on swiftly, with a steely tone entering her voice. ‘Sit down, Martin, and have another glass of wine.’
Martin obeyed.
‘What’s happened, Dad?’ asked Jess.
‘Well.’ Dad heaved a big sigh and started sipping his wine. ‘It’s – Phil decided he wanted to move to Barcelona. His business has been struggling a bit since the economic downturn, you know.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Mum anxiously.
‘So he’s decided to sell his business, and the house, of course – and, believe it or not, somebody snapped the house up within a week of it going on the market.’
‘No!’ gasped Jess. That lovely house! With its white walls and its blue glass and the sound of seagulls wheeling on the wind outside! Her favourite bolt-hole and home from home! Dad looked guiltily at her.
‘Sorry, love,’ he said.
‘So what’s your share?’ demanded Mum, starting to sound a bit tense and cold. She’d always hated things being out of control. Recently she’d lightened up a little and fun had been creeping back into her life, but with Dad’s news it was almost as if she’d had to strap her armour on again, like a knight going into the battle.
‘My share? Nothing,’ replied Dad. ‘Well, virtually nothing. It was always Phil’s house – I mean, he’s a successful businessman. I’m an unsuccessful artist, as you know.’ He did a strange lame little shrug. ‘I didn’t want to move to Barcelona. Obviously because of Jess, mainly.’ Jess felt strangely guilty just for existing. ‘But also there were other issues . . . It’s hard when you’re financially dependent on somebody . . . It was OK at first, but it hasn’t really been working for some time . . .’
Jess suddenly remembered how Phil had been a bit preoccupied when she’d phoned – not quite as friendly as usual. Maybe he and Dad had had a row that evening.
‘So . . . that’s it, I’m afraid. Curtains.’ Dad’s voice trailed miserably away, the kettle boiled and Martin suddenly seemed to reach a decision, leaping to his feet and grabbing his coat.
‘I’ll be off, I think,’ he said in an embarrassed voice. Jess felt sorry for him. ‘You’ve obviously got a lot to talk about. Nice to meet you, Jess, Tim. Give my best to your mum, Madeleine . . .’
He hesitated, and there was an awful moment during which everyone waited to see whether he was going to kiss Mum goodbye. Even a mere peck on the cheek would have been appalling in the circumstances. But luckily Martin did the decent thing and backed off hastily towards the door, dispensing twinkly but anxious smiles in all directions.
‘I’ll let myself out,’ he said, and he did.
Mum stood, holding the kettle, throughout his entire exit, seemingly frozen or paralysed like somebody in a fairytale. Little wafts of steam floated up out of the kettle’s spout, making the tiny hairs around her brow wave slightly, as if they were waving goodbye.
‘Congratulations, Dad!’ snapped Jess, as the front door slammed shut behind Martin. ‘You’ve just ruined the first decent date Mum has had since – well, for ages.’ It would be best not to mention last year’s Japanese toy boy.
‘What?’ Dad seemed lost in a mist. ‘Who . . . who was that again?’
‘He was Mum’s date,’ said Jess sternly. ‘A lovely guy called Martin.’
‘You’re kidding!’ Dad clapped his hand across his mouth like a naughty schoolboy. ‘I’m so sorry, Madeleine.’
‘Don’t worry. It’s nothing. He wasn’t a date really, anyway,’ said Mum irritably, fussing and fretting with bread and cheese, and pretending like mad that it really didn’t matter, even though it was obvious it mattered A Lot.
‘But I kind of turned up here as if . . . as if –’
‘No, you didn’t,’ said Mum bleakly. ‘As if nothing. There is no As If.’
‘But I’ve ruined everything for you!’ wailed Dad. ‘Again!’
‘Shut up. Don’t be silly,’ said Mum. ‘I’m having a coffee – would you like one? A deca f
Martin obeyed.
‘What’s happened, Dad?’ asked Jess.
‘Well.’ Dad heaved a big sigh and started sipping his wine. ‘It’s – Phil decided he wanted to move to Barcelona. His business has been struggling a bit since the economic downturn, you know.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Mum anxiously.
‘So he’s decided to sell his business, and the house, of course – and, believe it or not, somebody snapped the house up within a week of it going on the market.’
‘No!’ gasped Jess. That lovely house! With its white walls and its blue glass and the sound of seagulls wheeling on the wind outside! Her favourite bolt-hole and home from home! Dad looked guiltily at her.
‘Sorry, love,’ he said.
‘So what’s your share?’ demanded Mum, starting to sound a bit tense and cold. She’d always hated things being out of control. Recently she’d lightened up a little and fun had been creeping back into her life, but with Dad’s news it was almost as if she’d had to strap her armour on again, like a knight going into the battle.
‘My share? Nothing,’ replied Dad. ‘Well, virtually nothing. It was always Phil’s house – I mean, he’s a successful businessman. I’m an unsuccessful artist, as you know.’ He did a strange lame little shrug. ‘I didn’t want to move to Barcelona. Obviously because of Jess, mainly.’ Jess felt strangely guilty just for existing. ‘But also there were other issues . . . It’s hard when you’re financially dependent on somebody . . . It was OK at first, but it hasn’t really been working for some time . . .’
Jess suddenly remembered how Phil had been a bit preoccupied when she’d phoned – not quite as friendly as usual. Maybe he and Dad had had a row that evening.
‘So . . . that’s it, I’m afraid. Curtains.’ Dad’s voice trailed miserably away, the kettle boiled and Martin suddenly seemed to reach a decision, leaping to his feet and grabbing his coat.
‘I’ll be off, I think,’ he said in an embarrassed voice. Jess felt sorry for him. ‘You’ve obviously got a lot to talk about. Nice to meet you, Jess, Tim. Give my best to your mum, Madeleine . . .’
He hesitated, and there was an awful moment during which everyone waited to see whether he was going to kiss Mum goodbye. Even a mere peck on the cheek would have been appalling in the circumstances. But luckily Martin did the decent thing and backed off hastily towards the door, dispensing twinkly but anxious smiles in all directions.
‘I’ll let myself out,’ he said, and he did.
Mum stood, holding the kettle, throughout his entire exit, seemingly frozen or paralysed like somebody in a fairytale. Little wafts of steam floated up out of the kettle’s spout, making the tiny hairs around her brow wave slightly, as if they were waving goodbye.
‘Congratulations, Dad!’ snapped Jess, as the front door slammed shut behind Martin. ‘You’ve just ruined the first decent date Mum has had since – well, for ages.’ It would be best not to mention last year’s Japanese toy boy.
‘What?’ Dad seemed lost in a mist. ‘Who . . . who was that again?’
‘He was Mum’s date,’ said Jess sternly. ‘A lovely guy called Martin.’
‘You’re kidding!’ Dad clapped his hand across his mouth like a naughty schoolboy. ‘I’m so sorry, Madeleine.’
‘Don’t worry. It’s nothing. He wasn’t a date really, anyway,’ said Mum irritably, fussing and fretting with bread and cheese, and pretending like mad that it really didn’t matter, even though it was obvious it mattered A Lot.
‘But I kind of turned up here as if . . . as if –’
‘No, you didn’t,’ said Mum bleakly. ‘As if nothing. There is no As If.’
‘But I’ve ruined everything for you!’ wailed Dad. ‘Again!’
‘Shut up. Don’t be silly,’ said Mum. ‘I’m having a coffee – would you like one? A deca f
Similar Books
