There was no reply. Sophie sprang awake. ‘Dave?’ She was already getting out of bed.
‘Yeah?’ he called back languidly.
‘Never mind,’ she said, and she flopped back into bed. She waited for a bit and was about to give up on hopes of breakfast in bed when the bedroom door flew open as if by magic and a strange presence started to pull at the duvet until Petal appeared. Her rosy cheeks were covered in what Sophie very much hoped was Marmite.
‘Hello, darling,’ she said, heaving her onto the bed. Petal blew a raspberry and giggled. ‘Yes, I love you too.’
‘Tea?’ said Dave holding a mug out of Arlo’s reach as they both came in. ‘Happy birthday,’ he added giving her a fleeting kiss on her cheek.
‘Thanks.’ She took the tea and searched for somewhere safe to place it down but there really wasn’t anywhere so she rested it on her stomach.
‘Happy birthday, Mummy. We made you a card,’ said Arlo, thrusting a brightly coloured piece of folded paper into her face.
Sophie studied it. ‘Thank you. This is amazing.’ She turned it round the other way. ‘Tell me what we have here?’ she asked, trying to make sense of the red and black squiggles.
Arlo pointed at each item in turn. ‘This is you and this is your blood and this is a ninja who has sliced your head off. Your head is on the back.’ He pointed to a red circle.
‘That’s, um, nice.’ She glared at Dave who was smiling proudly. Arlo was obviously paying far more attention than they realised when Dave was playing games on the telly.
‘And what’s this?’ She pointed to what looked like an angry sprout.
‘The moon,’ he said proudly.
‘It’s very green.’ Sophie couldn’t help pointing this out.
Dave looked over her shoulder. ‘It’s from Zelda,’ he said.
‘Don’t you think—’ she began but Dave was already thrusting something under her nose as a distraction. It worked.
‘Here,’ said Dave. ‘We got you this.’ He handed her a present and a card.
She was pleased with the perfume he’d got her, and amazed it was the right one. She opened the card and a slip of paper slid out. Sophie read it. Then she read it again and then she swallowed hard.
‘A personal trainer. You’ve got me a personal trainer?’
‘Yeah, for after you’ve had the baby. See? It’s for ten sessions and it doesn’t start until December.’ Dave appeared very pleased with himself.
‘You think I need to lose weight?’ She scanned her lumpy body. Her baby bump was showing now, nestled amongst the extra weight she’d not managed to shed after the other two.
‘You’re always complaining about wanting to be thinner. I thought this would help.’ He honestly looked like he thought it was a good idea to buy his pregnant wife personal trainer sessions. There was no hope for him. She put the offending details back in the card and closed it.
‘Very … thoughtful. Thank you. And we’re out for a meal tonight …’ she said, trying to focus on the positive. Anna was a star for saying she’d childmind for the evening. There weren’t many people Sophie was happy to leave her children with, partly because of the children’s welfare but mainly because she worried about being sued. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Wherever you fancy!’
Sophie let out a little sigh. He’d not bothered to book anywhere, meaning the chances of getting into a decent local restaurant were unlikely and as she wasn’t drinking she’d be driving if they went further afield. ‘As long as it’s not a pub chain, I don’t mind.’
Chapter Fifteen
Anna was quickly remembering the horrors of the last time she’d babysat Sophie’s children. Memories of the naked FaceTime call Arlo made to Karen and him eating a Christmas decoration flashed through her mind and she shivered. Thankfully the decoration had been made of bread and glitter but she hadn’t known that at the time. No, tonight was going to be different. She had planned what she was going to do and she was going to face it like any other project.
‘Here you go, Arlo,’ she said, passing him his pizza.
‘Don’t like pizza,’ said Arlo.
‘Since when?’
‘Since Willoughby Newell said it’s made from blood and maggots.’ He screwed up his face.
‘But we know that’s not true. It’s tomato and cheese,’ she said, pointing at the sauce and topping in turn.
‘Tomato? That’s worse. Eurgh!’ He gave the plate a shove and it flew spectacularly across the table and launched the pizza into the pristine white wall, where it stuck for a moment before making a slow descent down to the floor, leaving a wide tomatoey trail in its wake.
‘Arlo,’ said Anna sternly, trying hard not to shout. But while she was recovering his dinner from the floor she heard a slight whooshing noise followed by the sensation of something warm landing on her back. She turned to see the remains of Petal’s mushed chicken and broccoli dinner dripping off her shirt and Arlo and Petal in fits of giggles. Great, she thought.
After she’d cleaned everything down and fed Arlo fish fingers and Petal the rest of the mush and some fresh pineapple she’d found in the fridge she settled them down with a game on the rug in the living room. There was nothing within grabbing distance, which made her feel at ease for the first time that evening. It was a card matching game and Arlo even started to help Petal, who seemed to be keener to eat the cards than to turn them over, but once she got the hang of it she was turning them all over and clapping at how clever she was.
Anna had resorted to putting her own clothes in the washing machine on a quick wash in the hope of getting out the food stains and was wearing Sophie’s dressing gown, which swamped her and dragged on the ground. She hated being short.
Petal started to turn a card over and stopped as if someone had put her on freeze frame. Her eyes widened and her faced reddened.
‘Petal?’ asked Anna. ‘Are you okay?’ The child was rigid.
‘O-oh, poo time,’ said Arlo.
This is fine, thought Anna. She’d dealt with nappies before; it didn’t faze her. ‘It’s not a problem, Arlo. You stay there and I’ll get her a clean nappy and the changing mat.’ They were in the cupboard under the stairs. She was literally feet away. What could possibly happen in the few seconds she was away?
Anna walked back in to a poo disaster on a mammoth scale. Petal had stood up and something pungent and yellow had started to ooze out of the nappy in all directions, like an experiment gone wrong, and Arlo was at that moment undoing the nappy. As the nappy tabs parted the nappy fell onto the pale soft-touch rug and exploded like a firework splattering both the rug and Arlo.
Arlo started to cry. Petal started to cry. And Anna really wanted to cry too. The thought of carrying Petal upstairs to the bathroom seemed fraught with risks. If she were to do the SWOT analysis it would be a definite no go. She thought fast and decided the sink was a better option. She scooped up Petal and took her into the kitchen, trying to ignore the trail of yellow gunk she was leaving behind. ‘Come on, Arlo, you come too and we’ll clean you up.’ Anna did the best job she could to clean Petal with the kitchen sponge one-handed whilst keeping a safe hold on her with the other. Arlo seemed to be doing an okay job of cleaning himself up with handfuls of kitchen roll but at least he’d stopped crying and wasn’t creating any additional havoc.
Once there was no more yellow and Petal seemed to have finished, Anna decided the clean-up of the children was complete and dumped the sponge in the kitchen bin. Petal was happier now too and was playing with the dripping tap. Anna looked about her for something to dry her with. There was no sign of a hand towel. Anna opened all the drawers and eventually discovered the tea towels, so grabbed the first two on the pile and wrapped them around Petal. It was only when she noticed the oddly shaped chickens that Anna realised these were Orla Kiely tea towels – Sophie’s favourites. Anna gulped as she picked Petal up – and with a reluctant and poo-smeared Arlo in tow, she went upstairs to get him bathed whilst praying
that Petal really had finished. She’d deal with the rest of the poo apocalypse later, she thought, averting her eyes from the living room as she went past.
Sophie scanned the Wetherspoons menu for a third time. She wasn’t a snob but on the rare occasion they were going out without the children, and it being her birthday, she would have preferred somewhere a bit more special. She was wearing a top she’d bought from Boden the first time she was pregnant, back when they still had spare cash, and had traded in her comfy leggings for her not-so-comfy maternity jeans. At least one of them had made an effort, she thought. She observed the families and wondered how they got their children to sit and eat quietly. She struggled to get hers to do either of those things let alone both together.
‘This is nice, hey?’ asked Dave, closing his menu. ‘I’m having the pie.’
She had one last scan at the standard pub offerings. ‘Fish and chips,’ she said. She should probably have the salad but it was her birthday after all and now she had personal trainer sessions to look forward to she didn’t have to worry. She wondered if Dave’s mother had suggested the personal trainer but she didn’t want to ask, knowing the answer would cause further issues either way.
‘You okay?’ asked Dave.
Sophie studied him. Her husband. The man she’d fallen in love with eight years ago. And she tried to conjure up what she felt. Trapped was the word that sprang to mind and it worried her. How had she ended up here at twenty-nine years of age? This had never been the plan. At university she’d had ideas of living abroad, somewhere hot and exotic. She had a degree in Media Studies and she’d expected to be working in television by now, brushing shoulders with the stars of the small screen and perhaps even moving into films. She’d had big dreams, but somehow she’d been diverted from them. Dave had got the offer of a good job in Birmingham so they’d moved from Bedford.
The move seemed to be the point at which her career took a back seat, before it had really even begun. Her job at the radio station didn’t pay well anyway and there was nothing similar available when they moved so she took a job at the insurance company just to tide them over. That had been six years ago. She wanted a little bit of the life she read about in the magazines – a little smattering of sparkle on her otherwise dreary grey existence was all she was after. Was it too much to ask?
‘Did you want another Appletiser?’ Dave asked and she shook her head, keeping her eyes firmly on the menu so he wouldn’t notice the tears welling up in them.
Anna woke with a jolt from a nightmare where she was being chased by a poo-covered Petal who had a weird resemblance to Liam. She was overheating and quickly realised it was thanks to Maurice who was asleep on her pillow with half his body wrapped around her head like a furry hat. It was Sunday and she was very glad she was single and without children. One day she hoped to feel differently and she was sure if she ever found the right person to settle down with she’d change her mind but for now not having children was a relief. Thankfully neither Sophie nor Dave had been at all concerned when she’d relayed the story of poo-gate; it seemed par for the course in their house.
She’d not had a chance to talk to Sophie on her own but as she wasn’t waxing lyrical about the evening out, Anna guessed it hadn’t gone well. She’d probably get the lowdown in the office tomorrow. Right now, a quiet Sunday stretched out before her and she pondered how to spend it. Anna hated wasting time or even the feeling she wasn’t maximising every minute. Ever since university she’d had this drive to squeeze the most she could out of life, because life was a fickle thing and you didn’t know when things could change. Anna never wanted to be in a position where she regretted wasting a moment, and she also felt she owed it to her sister to make the most of her life, as Lynsey’s had tragically been cut so short.
Sunday lunch with her parents was a given. She saw them pretty much every week and she liked that routine about her life. The option to step back into their home and not have to think about anything was like being wrapped in the softest blanket and cuddled, and some Sundays they actually did that when a good film was on and it was a bit chilly outside. She loved her parents. They’d all gone through hell when Lynsey died. A shared sorrow that had united them.
Her relationship with them had changed over the years as she’d moved from childhood to the messy teenage years, and then flown the nest for university, but her parents had never let her down. She’d seen it happen with friends: big fallings-out, people not speaking, family feuds – but not in her house. The odd cross word and the occasional shouting match, of course, but through everything they had been her constant source of strength.
She went for a long run in the park. She’d left it a little later than she’d have liked and the sun was high in the sky and everywhere was warming up fast. A mother duck let out a squawk of a quack as she ran near the pond and too close to a brood of small ducklings for the mother’s liking. She loved the freedom of the park. It was a beautiful oasis of calm and Anna wondered what it must have been like for the people who originally had it as their garden. She imagined having all the space to herself, although she would miss seeing the park regulars. There was a wisp of a man who walked his small terrier, Bosco, who was very friendly. A sleek elegant woman who walked a pair of pugs called Gainsborough and Stubbs – Anna always felt Stubbs had an understandably inferior look about him. A tall chap who had a snooty-looking Saluki named Malika. Anna had never seen a Saluki before, but had got to know Malika and warmed to her – she was nothing like her pointy beak-shaped face implied. She had no idea what any of the owner’s names were, only the dogs.
The park was a community within a community. Everyone smiled and spoke to each other, and it was like they all shared a secret and one they all held dear. An exclusive group who treasured the park and the time they spent there.
She loved seeing the swans who took little notice of her, the ducks who seemed to laugh at her as she passed, and the array of small wild birds who made the park their home. She marvelled at the butterflies flitting across the wildflowers and making the most of their short existence. Anna headed for her favourite bench, up towards the largest oak tree. It was a good place to finish her run and would give her some cooling-down time as she walked back to the flat. The other reason it was her favourite bench was because of the inscription on it: ‘In Loving Memory of Betty Baldwin – The friendliest dog in the park’.
Lunch at her parents’ was the usual entertaining affair with Mum knowing exactly what was due out of the oven when, and Dad trying to help but mainly getting in the way.
‘Terry, be a love and open the wine,’ asked Claire, giving Anna her long-suffering look. Terry did as he was told and popped the cork on a bottle of Merlot, which had a long backstory to do with a friend’s trip to France.
‘Anna?’ He gestured with the bottle when he’d reached the end of the provenance of the wine. ‘It’s bostin’.’
‘Err, no thanks, Dad.’ She busied herself with having a nose at what was written on their kitchen calendar.
Her father poured out two glasses and passed one to his wife. ‘You are drinking again, aren’t you, Anna?’
‘What?’ Anna tried to appear blasé. ‘Of course. But I never drink when I’m driving.’ She hated lying to her dad but he’d only worry if he thought her life hadn’t completely returned to normal. How could she tell him she had a feeling that it never would?
Her dad seemed to accept her explanation. ‘Very wise, bab,’ he said, giving her a kiss on the top of her head as he passed.
Dinner was perfect as always and the apple turnover for pudding was top notch. Her father sat back and rubbed his extended stomach. ‘Feels like Christmas.’ He gave it a pat. ‘I could play Santa.’
‘How are you finding it, living on your own?’ asked her mother, looking concerned.
‘It’s fine, Mum. It’s the same as living with Liam but without the disappointment.’ It was meant to be a joke but the sympathetic expressions of her parents told her otherwise. ‘Honest
ly, I’m okay. I like it. And I’m not on my own, I’ve got Maurice and thanks to him sometimes we have a mouse come to stay.’
‘That’s great,’ said Terry, and his wife shot him a look. ‘I think everyone should live on their own at some point in their life. It’s important to understand who you are as a person and put yourself first without thinking about someone else.’
‘You trying to tell me something?’ asked Claire, her expression amused.
‘No, you’re okay for a bit longer. Truth be told, I couldn’t face training up another one.’
He got a playful slap before she folded into his arms. This was how they were, play-fighting one moment, cuddling the next. This was what Anna wanted. Why was it so incredibly hard to find?
As if on cue her mother stopped gazing at Terry and turned back to Anna. ‘Anyone else in your life we should know about?’
‘I’m still saving the pennies in the jar,’ added Terry, his reference to the wedding fund he had been amassing.
‘No. I’m off men for the foreseeable future. You should spend it on a holiday or something for the two of you. I don’t think marriage is something I’ll be considering any time soon, if at all …’ She tried not to look sad although it was how she felt. Sad not just for the wedding day she’d lost but for the lifelong plans she’d imagined would follow. And despite everything, she was harbouring a hollow sensation. Perhaps she wasn’t cut out to be single, but she also wasn’t ready to be hurt again.
Chapter Sixteen
Anna had commandeered a room as her project headquarters. She only had it for two weeks but it was better than nothing and it was a chance to get the plan up on the wall and get it into a fit shape before it was committed to a document. She was surrounded by walls of brown paper and multicoloured Post-it Notes; it was very close to her idea of heaven. Every strand of the project was represented by a different colour, every task to be completed had a Post-it Note, and every Post-it Note had an owner. There were still loads more to be added as things became clearer but it was a start, and for now it was very much a fluid plan.
A Budding Romance Page 4