days …’
‘He’s great with Jessica, though,’ Tom murmurs, as if to reassure himself.
‘I know he is. They both adore her – you know that.’ I drop my voice to a murmur. ‘Is Patsy okay about this trip?’
‘Oh, yes, she hasn’t seen much of Scotland.’ That’s not what I meant, and he knows it; I meant spending a week in a van with one pubescent boy and one hairy, almost fully formed adult man.
‘Hon? Shall we get going soon?’ Patsy has reappeared in the doorway, clutching Jessica’s hand.
‘Yep, s’pose we’d better,’ Tom murmurs.
‘Boys,’ I call out, ‘are you ready?’
‘Yeah,’ Fergus replies, and both appear with stuffed rucksacks. Jessica still looks crestfallen, and I’d love to sneak her a contraband meringue to cheer her up.
‘Great to see you, Alice,’ Patsy says in an overly bright voice. ‘Sorry it’s such a quick visit but we want to be up in Fort William before dark …’
It will be dark, but never mind. Perhaps suspecting that no one is paying attention, Jessica reaches up towards the meringue plate, but is tugged away by her mother as if she were about to plunge her hand into a fire. I catch Logan’s eye as he picks up his rucksack; there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, and I smile back. Then we’re all heading downstairs, laden with bags, and I should be joyous at the prospect of much tranquillity ahead, punctuated by at least one date. But I’m not. I’m hugging them all – first Logan, who goes stiff and awkward, then Fergus, who hugs me back in his gangly way, as if his arms have come loose in their sockets.
‘C’mon, Jessie,’ Logan says, frowning at her tear-blotched face, ‘cheer up. This is gonna be fun.’ She musters a stoical smile as they all clamber into the palatial camper van.
They are waving with the windows down – even Logan, who never waves at anyone. A lump forms in my throat as I stand there, feeling stranded, in our street. I know it’s silly, and that my boys aren’t babies any more, so I should feel
fine
about them leaving. Last week, Fergus packed up all his soft toys for charity – even beloved Rex, a small, grubby white dog with no obvious appeal (instead of being furry, in approximation of a real dog, he has the unsettling texture of 40-denier tights). But I can’t help it. My vision is blurring again and I’m blinking madly, hoping that’ll force the tears back in. Meanwhile Tom tries not to look petrified as he slowly manoeuvres the gigantic vehicle out of its tight parking space.
I give them a final wave and turn away, just as Patsy’s voice drifts out of the passenger window: ‘Alice is always so kind, Tom, but I
wish
she wouldn’t try to stuff Jessica full of sugar.’
Chapter Nine
That’s my role, you see – to destroy the dental enamel of every child who enters my home. In fact, Logan and Fergus have zero fillings, a fact I cling on to as evidence of my brilliant parenting when it’s probably nothing to do with me. Both Tom and his father have rather large, sparkling, filling-less teeth, the kind that seem wasted not being on TV.
In order to shrug off Patsy’s comment, I try to focus on the fact that I have a whole child-free week ahead of me. In sixteen years I have never had such a thing, and the prospect is at once thrilling yet faintly alarming. What the hell will I do with myself? I can see friends, of course, and bake; I can catch up on niggling jobs and, more crucially, go out with a man who just sneaks over the half-your-age-plus-seven boundary, a concept which causes my stomach to fizzle with excitement and nerves. What would Mum say about that? She’d probably remind me that twenty-something girls tend to have fabulous figures, and that perhaps I should give up on eating anything at all.
Stomach rumbling now, I make cheese on toast and a pot of tea and tuck in at the kitchen table, picturing Tom at the helm of that camper van. While he looked rather scared, he was still managing to
‘He’s great with Jessica, though,’ Tom murmurs, as if to reassure himself.
‘I know he is. They both adore her – you know that.’ I drop my voice to a murmur. ‘Is Patsy okay about this trip?’
‘Oh, yes, she hasn’t seen much of Scotland.’ That’s not what I meant, and he knows it; I meant spending a week in a van with one pubescent boy and one hairy, almost fully formed adult man.
‘Hon? Shall we get going soon?’ Patsy has reappeared in the doorway, clutching Jessica’s hand.
‘Yep, s’pose we’d better,’ Tom murmurs.
‘Boys,’ I call out, ‘are you ready?’
‘Yeah,’ Fergus replies, and both appear with stuffed rucksacks. Jessica still looks crestfallen, and I’d love to sneak her a contraband meringue to cheer her up.
‘Great to see you, Alice,’ Patsy says in an overly bright voice. ‘Sorry it’s such a quick visit but we want to be up in Fort William before dark …’
It will be dark, but never mind. Perhaps suspecting that no one is paying attention, Jessica reaches up towards the meringue plate, but is tugged away by her mother as if she were about to plunge her hand into a fire. I catch Logan’s eye as he picks up his rucksack; there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, and I smile back. Then we’re all heading downstairs, laden with bags, and I should be joyous at the prospect of much tranquillity ahead, punctuated by at least one date. But I’m not. I’m hugging them all – first Logan, who goes stiff and awkward, then Fergus, who hugs me back in his gangly way, as if his arms have come loose in their sockets.
‘C’mon, Jessie,’ Logan says, frowning at her tear-blotched face, ‘cheer up. This is gonna be fun.’ She musters a stoical smile as they all clamber into the palatial camper van.
They are waving with the windows down – even Logan, who never waves at anyone. A lump forms in my throat as I stand there, feeling stranded, in our street. I know it’s silly, and that my boys aren’t babies any more, so I should feel
fine
about them leaving. Last week, Fergus packed up all his soft toys for charity – even beloved Rex, a small, grubby white dog with no obvious appeal (instead of being furry, in approximation of a real dog, he has the unsettling texture of 40-denier tights). But I can’t help it. My vision is blurring again and I’m blinking madly, hoping that’ll force the tears back in. Meanwhile Tom tries not to look petrified as he slowly manoeuvres the gigantic vehicle out of its tight parking space.
I give them a final wave and turn away, just as Patsy’s voice drifts out of the passenger window: ‘Alice is always so kind, Tom, but I
wish
she wouldn’t try to stuff Jessica full of sugar.’
Chapter Nine
That’s my role, you see – to destroy the dental enamel of every child who enters my home. In fact, Logan and Fergus have zero fillings, a fact I cling on to as evidence of my brilliant parenting when it’s probably nothing to do with me. Both Tom and his father have rather large, sparkling, filling-less teeth, the kind that seem wasted not being on TV.
In order to shrug off Patsy’s comment, I try to focus on the fact that I have a whole child-free week ahead of me. In sixteen years I have never had such a thing, and the prospect is at once thrilling yet faintly alarming. What the hell will I do with myself? I can see friends, of course, and bake; I can catch up on niggling jobs and, more crucially, go out with a man who just sneaks over the half-your-age-plus-seven boundary, a concept which causes my stomach to fizzle with excitement and nerves. What would Mum say about that? She’d probably remind me that twenty-something girls tend to have fabulous figures, and that perhaps I should give up on eating anything at all.
Stomach rumbling now, I make cheese on toast and a pot of tea and tuck in at the kitchen table, picturing Tom at the helm of that camper van. While he looked rather scared, he was still managing to
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