road, right?”
She shrugs. I open my bag and pull out the muffin I took from Rocket.
“I brought this for you from work.”
Rae’s eyes open wide and she grabs it, taking a bite.
“Sorry, Mummy,” she says, taking my hand again.
“I’m sorry, too, for being late,” I say. And we wait at the side of the road for the traffic to break.
* * *
At Suzy’s house, we stop. I can hear a child shouting behind the front door.
“Oh, it’s you,” she says when she opens the door. She gives us both hugs and ushers us into the hall. Rae runs off to find the boys in the kitchen.
“How is she?” she whispers.
“Bit tired. It’ll take her a few days to get used to it. Oh. By the way, can you believe it? That woman next door, Debs, works there.”
Suzy spins round, surprised. “Really? I didn’t know she was a teacher.”
“I know. It’s great, isn’t it? It means Rae will have someone she knows from home at after-school club. And I’m hoping Debs might keep an eye on her because she knows her.”
Suzy looks thoughtful and nods. “Well, she doesn’t KNOW her.”
“No—but you know what I mean. She’s a neighbor.”
Suzy seems distracted, checking her watch.
“So, how was your day?” I ask. “OK?”
“Yeah,” she says absentmindedly. “I kept the twins off nursery. We baked brownies.”
“Are you OK?” I ask. She seems quieter than normal. A little deflated.
“Oh, yeah—no. I thought Jez would be back by now. He took Henry swimming.”
I stare. “He did?”
“Yeah, he says Henry should have learned by now.”
Maybe if Jez ever bothered to take him, he might have done, I think.
“So—did you decide whether you’re going to the spa this week?” I ask carefully, trying to judge her mood.
“Oh, I’m not sure. Jez is around this week. Maybe I’ll go for lunch on Hampstead Heath with him instead, or something.”
I nod and wait.
And wait.
She doesn’t ask me.
“So . . .” I whisper. “Suze . . .”
“What?” she says.
“Work. It was SO amazing.”
“Oh—yeah?” She turns her head round to check the twins in the kitchen.
“The studio was incredible. You should see it. It’s all been done up like a spaceship, and there are these toilets where it took me five minutes to find the soap because it was hidden under this stainless steel bar . . .” I laugh, but I am not sure she’s listening. “And I was so nervous. But Guy liked the work I did today. And being back in Soho. And hey, who’s that American actor that . . .”
She leans forward and touches my shoulder. “That’s great, hon. I told you you’d be brilliant. Listen, I have to get the boys ready for bed. Do you want to stay and have some tea? I’ve got some chicken left in the oven?”
As she says it, I realize I’ve been smelling something. That’s what it is. But behind the cooking smell, there is another odor.
I inhale silently.
Urine.
The familiar tang of wet nappy is hanging in the hallway, in air that is stale with the breath and body odor of people who have been trapped inside all day. Suzy’s T-shirt is stained again with sauce. Her cheeks are pink and sweaty from cooking, and there is a slight sheen of perspiration around her hairline, turning her blond hair darker at the roots. Behind her, through the hallway, I can see a trail of toys littered about the kitchen. Crayons and pens without lids are scattered on the white porcelain tiles. And the kitchen. The kitchen that yesterday looked like it came straight out of an interiors magazine now looks a little homely after the top-end industrial aesthetic of Guy’s studio.
Perspectives shift like a kaleidoscope in front of my eyes.
Peter toddles to the door of the kitchen, and I wave to him. A thick stream of snot runs down his nose and he wipes it away with a pen-stained hand.
No.
No. I don’t want to stay for tea.
“Suze, it’s really kind of you, but I think Rae needs some quiet time,” I say.
And that is true.
She shrugs. I open my bag and pull out the muffin I took from Rocket.
“I brought this for you from work.”
Rae’s eyes open wide and she grabs it, taking a bite.
“Sorry, Mummy,” she says, taking my hand again.
“I’m sorry, too, for being late,” I say. And we wait at the side of the road for the traffic to break.
* * *
At Suzy’s house, we stop. I can hear a child shouting behind the front door.
“Oh, it’s you,” she says when she opens the door. She gives us both hugs and ushers us into the hall. Rae runs off to find the boys in the kitchen.
“How is she?” she whispers.
“Bit tired. It’ll take her a few days to get used to it. Oh. By the way, can you believe it? That woman next door, Debs, works there.”
Suzy spins round, surprised. “Really? I didn’t know she was a teacher.”
“I know. It’s great, isn’t it? It means Rae will have someone she knows from home at after-school club. And I’m hoping Debs might keep an eye on her because she knows her.”
Suzy looks thoughtful and nods. “Well, she doesn’t KNOW her.”
“No—but you know what I mean. She’s a neighbor.”
Suzy seems distracted, checking her watch.
“So, how was your day?” I ask. “OK?”
“Yeah,” she says absentmindedly. “I kept the twins off nursery. We baked brownies.”
“Are you OK?” I ask. She seems quieter than normal. A little deflated.
“Oh, yeah—no. I thought Jez would be back by now. He took Henry swimming.”
I stare. “He did?”
“Yeah, he says Henry should have learned by now.”
Maybe if Jez ever bothered to take him, he might have done, I think.
“So—did you decide whether you’re going to the spa this week?” I ask carefully, trying to judge her mood.
“Oh, I’m not sure. Jez is around this week. Maybe I’ll go for lunch on Hampstead Heath with him instead, or something.”
I nod and wait.
And wait.
She doesn’t ask me.
“So . . .” I whisper. “Suze . . .”
“What?” she says.
“Work. It was SO amazing.”
“Oh—yeah?” She turns her head round to check the twins in the kitchen.
“The studio was incredible. You should see it. It’s all been done up like a spaceship, and there are these toilets where it took me five minutes to find the soap because it was hidden under this stainless steel bar . . .” I laugh, but I am not sure she’s listening. “And I was so nervous. But Guy liked the work I did today. And being back in Soho. And hey, who’s that American actor that . . .”
She leans forward and touches my shoulder. “That’s great, hon. I told you you’d be brilliant. Listen, I have to get the boys ready for bed. Do you want to stay and have some tea? I’ve got some chicken left in the oven?”
As she says it, I realize I’ve been smelling something. That’s what it is. But behind the cooking smell, there is another odor.
I inhale silently.
Urine.
The familiar tang of wet nappy is hanging in the hallway, in air that is stale with the breath and body odor of people who have been trapped inside all day. Suzy’s T-shirt is stained again with sauce. Her cheeks are pink and sweaty from cooking, and there is a slight sheen of perspiration around her hairline, turning her blond hair darker at the roots. Behind her, through the hallway, I can see a trail of toys littered about the kitchen. Crayons and pens without lids are scattered on the white porcelain tiles. And the kitchen. The kitchen that yesterday looked like it came straight out of an interiors magazine now looks a little homely after the top-end industrial aesthetic of Guy’s studio.
Perspectives shift like a kaleidoscope in front of my eyes.
Peter toddles to the door of the kitchen, and I wave to him. A thick stream of snot runs down his nose and he wipes it away with a pen-stained hand.
No.
No. I don’t want to stay for tea.
“Suze, it’s really kind of you, but I think Rae needs some quiet time,” I say.
And that is true.
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