even more from us by frequently staying in London. It
wasn’t down to me to have to tell him everything, to fill in the gaps caused by his absence.
I felt smug too when I watched him trying to horse around in the garden with Ella, insisting on giving her piggybacks when she was far too old now to want to play, or when he had to badger Sam
to kick a ball with him, pleading, ‘Come on, Sam, I’ll be in goal.’ And Sam, whose football skills had improved no end under the tutelage of Max, would say, ‘Aw, Dad,’
and smack a ball straight past him, and laugh.
Once, just recently, I caught him staring out the kitchen window at Sam and Ella as they played on the swing, Ella standing on the seat and Sam half-hanging by his hands from the top with his
feet propped on the cross bar of the side frame. They were mucking around, taking it in turns to sing some daft rhyme, using words from a teenage language unknown to us.
‘They grow so fast,’ David said to me and there was a note of bewilderment in his voice, and of melancholy, as if it had happened overnight, as if he really hadn’t noticed
before. ‘They’re my children,’ he said. ‘Sometimes I think I don’t even know them.’
What I should have done was wrapped my arms around him. I should have cuddled him and laughed it off, or given some reassurance. But instead I moved away from him in the kitchen. I slammed on a
pan to start cooking supper.
‘Wonder whose fault that is?’ I said.
I got back to Melanie’s at about a quarter to eight. I did think about going home first for a while to make it seem as if I’d stayed in London longer and had gone
out with David after all. But what was the point of that, really? I have never been any good at lying, and Melanie was too sharp, too quick for me. She’d soon have it worked out, and then
I’d have her contempt to contend with as well as her pity, and I couldn’t face that.
Besides, I was tired. I wanted to gather up my children and go home.
She opened the door to me and said, ‘I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.’
‘It was a long day,’ I said.
The kids were still eating, munching on slices of pizza while they watched some American sitcom on TV. Sam, Ella and Abbie were squeezed onto the sofa. Max had got Jake’s mattress down
even though Jake wasn’t there, and he was sprawled out on it, propped up on one elbow, legs stretched full-length and crossed at the ankles. I climbed over him and followed Melanie into the
kitchen.
As if knowing it was what I needed, she grabbed a glass off the draining board, opened the fridge and poured me some wine from the box she’d got wedged inside the door next to the
milk.
‘Thank you,’ I said, and she poured another glass for herself. Then she opened the back door and we went out into her tiny yard, and sat down on the upturned metal buckets that she
used for seats out there.
‘Well then?’ she asked, pointedly. ‘How was your day?
‘Fine,’ I said as casually as I could. ‘It was nice to see my mother.’
‘Hmm,’ Melanie said. It was quite cold out there now, and I pulled my cardigan closer around me, so avoiding the intensity of her stare. ‘Did you go and see David?’ she
asked.
‘Yes I did,’ I said. ‘I felt a bit guilty because I dragged him out of a meeting.’
‘Did you go somewhere?’
‘Well, no,’ I said. ‘He didn’t know how long his meeting would go on.’ This was the truth; I wasn’t just making excuses for David, but it did feel that way
with Melanie’s calculating eyes fixed upon me.
‘Didn’t you want to wait for him till it had finished?’
‘I couldn’t really,’ I said. ‘I might have been hanging around for ages.’
‘Hmm,’ she said again, but she didn’t look convinced. ‘So is he staying in London tonight?’
‘No, no, he’s coming home. Sometime.’
‘Shame you couldn’t have come home together then.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ To change the subject, I said,
wasn’t down to me to have to tell him everything, to fill in the gaps caused by his absence.
I felt smug too when I watched him trying to horse around in the garden with Ella, insisting on giving her piggybacks when she was far too old now to want to play, or when he had to badger Sam
to kick a ball with him, pleading, ‘Come on, Sam, I’ll be in goal.’ And Sam, whose football skills had improved no end under the tutelage of Max, would say, ‘Aw, Dad,’
and smack a ball straight past him, and laugh.
Once, just recently, I caught him staring out the kitchen window at Sam and Ella as they played on the swing, Ella standing on the seat and Sam half-hanging by his hands from the top with his
feet propped on the cross bar of the side frame. They were mucking around, taking it in turns to sing some daft rhyme, using words from a teenage language unknown to us.
‘They grow so fast,’ David said to me and there was a note of bewilderment in his voice, and of melancholy, as if it had happened overnight, as if he really hadn’t noticed
before. ‘They’re my children,’ he said. ‘Sometimes I think I don’t even know them.’
What I should have done was wrapped my arms around him. I should have cuddled him and laughed it off, or given some reassurance. But instead I moved away from him in the kitchen. I slammed on a
pan to start cooking supper.
‘Wonder whose fault that is?’ I said.
I got back to Melanie’s at about a quarter to eight. I did think about going home first for a while to make it seem as if I’d stayed in London longer and had gone
out with David after all. But what was the point of that, really? I have never been any good at lying, and Melanie was too sharp, too quick for me. She’d soon have it worked out, and then
I’d have her contempt to contend with as well as her pity, and I couldn’t face that.
Besides, I was tired. I wanted to gather up my children and go home.
She opened the door to me and said, ‘I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.’
‘It was a long day,’ I said.
The kids were still eating, munching on slices of pizza while they watched some American sitcom on TV. Sam, Ella and Abbie were squeezed onto the sofa. Max had got Jake’s mattress down
even though Jake wasn’t there, and he was sprawled out on it, propped up on one elbow, legs stretched full-length and crossed at the ankles. I climbed over him and followed Melanie into the
kitchen.
As if knowing it was what I needed, she grabbed a glass off the draining board, opened the fridge and poured me some wine from the box she’d got wedged inside the door next to the
milk.
‘Thank you,’ I said, and she poured another glass for herself. Then she opened the back door and we went out into her tiny yard, and sat down on the upturned metal buckets that she
used for seats out there.
‘Well then?’ she asked, pointedly. ‘How was your day?
‘Fine,’ I said as casually as I could. ‘It was nice to see my mother.’
‘Hmm,’ Melanie said. It was quite cold out there now, and I pulled my cardigan closer around me, so avoiding the intensity of her stare. ‘Did you go and see David?’ she
asked.
‘Yes I did,’ I said. ‘I felt a bit guilty because I dragged him out of a meeting.’
‘Did you go somewhere?’
‘Well, no,’ I said. ‘He didn’t know how long his meeting would go on.’ This was the truth; I wasn’t just making excuses for David, but it did feel that way
with Melanie’s calculating eyes fixed upon me.
‘Didn’t you want to wait for him till it had finished?’
‘I couldn’t really,’ I said. ‘I might have been hanging around for ages.’
‘Hmm,’ she said again, but she didn’t look convinced. ‘So is he staying in London tonight?’
‘No, no, he’s coming home. Sometime.’
‘Shame you couldn’t have come home together then.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ To change the subject, I said,
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