he didnât decide heâd got a taste for leaping into cold water. Sara changed Charlieâs clothes, thanking the heavens that sheâd brought plenty of spares with her and spreading them out over all the available space in the baby-changing area. Charlie seemed to understand her anxiety and cooperated beautifully, not rolling or wriggling but just looking at her calmly, as if trying to communicate that all would, somehow, be well. She prayed he was right.
âYou need to carry around so much kit with babies, donât you?â One of the teachers from the ray pool was by the door as Charlie was being crammed into his coat. She was a plump woman with too-long raggedy grey hair that had probably been gloriously auburn in its younger, darker days. Sara smiled uncertainly, feeling crazily paranoid that this woman might be tailing her, spying for a report to Social Services that she and Conrad were unfit grand-parents. A mad thought, but it went perfectly with her mood of the moment.
âAnd it canât be easy for you,â the woman sympathized, leaning against the doorpost. âI know what itâs like being an older mum and dealing with an elderly relative at the same time; theyâre like extra babies, arenât they? A liability when they start to lose it, the way your father did in there. And us, stuck in the middle between our own children and our second-childhood parents!â She patted Sara on the shoulder; it was meant kindly but made Sara want to cry. She didnât trust herself to speak, so didnât put the woman right about the various relationships here. What, after all, was the point? She muttered dutiful thanks, managed half a smile, gathered Charlie and his possessions into the buggy and fled.
Back in the past, she and Conrad used to think it was funny when he had been mistaken for her father. His usual reaction was to shock the wrongly assuming person by thoroughly kissing Sara in a highly unfatherly way, just to see the appalled look on a face. He said it was an expression heâd tried to catch when painting but had never quite managed. But suddenly, it just wasnât remotely funny. At the door to the building she was hugely relieved to see Conrad safely there in front of her, looking relatively sane and content, leaning over the river wall smoking one of his horrible French cigarettes and not seeming the tiniest bit concerned that he was soaking wet. The way he was being today, it would have been no surprise to have found him way above her, up on the London Eye, sharing a flight capsule with a dozen Milwaukee tourists and waving down at her.
âBlood ânâ guts, flouncy costumes or a silly, frilly chick flick?â Will asked as he and Sara approached the cinema. âI didnât want to presume so I didnât book anything.â
âEr . . . ooh I donât know! I just need something I donât have to think about too much, unless thereâs a special one youâve got in mind?â It was a busy night â the dayâs warmth had brought people out for the evening. Dusk was falling now, though, and those whoâd thought a date at an outside table at the pub might appeal were looking for somewhere warmer to spend a few hours.
âNo, Iâm easy,â Will said. âItâs just great to be out of the house. Brunoâs spring-cleaning and heâs got all the curtains down. Heâs hired a steam cleaner and boy, is he getting his moneyâs worth. Over the weekend we werenât allowed on the stair carpet because heâd overdone the water, and we ended up sleeping on the sofas. Lucky weâve got a downstairs loo, is all I can say. The windows got all steamed up, and no, I donât mean like that! Bit of Jane Austen, then?â he suggested, looking at the hoardings outside the building. âLooks like theyâve got a special revival week of them. Must be to do with school exam time coming up,
âYou need to carry around so much kit with babies, donât you?â One of the teachers from the ray pool was by the door as Charlie was being crammed into his coat. She was a plump woman with too-long raggedy grey hair that had probably been gloriously auburn in its younger, darker days. Sara smiled uncertainly, feeling crazily paranoid that this woman might be tailing her, spying for a report to Social Services that she and Conrad were unfit grand-parents. A mad thought, but it went perfectly with her mood of the moment.
âAnd it canât be easy for you,â the woman sympathized, leaning against the doorpost. âI know what itâs like being an older mum and dealing with an elderly relative at the same time; theyâre like extra babies, arenât they? A liability when they start to lose it, the way your father did in there. And us, stuck in the middle between our own children and our second-childhood parents!â She patted Sara on the shoulder; it was meant kindly but made Sara want to cry. She didnât trust herself to speak, so didnât put the woman right about the various relationships here. What, after all, was the point? She muttered dutiful thanks, managed half a smile, gathered Charlie and his possessions into the buggy and fled.
Back in the past, she and Conrad used to think it was funny when he had been mistaken for her father. His usual reaction was to shock the wrongly assuming person by thoroughly kissing Sara in a highly unfatherly way, just to see the appalled look on a face. He said it was an expression heâd tried to catch when painting but had never quite managed. But suddenly, it just wasnât remotely funny. At the door to the building she was hugely relieved to see Conrad safely there in front of her, looking relatively sane and content, leaning over the river wall smoking one of his horrible French cigarettes and not seeming the tiniest bit concerned that he was soaking wet. The way he was being today, it would have been no surprise to have found him way above her, up on the London Eye, sharing a flight capsule with a dozen Milwaukee tourists and waving down at her.
âBlood ânâ guts, flouncy costumes or a silly, frilly chick flick?â Will asked as he and Sara approached the cinema. âI didnât want to presume so I didnât book anything.â
âEr . . . ooh I donât know! I just need something I donât have to think about too much, unless thereâs a special one youâve got in mind?â It was a busy night â the dayâs warmth had brought people out for the evening. Dusk was falling now, though, and those whoâd thought a date at an outside table at the pub might appeal were looking for somewhere warmer to spend a few hours.
âNo, Iâm easy,â Will said. âItâs just great to be out of the house. Brunoâs spring-cleaning and heâs got all the curtains down. Heâs hired a steam cleaner and boy, is he getting his moneyâs worth. Over the weekend we werenât allowed on the stair carpet because heâd overdone the water, and we ended up sleeping on the sofas. Lucky weâve got a downstairs loo, is all I can say. The windows got all steamed up, and no, I donât mean like that! Bit of Jane Austen, then?â he suggested, looking at the hoardings outside the building. âLooks like theyâve got a special revival week of them. Must be to do with school exam time coming up,
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