it.’
‘I bet he’s kicking himself for ever letting you go,’ Alison said.
‘I can’t say I don’t enjoy that idea, just a little bit,’ Maggie said, smiling. ‘But how is it that just when everything is going well, when your life is sorted, exes seem to pop up from nowhere and try to derail it?’
‘Well I’ve had no blasts from the past,’ Alison said breaking the silence. ‘But I do have a tearaway teenager who’s driving me to my wits’ end. Might have to start saving to send her to bratcamp.’
‘Is Sophie really that bad?’ I asked.
‘Yes. But she’s a teenager – she’s meant to be, isn’t she? I found her at this awful party the other night.’ She held up her hands in an expression of feigned despair. ‘Ah, if only I could blame the mum and dad, eh?’
‘You’re both good parents, Ali,’ I said. ‘You love Sophie and Holly and they know that.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. We try,’ Alison shrugged, looking defeated.
‘Jenny’s right,’ Maggie said. ‘And no parent gets it right all of the time.’
‘I’ll say,’ I said, refilling Alison’s glass, then mine, and topping Maggie’s with sparkling water. Maggie went to take a sip but squealed as the frisbee returned and hit her on the leg. Calmly picking it up and standing to her full height, she launched it in a perfect arc – the disc cut a clean line through the blue sky and landed right back where the boys were calling out apologies.
‘Not bad eh?’ she said, sitting down with a smile and stretching out her legs.
‘What was that you said, Jen?’ Maggie asked.
‘Oh nothing, really.’ I shook my head to dismiss it. ‘Anyway, I’d like to propose a toast. To new friends, a port in the storm.’
Alison and Maggie raised their plasticcups to that, smiling. ‘To new friends,’ they said in unison.
Chapter 12
Maggie
Dylan looked different. His hairwas shorter now, andlightbrown, with the front swept to the side; his sun-bleached surfer’s curls were gone. Without the long hair, Maggie noticed the clean line of his jaw.
He raised his eyebrows at Maggie’s porridge and blueberries. ‘I guess some things do change,’ he said, smiling, as he tucked into his crisp hash browns. ‘I remember you as a girl who enjoyed her food, Maggie.’
Maggie lifted her coffee cup and brought it to her lips, but the coffee was so hot it nearly scalded her. She put it down and met Dylan’s blue-eyed gaze. He was smiling. She wasn’t.
‘I still do, Dylan. I just enjoy different things now. Anyway, a lot has changed in thelast four years.’ She saw his face fall a little. He looked older, but she had to admit the years hung well on him. There were new creases around his eyes and on his forehead, but his smile was more or less the same. His teeth were whiter maybe, and it looked like the one he’d chipped years ago playing rugby had been fixed, but she could still see the old Dylan there. Was he assessing her appearance in the same way? She felt suddenly self-conscious. Maggie was sitting opposite him in the window seat at Bondi, a cosy, Aussie-run brunch stop in London that had once been their Sunday regular. It was quiet this morning, a Monday with no queue stretching out on to the cobblestoned Islington street like there often was at the weekend.
‘I know some things will have changed, Maggie,’ Dylan said in his smooth drawl, the traces of an American accent softening his London one. ‘And, for what it’s worth, you look fantastic.’
Maggie shrugged off the compliment but she was secretly pleased; she’d spent hours choosing an outfit that would show that she was confident enough –
over their divorce enough
– not to have to power-dress. She’d opted for a white Ghost tunic over leggings, with dark gold sandals, and then put on her favourite amber necklace, the one her grandmother had given her. She wore her hair loose and had opted for a muted lip gloss and smoky eyes. When she’d been with Dylan red
‘I bet he’s kicking himself for ever letting you go,’ Alison said.
‘I can’t say I don’t enjoy that idea, just a little bit,’ Maggie said, smiling. ‘But how is it that just when everything is going well, when your life is sorted, exes seem to pop up from nowhere and try to derail it?’
‘Well I’ve had no blasts from the past,’ Alison said breaking the silence. ‘But I do have a tearaway teenager who’s driving me to my wits’ end. Might have to start saving to send her to bratcamp.’
‘Is Sophie really that bad?’ I asked.
‘Yes. But she’s a teenager – she’s meant to be, isn’t she? I found her at this awful party the other night.’ She held up her hands in an expression of feigned despair. ‘Ah, if only I could blame the mum and dad, eh?’
‘You’re both good parents, Ali,’ I said. ‘You love Sophie and Holly and they know that.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. We try,’ Alison shrugged, looking defeated.
‘Jenny’s right,’ Maggie said. ‘And no parent gets it right all of the time.’
‘I’ll say,’ I said, refilling Alison’s glass, then mine, and topping Maggie’s with sparkling water. Maggie went to take a sip but squealed as the frisbee returned and hit her on the leg. Calmly picking it up and standing to her full height, she launched it in a perfect arc – the disc cut a clean line through the blue sky and landed right back where the boys were calling out apologies.
‘Not bad eh?’ she said, sitting down with a smile and stretching out her legs.
‘What was that you said, Jen?’ Maggie asked.
‘Oh nothing, really.’ I shook my head to dismiss it. ‘Anyway, I’d like to propose a toast. To new friends, a port in the storm.’
Alison and Maggie raised their plasticcups to that, smiling. ‘To new friends,’ they said in unison.
Chapter 12
Maggie
Dylan looked different. His hairwas shorter now, andlightbrown, with the front swept to the side; his sun-bleached surfer’s curls were gone. Without the long hair, Maggie noticed the clean line of his jaw.
He raised his eyebrows at Maggie’s porridge and blueberries. ‘I guess some things do change,’ he said, smiling, as he tucked into his crisp hash browns. ‘I remember you as a girl who enjoyed her food, Maggie.’
Maggie lifted her coffee cup and brought it to her lips, but the coffee was so hot it nearly scalded her. She put it down and met Dylan’s blue-eyed gaze. He was smiling. She wasn’t.
‘I still do, Dylan. I just enjoy different things now. Anyway, a lot has changed in thelast four years.’ She saw his face fall a little. He looked older, but she had to admit the years hung well on him. There were new creases around his eyes and on his forehead, but his smile was more or less the same. His teeth were whiter maybe, and it looked like the one he’d chipped years ago playing rugby had been fixed, but she could still see the old Dylan there. Was he assessing her appearance in the same way? She felt suddenly self-conscious. Maggie was sitting opposite him in the window seat at Bondi, a cosy, Aussie-run brunch stop in London that had once been their Sunday regular. It was quiet this morning, a Monday with no queue stretching out on to the cobblestoned Islington street like there often was at the weekend.
‘I know some things will have changed, Maggie,’ Dylan said in his smooth drawl, the traces of an American accent softening his London one. ‘And, for what it’s worth, you look fantastic.’
Maggie shrugged off the compliment but she was secretly pleased; she’d spent hours choosing an outfit that would show that she was confident enough –
over their divorce enough
– not to have to power-dress. She’d opted for a white Ghost tunic over leggings, with dark gold sandals, and then put on her favourite amber necklace, the one her grandmother had given her. She wore her hair loose and had opted for a muted lip gloss and smoky eyes. When she’d been with Dylan red
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