by Carrie Adams
“What?” He sat up.
“Can I have a glass of water?”
“Oh, Maddy, there’s one by your bed.”
“No, there isn’t. You always forget.”
I heard an irritable sigh escape James’s lips. “No, I didn’t. You just didn’t look. As usual.” James threw back the cover. I withdrew into a tighter ball. He seemed to have forgotten I was there and padded out after his daughter. Next I saw a light go on, heard a tap being turned and a glass being filled. Maddy was right. He had forgotten the water. A few minutes later, he was back in bed and I was safely out in the open air.
“Everything all right?” I whispered.
“Fine,” James grunted, and fell straight back to sleep.
I WORK HARD AND PLAY hard. On weekends, I rest. I thought that was pretty normal. Respect the Sabbath and all that. So why was the light on when it was still dark outside? I squeezed my eyes shut and burrowed into the duvet. Where were my eye masks? Then I remembered. Eye masks had been surrendered in pursuit of sexiness. James didn’t know about my vast collection under the bed at my curtainless home. I was still missing a few of the Baltic republics, but I had most of the world’s airlines covered. Anyone who traveled far afield would bring me back eye masks and ear plugs, and I revered them as if they’d picked up a pot of duty-free Crème de la Mer. James emerged from the bathroom—a shower behind a stud wall—in his dressing gown, looking, for once, his age. I peered at him through one eye.
“Ugh.”
“Morning, beautiful girl.”
“Ugh,” I said again.
James kissed my head, then walked out of the room. “Morning, girls!” he shouted.
“Morning, Daddy!” came the chorus.
“Are you coming in?”
Shit. Shit. I looked around in a panic and spotted an old T-shirt lying by the laundry basket. “James,” I hissed.
He put his head back around the door. I pointed at the T-shirt.
“That’s filthy.”
“I don’t care. Chuck it to me.”
“You look lovely as you are,” he said, laughing.
I gave him the finger.
“Charming.”
“Petrified!”
“They love you.”
“Not naked.”
“I love you naked.”
“You’re a dirty old man,” I said, and flashed him.
James laughed. “Hard not to be, with you around.”
I had just pulled the T-shirt over my head when Maddy, the youngest and—not that I’m allowed to think such things—my favorite so far, came bounding into the room with Lulu. They leaped onto the bed.
“Okay,” said James. “What’s it to be?”
“Marmite,” said Lulu.
“Jam,” said Maddy.
“Chocolate spread,” said Amber, from the doorway. She sauntered into the room and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Enter the beast. In every scary movie a lurking presence taunts you from the shadows. You haven’t seen it, but you know from the rustle in the fallen leaves and the snap of branches that it’s never very far away. It is the beast that has you peering through your fingers, wanting it to come yet dreading its arrival. Amber was wearing one of her father’s T-shirts too. And she looked good. Better than me. Please, I prayed silently, please, don’t let me be jealous of a fourteen-year-old girl. My father had told me—along with things like life isn’t fair—that there was no more wasted emotion than jealousy. I had carried that with me my entire life but, my God, I couldn’t take my eyes off her legs. Grrrr.
“Right. And for you, my darling?”
The only person who didn’t look toward James was me.
“Tessa?” asked James.
I noticed Amber’s chin lift and I was reminded of Grace Kelly in High Society. She would be that beautiful. Lord, give me strength. “Sorry?”
“What do you want on your toast?” asked Maddy, climbing over the bed to sit next to me.
“Toast?”
“Daddy lets us have breakfast in bed at his house. He says he doesn’t mind sleeping in our crumbs.”
“Maybe Tessa feels differently,” said Amber, sounding like my old headmistress.
“You sweet girl,” said James. “Always thinking about others.” Hmmm, thought I. Grrrrrr.
“Maybe she’s like the princess and the pea, and the smallest crumb will make her black-and-blue,” said Maddy.
“Maybe she shouldn’t sleep in Daddy’s bed, then,” said Lulu.
Isn’t it about time I was going?
“Nonsense. Tessa is staying right there. In fact”—Oh, no. He paused, looking at each of them in turn—“I’ve asked her to move in with us. What do you think, girls?”
Maddy and Lulu were smiling, but I realized they had no idea what they were smiling about or why.
James turned to Amber. As did her sisters.
“Have you told Mummy?” she asked.
“Yes,” said James.
“Hey, James,” I said, interrupting, “I was wondering whether I could take the girls to Cora’s ninth birthday party.”
“You’d have to check with Mummy,” said Amber.
Mummy, Mummy, Mummy. I hadn’t expected the fourteen-year-old to be the Mummy’s girl. “Of course,” I said.
“How many godchildren do you have?” she asked.
“Four,” I said proudly.
“Do people feel sorry for you because you’ve got no children?” said Lulu.
“Lulu!” said James.
“That’s what Mum says,” explained Amber.
Okay. “Who are your godparents? Your mum and dad’s greatest friends, I’m sure.”
The girls looked to James. Oh dear. Did godparents get divided up too? “We didn’t pick very well,” said James. “We don’t see them much.”
Right. Okay. “Why don’t I go and make that toast?” I said, moving to the edge of the bed, then realized I couldn’t. The T-shirt wasn’t that long and it was bunched up around my waist. “James, could you pass me a dressing gown?” I asked, trying to sound calm and nonchalant and not as if a boa constrictor had me around the gullet. He peeled off his and threw it to me. I did the best I could at putting it on and pulling it down as I stood up, but I was pretty sure the girls got a flash of buttock cheeks, because Lulu sniggered.
Feeling more aware of myself than I had at my first disco, I walked out of the bedroom. Marmite, jam, and chocolate spread. Marmite, jam, and chocolate spread. If I kept thinking about condiments, I might be able to block out the small voice that was singing to me, in the evil whisper of Rumpelstiltskin, “Banish Cinders to the Hearth” from behind a large oval mirror. What was it with all these fairy-tale metaphors? One hour with the children and I was turning into the Brothers Grimm, hardly the kings of happy endings. Marmite, jam, and chocolate spread.
THE MORNING WAS SALVAGED BY devotion to a James and the Giant Peach coloring book and endless rounds of Guess Who?—the game in which, by process of elimination, you work out what character the other person has. This seemed to be Lulu’s favorite thing to do, but I soon learned that her brain processed information differently from others. So when I said “No” to “Do they wear glasses?” she would put down all the characters who boasted twenty-twenty vision. This meant I kept winning, though I tried valiantly to lose. The sweet thing was that she didn’t seem to mind. She just wanted to play again, and again, and again. I heard the door slam and was thankful that my replacement had returned from a rather long newsagent run with Amber.
“Sorry,” shouted James. “We stopped for coffee.” I assumed he meant he’d stopped to pick some up, and happily awaited mine.
“Again?” asked Lulu.
“Why don’t we ask your daddy to play?”
Lulu didn’t seem hopeful. James put his head around the door. “Everyone happy?”
“Great,” I said, trying to convey otherwise and desperate for caffeine. “It’s your turn to play Guess Who?”
“Hang on,” said Jame
s. “Let me put the shopping away.” And he disappeared into the kitchen. Ten minutes later, no large latte with an extra shot and sugar had appeared and I could hear them still chatting. Which meant he’d stopped for coffee with Amber. Grrrrrrrrrr.
“Claire?” said Lulu.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was looking at a boy. “Nearly,” I said. “Sally.”
“Oh, Sally. I like her. Again?”
Shoot me.
“James!”
No answer.
“What about something we can all play?” I said brightly.
Lulu looked at Maddy, then shook her head.
“Amber always cheats,” said Maddy, by way of explanation, returning to her coloring.
“What do you normally do on weekends?”
“With Mummy we do arts and crafts, or make cakes—”
“Or build time machines,” said Maddy, interrupting.
I was sorry I asked. “What about with Daddy?”
“We watch telly,” they said in unison.
Don’t panic, I told myself. I had saved a few tricks up my sleeve. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to bring a canary out of my arse, because I heard the front door slam again. “James?” I called, panic rising.
There was no answer. I got up and went to the kitchen. The “shopping” was on the kitchen table. There was no sign of Amber or her father.
“James!” I called again, and peered into the downstairs loo. The girls stared at me from the sitting room as I walked back down the corridor. Maddy held up her coloring. I gave her a thumbs-up. Delighted, she started another. God bless the child…
I walked up the stairs and pushed open the bedroom door. He wasn’t there. The other two were empty. What had I expected? To find James cross-legged in front of the dollhouse? I could feel myself getting disproportionately furious. He’d obviously forgotten something and nipped out. Again. But halfway down the stairs, I heard a grunt.
“James?”
“Up here,” called a voice.
He was in the loo? “I’ve been calling you.”
“Sorry. Didn’t hear.”
Beyond comprehension. Impossible. This was a small flat. I could hear the next-door neighbor fart. “I think Amber went out,” I said.
“She’s meeting some friends at Starbucks. I hope you don’t mind but I had to raid your wallet. I gave my last cash to the pizza-delivery guy.”
“Oh.”
“It was only a tenner. I’ll pay you back.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. Though I was pretty sure I’d only had a twenty left in my wallet…“You ever coming out?”
“Sorry.” I heard the loo flush, then the door opened. He was holding a Lee Child novel. “Hi. Having fun down there?”
A Rolodex of pithy answers flicked through my mind, but I couldn’t voice a single one without causing mortal offense. “Hi,” I said instead.
“Hi. So, what shall we do for the rest of the day?”
Another Rolodex appeared, but pithy answers were dangerous, and I knew it. “I guess we should think about lunch.”
“Already?”
Yes, already. Time flies when you’re having fun.
“Great. I bought stuff for spag Bol. The girls love it.”
“This I’d like to see.” I’d never seen James cook. We went out. Or I cooked in my flat when he came over.
“My pièce de résistance,” said James.
“Meaning it’s your only dish.”
“Does cheese on toast count?”
“No.”
“Then yes. But I boil a fine egg.”
“Anyone can put an egg into boiling water for four minutes.”
James walked up to me and put his arms around my waist. I felt the itch of anger fade.
“Ah, but mine are perfect. Not too hard, not too soft.”
“I should hope not too soft.”
“Never that.”
“No,” I said, lowering my hand to between his legs, “that doesn’t seem to be your problem.” But your children are. I looked around. Who’d said that? James kissed my lips. “Let’s go downstairs, see what the monkeys are up to, and I’ll start cooking.”
Actually, I cooked. James’s phone rang as the first layer of onion came away, and he didn’t end the call until I’d sprinkled the finishing touch of Lea and Perrins into the pot. Pièce de résistance, my arse.
The spaghetti was perfect. But we were missing one, so it sat, congealing, on the side, while we waited for Amber to return.
“Why don’t we start?” I suggested. Lulu and Maddy had been so good and I could tell they were hungry. I’d been godmothering long enough to know what happened if you didn’t feed children.
“I told her to be back at one,” said James, ignoring that it was now a quarter past.
Finally, we heard the key in the lock.
“Great! I’m starving,” said Amber, plonking herself onto a chair.
I waited for James to say something. He did: “Okay, then, let’s dish up.”
I bit down on a carrot stick I had cut to stave off meltdown, and crunched it noisily.
“Mummy says it’s rude if people can hear you eat,” said Amber, giving a death stare.
I stopped crunching. James put the plates of food on the table, then brought the bowl of cheese that the younger girls had helped me grate. Amber grabbed a huge handful, half the bowl. Again, I looked at James. Again, I waited for him to say something. Again, he did. “Okay, girls, tuck in.”
“We might need some more cheese,” I said, and passed the bowl to Lulu.
“Great idea,” said James, sitting down. I didn’t say much else through the rest of lunch.
“That was delicious, Daddy,” said Amber, carrying plates to the dishwasher.
“Don’t thank me, thank Tessa. She made it.”
I was too late to retract the it’s-my-pleasure-you’re-welcome expression that had started to eke across my face, and therefore returned Amber’s frankly ungracious pout with a grateful smile.
“What about pudding?” asked Maddy.
I looked at James.
“We’ll get ice cream later,” he said.
“There are some apples,” I said.
“Mummy always makes a pudding on weekends,” said Maddy.
Again I looked to James for help.
“I can’t cook like Mummy can,” said James.
“But Tessa’s here. Can’t she cook? I like banana soufflé best.”
“That sounds impressive.”
“Mummy makes up her own recipes,” said Lulu.
Of course she does.
“She can give you a lesson. Then you’ll know how to make it.” Maddy seemed pleased with herself. Problem solved.
“And strawberry cheesecake,” said Lulu. “I like doing the biscuit bits.”
“Obviously Tessa can’t cook,” said Amber. I was astounded by how hurtful her words were. I tried to smile at Amber, but she put her earphones in and turned away. I made a mental note: book a course at Prue Leith immediately. I’d show her.
Finally, they drifted out of the kitchen and I sat down with a cup of instant coffee. Okay, I thought, okay…So we were going to have to up the ante. I was a trained negotiator and an able-bodied woman. I could get myself out of this, and what I didn’t know I would learn. I raised the cup to my lips—
“Aaahh!” The scream came from the living room. I was on my feet in less than a second. Lulu was crouched in the corner, holding her head in her hands. Maddy stood against the wall. Amber was trying hard to look nonchalant, and failing.
“What happened?” I asked, running to Lulu.
“Mummy!” she sobbed.
“Let’s have a look,” I said.
“Ow!”
“What happened?” I asked again, watching a red patch develop on Lulu’s pale skin just above the temple.
Amber put her hands on her hips. “Why are you looking at me?”
“I was only asking if you saw what happened.”
“She hit her head on the coffee table.”
I’d kind of figured that out on my own. Where the hell was James? Surely he didn’t need another poo. “Let’s get you up. There’s some ice in the kitchen. We’ll put it on your head.”
Lulu was still crying, but quietly. “Brave girl,” I said, leading her out of the room.
I pulled out the ice tray, but there was only one cube in it. I slammed it hard on the work surface. The cube shot across the Formica and spun into the aluminum sink. James was pacing about in the jungle out back. On the phone.
I put the solitary ice cube into some paper towels and passed it to Lulu, then refilled the tray. As I replaced it, I spotted a bag of frozen peas. Much better. I tipped a few into a clean cloth and gave that to Lulu instead.
Amber was watching from the doorway. “Arnica,” she said.
“Sorry?”
“Arnica.” She suddenly seemed very interested in her feet. “Mum always puts it on Lulu when she takes one of her tumbles.”
“Does she fall a lot?”
Amber nodded. “She never looks where she’s going. Dad keeps it in the cutlery drawer.”
“Thanks, Amber.” I tried a smile again and this time received a dismissive shrug. I opened the drawer, found a near-empty tube of arnica, squeezed some out, and rubbed it on Lulu’s head.
“Thanks, Tessa. That feels nice.”
I put my arm around her. “You’re going to have a big bruise.”
“Will you kiss it better?” asked Lulu, which was how I discovered the thick, sweet taste of arnica.
James came to the window. He saw Lulu leaning into my chest and, smiling, gave me a thumbs-up. I reassured him with a smile of my own. But it was an empty gesture. I was afraid I wouldn’t last the afternoon. I didn’t.
THE DAY WAS ALREADY DARKENING as I locked the car door, yet it was still hours from bedtime. I walked up to Billie’s flat in West Acton and pressed the bell long and hard. She opened the door. “What are you doing here? Isn’t this your first weekend playing mom?”
I pushed past her. “I sincerely hope you have wine.”
“It’s been open a couple of days.”
“I don’t care.”
“Oh dear. That bad.”
Billie and I used to share a flat, and I mean share. There were no demarcation zones between what was hers and mine. Nearly twenty years on, I still felt I could use her toothbrush and drink her wine.