SHE WOKE HEARING Stephen’s scream.
Eyes snapped open into darkness. Jo sat up, shaking. She wiped sweat from her forehead. The glowing clock said 03.14. She was here, in her house, in the king-sized bed alone, with her children sleeping around her, Stephen’s mother sleeping downstairs. The scream had only been in her mind.
She still heard it.
She pushed off the duvet and swung her feet out of bed. It was still only April; this was early. The anniversary wasn’t till June. Jo knew from experience that she had to get up, make herself a hot drink, find a book to read or a television programme to watch, or else she would keep thinking about it. About Stephen’s last moments, about what he had seen, how he had felt. The fear that must have ripped through him, his most secret feelings coming to life as he died.
His hands, scrabbling at nothing. His glasses falling off his face. The police hadn’t returned them to her; they must have been smashed. She had given the undertakers his spare ones, even though the casket was closed, even though he had no use for them.
What had Stephen seen?
Jo bowed her head into her hands. She knew she would not sleep again tonight, and she would have to put a bright face on everything tomorrow.
It was only April.
Jo knocked on Honor’s door. ‘Yes?’ she answered from inside, and Jo tentatively opened it. Honor was sitting in her armchair with a thick book in her lap. She seemed to do very little else.
‘Oscar and I have made some green fairy cakes. I’ve brought you one with a cup of tea.’
She brought the plate and cup over. Honor glanced at the fairy cake – green sponge with a green splodge of icing – nodded once and turned her attention back to her book. It was huge and heavy, with Russian writing on the cover. How could Honor make Jo feel small simply by holding a book?
‘Oscar’s very fond of green food colouring,’ Jo explained. ‘Which is ironic, really, because he refuses to eat any green vegetables except for avocado.’
Honor grunted. She turned a page.
‘Also,’ Jo ventured, ‘I wanted to talk with you about a calendar. I thought we could have one that we kept in the kitchen, and we could all write our appointments and things in it, so that we’ll be able to coordinate better.’
‘A calendar.’
‘Yes, you know. To write down things like Lydia’s exams and Oscar’s nursery, and the various bits and pieces I have to do, and then of course your appointments. It’ll help me, so I know when I’ll have to drive you to the hospital, and so on.’
‘I’ll take a taxi to the hospital.’
‘Well, there’s no need, if I can drive you. I’m very happy to, and that’s why you moved in here, after all.’
Honor looked at Jo, in that odd way she had, of actually looking over Jo’s shoulder instead of meeting her gaze. It was an extra slap in the face.
‘I thought it would be easiest, and central, if we put it up on the cupboard door near the fridge, for example,’ Jo added. Also, it would save awkward conversations like this. She held out the calendar, which she’d had underneath her arm. Iris had chosen it; it had photographs of kittens dressed in little outfits.
‘All right,’ said Honor. ‘If that’s what you want.’ She took the calendar and Jo retreated.
In the living room, Iris and Oscar had brought all of their cuddly animals downstairs. Both of the children had green faces and fingers, and there were suspicious smudges on the pelts of the toys.
‘Are you ready to go outside for the tea party?’ Jo asked them.
‘No!’ Iris agreed, squeezing Irving, her pink elephant who she slept with every night.
‘Underneath the tree, Mummy,’ ordered Oscar.
‘Underneath the tree sounds perfect. You bring Irving and Mr Diddy outside and choose the spot, and bring the others outside too, and as soon as I’ve hung out the sheets I’ll be right along with some more cake.’
She brought the laundry basket of bed linen outside, where she could watch the children arranging their animals in a wonky circle amidst the fallen blossom, whilst she hung the sheets on the line. Sunshine and children were the perfect antidote to a sleepless night. Oscar and Iris trotted back and forth from the house to the tree, fully absorbed in the task. She watched Oscar’s surefooted, sturdy tread, arms and legs pumping; Iris’s springy wobble, curls bobbing. When did they lose that childish way of walking and settle into a grown-up stride? She tried to think back to Lydia, and couldn’t remember. She remembered how Lydia used to walk – fast, recklessly, heading hell-for-leather for the nearest obstacle and only veering aside at the last minute. And she knew how Lydia walked now, with her long legs and her unconscious grace, as if any moment she would break into her effortless run.
But she couldn’t remember the transition from child to woman. She’d been too busy carrying on with life to take notice. It was sad. She must remember not to miss it with Iris and Oscar.
Sheets hung, she brought out a fresh plate of cakes and a teapot full of squash and settled herself on the grass next to Irving.
‘Tea, Mummy,’ said Iris. She lifted the teapot and dribbled squash down her front.
‘I’ll do it,’ said Oscar, taking the teapot and carefully pouring a plastic cup full of squash. He handed it to his sister, who said, ‘No,’ and slopped more squash on herself, taking a drink.
‘Good pouring, Oscar. Will you pour some for me, too, and all the animals? And Iris, do you want to make sure everyone has a cake?’
Jo brushed a petal from her hair and watched her children busy and happy in the sunshine. She had memories like this of her own mother. In fact, if her mother were still here today, she’d be out on the grass too, drinking from a teacup full of squash. She wouldn’t let her pain stop her from spending time with her grandchildren. Like Jo, she knew that these moments didn’t last for ever.
Jo took a bite of green cake and held up the rest of the cake to Irving the elephant’s mouth so he could take a bite. She looked up just as Honor came out of the back door. Jo got up and hurried over to her, so she wouldn’t have to walk across the garden.
‘Here you are.’ Honor held up the kitten calendar.
‘That was quick.’ Jo took the calendar and glanced at it. Honor had written on it in her bold, spiky handwriting. ‘Oh. There’s something already in for today.’
‘It’s my appointment.’
‘Two o’clock?’ It was nearly one thirty; she’d been looking forward to half an hour or so of playing, and a relaxing afternoon of not having to haul the kids anywhere. Now she’d have to clean up the kids and herself, and get them all into the car in the next ten minutes if she was going to get there in time, especially with Honor’s current slow pace. And Iris usually started her nap at two; she’d been hoping to get Oscar down then, too, because he’d been running around all morning. She’d tentatively planned an hour with the kids asleep, to catch up on the laundry. Or maybe even a cup of tea and a book, if she got another load of bed linen hung out quickly. She could use the dryer, of course, but she was trying to save electricity. The bills.
‘Yes,’ Honor said. ‘It’s at two.’
‘But you never told me, Honor.’
‘I was going to take a taxi. As I said. I’ll ring one now.’
‘No, no no, of course not. Iris, Oscar, we have to get cleaned up and go for a trip in the car.’
‘No!’ said Iris, stamping her foot. Oscar’s face fell; tears were imminent. Honor had taken her own phone out of her pocket.
‘You can’t call a cab,’ Jo told her, ‘it’ll never get here in time. It’s not like London where you can grab a passing one; they take a little while to turn up.’
‘No,’ muttered Honor, ‘it’s nothing like London.’
‘I’ll drive you, it’s not a problem.’ Maybe Iris and Oscar would fall asleep in the car, and Jo could read her book in the car park while she waited for Honor to be finished.
But the sugar in the cakes and squash took its toll. Oscar and Iris sang ‘Old MacDonald’ at the top of their lungs all the way to the hospital, while Honor gazed stoically out of the window. Jo wanted to join in; she loved singing with the children, making all the animal noises, but Honor’s expression stopped her, and then she was angry at herself. Why shouldn’t she sing with her children?
There was no place to park near the entrance, so Jo had to drop Honor off. ‘I’ll find somewhere to park and take the children to a café or a playground,’ she said to Honor, through the rolled-down window. ‘Just text me when you’re finished and I’ll pick you up right here.’ Honor nodded and started off. ‘And get someone to give you a lift to Orthopaedics in a wheelchair!’ Jo called after her. ‘Or one of those golf-cart things!’
Honor appeared to take no notice. Jo sighed and drove around the car park looking for a space, whilst her children quack-quacked here and there behind her. She had to drive right to the top level in the end, squeezing her car in beside a large black Lexus.
‘Hide and seek in the park!’ Jo told the children, unbuckling them.
‘No!’ said Iris. ‘Want to sing.’
‘You can sing in the park, darling.’
Oscar scrambled out of the car at a run, straight towards the path of traffic. Jo only managed to snag him by the hood of his top. She held on to it and carried Iris on her hip, till they got to the bank of lifts, where Oscar immediately pressed all the buttons, so they stopped at every floor on the way down.
There was a park across a busy street from the hospital. Oscar pressed the button for the traffic lights, too, and Iris screamed and held out her hands because she wanted to press the button. ‘Quickly, then, sweetheart,’ said Jo, putting her down as the light went green. Iris stabbed the button with her chubby finger; by the time she’d finished the light was red again and the two children had to press the button over and over again until it was green.
The park was quiet aside from a few people on benches having their lunch. ‘I’m counting first!’ cried Oscar, and he squeezed his eyes shut. ‘One, two, three, four, six, nine, five …’
Iris squealed. Jo took her hand and they scampered over to a bush. ‘Hide behind it, Iris,’ whispered Jo, but Iris said ‘No’ and hid her face in her hands, obviously following the dictum that if she couldn’t see Oscar, he couldn’t see her. Jo crouched beside her.
‘Fourteen, fifteen, twenty! Ready or not, here I come!’ Oscar opened his eyes and yelled, ‘I found you! It’s too easy, Mummy!’
‘Why don’t you hide, and Iris and I will try to find you,’ Jo suggested.
‘Hide with Oscie!’
Oscar pouted. ‘I don’t want to hide with Iris. She’s rubbish.’
‘Hide with Oscie!’
There was a glob of greenish snot in each of Iris’s nostrils. Jo didn’t have a tissue, so she wiped Iris’s nose with her hand and wiped her fingers on the grass.
‘Please, Oscar, take your little sister this time. Then next time, you can hide and Iris and I will look for you. Stay in the park, though, OK?’
Reluctantly, he took her hand. Jo sank onto the grass, glad of the moment’s quiet. Half an hour ago, she’d been tired, but looking forward to a day with her children. What had happened?
Oh well, at least they’d have fun in the park, and maybe the naps could happen later. And the laundry…well, she’d get that done somehow. With any luck, she’d be worn out enough to sleep tonight.
‘Count!’ Oscar ordered her.
She closed her eyes. ‘One, two, three …’
They toddled off. Jo opened her eyes halfway and watched them as they headed for some bushes, then changed their mind and went towards some trees.
Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t managed lunch; she’d had half a green fairy cake since breakfast at seven this morning, which had been one of Oscar’s Petit Filous and a satsuma. Her bag had raisins in it, and some crackers, but she’d forgotten it at home in the rush. Also her book. And the tissues for Iris’s nose.
So many things were necessary for children. How did people do it, before the days of plastic pots of snacks and disposable tissues and nappies? Was it easier, because you didn’t expect those things? In some societies, women carried children for years, didn’t they? And breastfed till the age of five? There were some advantages to that, she supposed, in that it saved you carrying the world’s largest nappy bag everywhere.
A wail from the clump of trees. Jo jumped up and sprinted for her children. The part of her mother’s brain that knew each of her children’s cries and instantly catalogued them into varying categories of pain, fear, dismay, temper, knew that this wasn’t life-threatening, but her body reacted instantly nevertheless. Because it could be, this time. Because disaster happened when you weren’t expecting it, when you were happy.
Oscar stood looking down at himself and crying. Brown gunk was smeared on the knees of his trousers and on his T-shirt. Jo thought he must have found the only muddy puddle in the park and knelt in it, until she got close enough to smell it.
‘Oscie dog poo,’ Iris told her, solemnly, eyes wide.
Shit. Damn. Bollocks. And she had no bag, no wet-wipes, no spare clothing. She saw the dog mess he’d knelt in: it was fresh and enormous, like something deposited by a bear. It had two dents in it, exactly the shape of Oscar’s knees.
‘I didn’t see it, Mummy! I was trying to hide!’
‘It’s OK, Oscar, it was a mistake,’ she soothed. She rolled up his T-shirt on the bottom so she could get it off him without getting dog mess in his hair. Then she removed his shoes and checked their soles – thankfully, clean – and took off his trousers. Oscar kept on crying. His tears dripped on Jo’s head whilst she undressed him.
She took him onto her lap for a cuddle and to put his shoes back on him. ‘Here, sweetie, you can wear my cardigan to play in. See.’ She put it on him, and rolled up the sleeves; it came down nearly to his ankles.
‘Don’t want to play,’ said Oscar, sniffling. ‘Everything’s stinky.’
‘Did you get any on your hands?’
‘No,’ said Oscar, though Jo had a quick sniff and she thought he probably had. Of course he did; Oscar touched everything. It was a symptom of being bright and curious, she reminded herself. Not a lack of common sense.
‘Don’t put them in your mouth, all right? We’ll have to go back to the hospital and find somewhere to wash.’ She rolled the dirty clothes up so that the worst of the mess was inside, stood up, reached for Oscar’s hand, thought twice of it, and then gritted her teeth and took it. ‘Come on, Iris, we’re going.’
‘No!’ said Iris, but after the third time Jo asked her, she came along. Jo checked her over for dog poo, too, but mercifully, she’d stayed clear. To hold both their hands, she had to stuff Oscar’s clothes under her arm. The whiff of dog shit accompanied them through the park, across the street, and into hospital Reception.
‘Is there a toilet we can use?’ she asked the lady at the greeting desk. She wrinkled her nose and pointed down the corridor.
Jo made both Iris and Oscar wash their hands twice, and use the hand sanitizer too. She used toilet paper to clean their faces – Oscar had some suspicious smudges. She’d hoped for paper towels to wrap Oscar’s clothes in, but there were only hand-driers so she rolled the clothes more tightly into an inconspicuous-looking package. It still smelled, though.
‘I’m hungry,’ announced Oscar. Jo looked at him, swamped in her purple cardigan, and at Iris, who, she just noticed, had green icing in her hair. She put her hand in her pocket and was relieved to find a ten-pound note.
‘Let’s go to the café, shall we?’ she said cheerfully, and steered them down the corridor towards the enticing aroma of coffee.
She stowed the dirty clothes under the table and settled them all with chocolate muffins and drinks, including a double-shot mocha with whipped cream on top for herself. She refused to think about her soft middle when she ordered it; there were only so many ways to cope with such intimate contact with dog poo, and it was too early in the day for gin. Jo was about to raise her drink to her mouth when she saw the telltale expression of intense concentration on Iris’s face.
‘Oh no, Iris, not now,’ she said. But the little girl’s face had gone red and her lips puffed out.
‘Iris done a poo in her nappy,’ announced Oscar, tucking into his muffin.
Jo felt the attention of the people around them, who were only trying to enjoy a coffee during what was probably a stressful time in hospital. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured to the café as a whole.
‘It’s stinky, Mummy, you have to change her,’ said Oscar.
‘I know, and I’m sorry, Iris honey, but I have no nappies with me.’ She looked around; they had shops in hospitals these days. But she had only a few coins left, after buying the muffins and coffee. Maybe another mother nearby, one who was better prepared than she was …?
Her phone rang whilst she was searching pensioners’ faces desperately for a fellow young parent. ‘Where are you?’ Honor asked her.
‘We’re in the café,’ Jo said as Iris grunted with effort, and the woman sitting at the next table tsked. ‘Are you finished with your appointment?’
‘I’ve been at the front door for the past ten minutes.’
‘Right. Fine, we’ll come and get you in the car.’ She stood up. Somehow her mocha, sprinkled with brown chocolate, looked infinitely less appealing. ‘Come on, darlings, we’ve got to pick up Granny. You can bring your muffins with you.’
She tried not to think about the trail of brown crumbs they left on the polished hospital floors. And she really tried not to think of the whiff trailing behind them, either. She didn’t dare use the lift, for fear of someone else getting in with them, and for pity of the people who came after them, so she carried Iris up four flights of stairs, holding her breath for as much of that as possible. Oscar whined at climbing the stairs, so she carried him for the last flight too. Iris squirmed in her car seat, and Jo tried to say brightly, ‘I’m sorry, Iris, I know it’s uncomfortable, sweetie, but we’ll change you as soon as we get home and put you in a nice bath, all right?’
She hoped it wasn’t one of those poos that would leak out of the sides and onto the car seat.
Honor was waiting outside the door, as she’d said. She was looking paler than she had before, and more drawn. Jo hopped out to help her up into the car, but she pulled her arm away. ‘I can manage.’
‘How did it go?’
‘It’s humiliating, what do you think?’ Honor snapped. ‘The doctors treat you like a half-wit. It’s not like relaxing in a café.’
Jo didn’t say anything back. She did not trust herself.
‘What on earth is that smell?’ said Honor.
Jo pressed the ‘window down’ buttons for the front and back and drove off. Iris was snivelling, clearly overtired. Oscar was smearing his chocolate-caked fingers on the inside of the car door. Honor glanced into the back seat, shuddered ostentatiously, and positioned herself so that her nose was pointing out of the window.
Honor was an old woman who was in pain (though Jo’s own mother had been in constant pain for years, and even when she was dying, she had never taken it out on others). Honor was not used to dealing with poo of various sorts (though who ever got used to it, even after three children?).
Jo breathed through her mouth and when Iris’s snivelling became full-scale crying, and when Oscar joined in, she kept her cool. She kept it right up until they pulled into her driveway at home and she turned to Honor and said, ‘Can I help you getting out of the car?’ and Honor replied, ‘I’m not one of your children, thank God.’
‘Do it yourself then,’ Jo said crossly. ‘I’ve got enough to deal with without you being rude to me as well.’
She opened the back door and scooped Oscar out, and then went to the other side to get Iris. She carried them both inside, leaving the front door open for Honor, for when she finally made it to the house. How she managed that, was evidently not Jo’s problem.
Lydia was in the kitchen with a girl Jo didn’t recognize. They had spread their schoolwork out on the table and had ripped open a packet of biscuits from the centre, spilling crumbs everywhere. Jo carried the children straight through and up the stairs to run them a bath.
Her children were fine. They were normal children. Normal children stank sometimes, they got messy, and they cried. Maybe Honor had never seen it before; maybe Stephen had been perfect, but she didn’t think that he had. Maybe Honor had conveniently forgotten.
And next time, Honor could get a taxi and be late.
‘I don’t want a bath,’ wailed Oscar, and Jo, cleaning Iris’s bottom with a wet-wipe, snapped, ‘Stop it, Oscar. Just stop it. I have had enough!’
His eyes went wide and his lip wobbled. But he swallowed, and was silent. Iris and he got into the bath without any of their usual playing. Jo scrubbed them briskly, efficiently, and lifted them out one at a time to towel them dry.
‘Do you want to put the powder on?’ she asked Oscar, holding out the talcum, but he just shook his head. Jo bit her lip.
I am a terrible mother. And I left Honor in the car alone.
She put fresh clothes on both of them and brought them downstairs to watch television under a blanket. The front door, which she’d left open, was shut, and when she peered through the front window, the car was empty. When she went into the kitchen, Lydia’s friend was gone.
‘Did Granny Honor come in?’ Jo asked her. Lydia shrugged. ‘Didn’t you hear her?’
‘I wasn’t listening.’
‘Could you do me a favour, Lyddie? Could you knock on your grandmother’s door and make sure she’s OK? Bring her a cup of tea?’
‘Why can’t you do it?’
‘Because Granny Honor isn’t all that pleased with me right now, and I’m not all that pleased with myself, either. And also, I think it would come better from you.’ She sank into the chair that Lydia’s friend had vacated, with a sigh. Her head throbbed, her arms hurt from hauling several stones’ weight of children around, her clothes were damp, and she still smelled vaguely of dog shit.
‘I’m trying to do my homework.’
‘Please, Lyddie. And a biscuit, if you haven’t eaten them all. Who was that here, just now? I’ve never met her.’
‘Just someone I’m revising with. Maths.’
‘I thought you were revising with Avril.’
Lydia stood up. ‘Avril isn’t in my Maths set. Keep up.’
‘Lydia, I don’t like being talked to as if I’m stupid.’
‘Well, now you know how I feel.’
From outside the open window, a rumble of thunder. And almost immediately afterwards, a patter of rainfall.
‘I’ve got washing outside,’ Jo moaned. ‘Lydia, could you help me—’
‘I’m making Granny Honor her tea, like you asked,’ said Lydia, crossing to the kettle.
Jo hauled herself to her feet again and went out of the back door. The rain was cold and fell in heavy drops. At the bottom of the garden, she saw Oscar and Iris’s abandoned animals, mid-tea party. She ran to them and began to pick them up, muttering to herself out here where no one could hear her, about her daughter, her mother-in-law, about how sometimes she wanted another adult around just to share things with, someone who could see the funny side of her close encounters with poo, and how she had left a disabled elderly woman in a car alone.
‘Someone left the cake out in the rain?’
Jo started, her arms filled with damp fur. Marcus was standing on the other side of the hedge, pointing at the plate of green cakes left on the grass. He was wearing a blue shirt this time, the sleeves rolled up, and no tie. The rain spotted his shirt and landed in his hair.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve always wanted to say that. Can I give you a hand?’
She thought of trying to make an excuse, so he wouldn’t feel obliged, but he was already stepping through the gap in the hedge and scooping up animals. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘We were having a tea party, but we had to abandon it.’
‘No problem at all,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to do this, and you can get the sheets in?’
The rain was falling harder now. ‘Thank you,’ she said again, and she ran for the washing line.
She unpegged one sheet, which she flung over her shoulder, and started on another. Marcus ducked under the line, his arms full of animals. ‘Put the sheet on top here,’ he said, gesturing with his chin. ‘I’m guessing the animals are more precious than the sheets.’
‘And harder to dry,’ Jo agreed, pulling a second sheet down and piling it on top of the animals to protect them from the rain. ‘Thanks again. This is really beyond the call of neighbourly duty.’
‘Hey, you let me say my horrible “MacArthur Park” line. That’s made my day a lot better.’
‘I thought you’d be too young to know about disco.’
‘You’re never too young for disco.’
She pulled down another sheet, putting the pegs in her pocket with the others, and he followed her so she could put that one on top of the first. ‘You’ve had a tough day too?’ she asked.
‘One of those days where nothing goes quite right. Overslept, mouldy bread in my sandwich, colleagues in foul moods. I escaped early. You?’
‘No mouldy bread, but mine hasn’t been much better, and has had way too much poo in it.’
‘Want to tell me about it?’
His question should make her feel embarrassed, patronized. It didn’t. It made a lump come up in her throat, and her eyes burn.
‘I just – sometimes I just get tired of dealing with it all myself. You know? Sometimes I wish someone else would do something without my asking, or that someone would say thank you, or that the fairies would come and do the washing and the cooking and the bedtimes and the shopping.’
‘I’d love those fairies too.’
‘I know, it’s ridiculous. I shouldn’t complain. I’ve got this beautiful house, and my wonderful children, and everything. I’m lucky.’
‘Even if you’re lucky, that doesn’t mean you can’t have bad days.’
‘I know. But I get so … tired, Marcus. Stupidly tired. Trying to please everyone, who won’t be pleased.’ She ripped down a pillowcase. They were damp now; the rain was beading on her bare arms, dripping down her neck.
‘Sometimes you just have to please yourself.’
‘You know what I would like? It’s nothing difficult. Once, just once, I’d like someone else to make me a cup of tea, and I could sit down and drink it all the way to the bottom of the cup, without it going cold.’
She’d pulled down another sheet. They were piled up in Marcus’s arms, nearly up to his neck, a heap of snowy white. There were petals in his hair, she noticed, from the tree.
‘The offer’s still open,’ he said. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea whenever you like.’
Jo had no idea why she did it. It was the simple offer, or it was the petals in his hair, or the raindrop rolling down his cheek. It was his blue eyes, the same colour as the sky before it was covered with clouds, or his arms full of animals and the sheets that she slept in.
She stepped forward, on her tiptoes, put her hands on either side of his face, and kissed him on the mouth.
He was warm. There were drops of water on his lips and his cheeks were slightly rough under her palms. She heard him breathe in a sharp breath of surprise through his nose and for a moment she did nothing but take in the shock and pleasure of it. A kiss on the lips with a man, the sort of touch she hadn’t had in what felt like a very long time. An intimate connection with a stranger. She could feel his pulse in his lips, his clasped hands pressing against her belly, smell the rain and the scent of the washing and the faint citrus of his shaving lotion.
All that in a single moment, no more than a few seconds.
And then Jo realized that he wasn’t kissing her back.
She stumbled backwards, mortification flooding her. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
He looked stunned. Well, he would, being attacked by his neighbour.
‘It’s OK, Jo.’
‘You were just being nice and I – I don’t know what got into me.’
‘It’s fine. Really, it is.’
Marcus held the pile of toys and laundry. He wouldn’t have been able to fend her off, even if he were the type to be cruel to a desperate older woman.
‘I like you a lot,’ he added.
Jo choked back a sob. Now he was letting her down gently.
‘It was a mistake,’ she said, ‘it was a horrible mistake. I don’t do things like this. I’m really sorry. Here, let me take these.’ She began grabbing the sheets from his arms, bundling them into damp tangles, avoiding his gaze.
‘I’ll do it,’ he said gently.
She couldn’t take his kindness. ‘No, I’ll get it, it’s fine, I’ll just put all the animals into this sheet here like a big bag, see? It’s fine. Everything’s fine.’ She dropped a fitted sheet onto the grass and tugged the animals into it, conscious of his hands near hers, his eyes watching her, the rain in his hair, the dampness of his lips, the scent of him, oh God.
‘Jo …’
‘Thank you for your help, I really appreciate it, and I’m so sorry, again.’ She put Irving on top of the heap and pulled the sheet together into a sack. She would have to wash the sheet again. She would have to start all over on everything.
‘I really don’t—’
‘Bye,’ she choked, and ran into the house, the wet sheets bumping against her legs.