sight of each other.
My heart was pounding. My interest in David was over. What was I doing carrying out surveillance behind the curtains?
‘Well?’ My daughter was demanding in my ear. ‘Do you think so, or not?’
I backed away from the window. ‘Sorry, I … Could you say that again, I didn’t quite hear you, darling …’
At the end of the line, there was a long growl of exasperation.
‘Mum! You’re not even listening!’
‘I’m listening.’
Oliver was already waiting at a table under the awning outside, when I hurried along the top concourse of St Pancras to the Betjeman Arms. He sounded uncharacteristically solemn when he called to arrange this and he looks very serious now.
Alarm runs through me although he’s promised me neither of them are ill or have lost their jobs, or – I have now added this to the list of possible disasters in the light of the Tilly’s credit card debacle – are deeply in debt.
It feels like a long time since I’ve seen him. It’s probably my imagination but he already looks older. Oliver is taller and slighter than Ben, more studious-looking. He’s always seemed more responsible than the other two but not as grave as this. I wonder anxiously if he’s split up with Sam and hasn’t wanted to tell me on the phone. And I will it not to be that. Sam is part of the family.
He hugs me and smiles, slightly self-consciously, it seems, as I sit down opposite him. We order beer and wine and water. He doesn’t say anything else.
‘Do you want to eat?’ I ask him, as the waiter puts a menu down.
‘Not yet. Maybe after.’ His eyes slide away from mine. ‘I want to talk to you first.’
My unease deepens. ‘Go on,’ I say.
My eldest son looks straight at me and appears to take a deep breath. ‘Sam’s pregnant,’ he says. Adding slowly – as if I might not be familiar with this state of affairs, ‘we’re going to have a baby.’
In retrospect, I will realise I should have made the moment on St Pancras station memorable for my son. I should have shrieked. Or embraced him. Taken his hand and delivered some profound sentiments that expressed my unrivalled joy and pride. Not sat, mouth flapping like a goldfish, trying to paraphrase the mixed thoughts and emotions chasing across my mind, fuelled by the bewilderment in his eyes.
My lips open and shut a bit more as I try to form something congratulatory, bracing and maternal, which will demonstrate my unconditional love and unwavering support.
‘Oh my God.’
‘I know,’ says Oliver. ‘That’s what I said.’
We order burgers to get us over the shock and while we are waiting for them, Oliver explains how, within mere days of missing a period – which she never, ever does – Sam had started feeling sick and so encouraged by her friend Gemma from the nursery, had taken a test, even though she knew she couldn’t possibly be … or thought she couldn’t …
‘She phoned me at work. Just said to get home as early as I could,’ Oliver tells me. ‘She was looking so pale I was really scared. I thought she was going to say she had something terribly wrong with her.’
He swallows. ‘I couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t even told me she thought she might be …’
I nod in sympathy. ‘Weren’t you er …?’
‘Yes, she was on the pill, of course. The nurse at the doctor’s said it happens.’ Oliver looks uncomfortable. ‘She asked if Sam had had sickness or diarrhoea in the last couple of months.’
I clap a hand to my mouth. ‘Oh God,’ I say again.
It is all the fault of my fish pie.
‘I’m SO sorry. But,’ I add hastily, ‘it’s lovely isn’t it – a baby, imagine!’
I search his face for traces of joy, my insides wrenched with guilt. What had I been thinking of, dragging seafood home on the train?
Oliver shrugs ruefully. ‘It’s not very good timing, moneywise–’
I am ready with the platitudes for this one. ‘Your grandmother always used to say that if everyone waited till they could afford a family, there’d be no babies born at all,’ I tell him brightly and squeeze his arm. ‘You’ve both got jobs and you’ll be earning a lot more once you’ve finished your training and I’m sure Dad and I can help you. Sam’s parents are always very generous, aren’t they …?’
I’ve never met them as Sam’s father has some big job in Singapore, but I’ve spoken to her mother on the phone, who sounds very nice and I know they are comfortably off. Sam has some fabulous jewellery and they paid for the airline tickets and all sorts of trips when Oliver and Sam went out to visit.
He nods. ‘Sam’s already phoned them.’ He gives his first small smile. ‘They were pleased, apparently!’
‘I am too,’ I say immediately. ‘It was just a surprise.’ I grip his forearm even more tightly. ‘Really, darling, I am thrilled to bits.’
I have a sudden picture of a tiny baby with a shock of dark hair, like Oliver himself when he was born.
‘The thing is–’ Oliver hesitates. ‘We can’t move into the new flat now. We were about to sign, but we’ve had to let it go.’
‘Oh.’
‘We couldn’t really afford it before, but we were going to economise and maybe get some evening jobs or something. But now, if Sam will be stopping work before the end of the year … And we can’t stay where we are. Sam’s flatmate has already found someone new and everyone in mine got notice anyway. The landlord’s selling.’
‘Well maybe–’ I want to tell him there’ll be an answer – that now they are going to be parents there will be other options and assistance, but Oliver sweeps on.
‘Sam’s mum and dad have been great. They say we can live in their flat in Battersea. It sounds amazing – they bought it as an investment, but we can use it and just pay the running costs, they said. Until we can afford some rent.’
‘Well, then, that’s brilliant–’
‘But it’s got a tenant in it until the end of June. Sam’s parents are over here in the first week of July and they say we’ll sort it out then. In the meantime …’ Oliver stops, his eyes fixed on mine and suddenly he doesn’t look older at all. I am already nodding as he asks.
‘It will only be for a while, Mum, but can we come and live with you?’