by Hazel Osmond
When his own mother left, she said, ‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do to shift her, won’t you?’
‘The rev. doesn’t do contract killings, does he?’ Tom replied.
As the sound of his mother’s car faded away, he felt alone and trapped. Steph was already wrong-footing him and fate and road accidents seemed to be helping her.
He was in the kitchen thinking what to have for tea, when he heard the side gate squeak and shot out into the garden again.
Please let it be Fran.
He barely had any time to smile before she had her arms around him.
‘Oh, thank God you’re all right. I saw the dent in the car.’ She had pulled back and was looking at him and he reversed the action and kissed her.
‘Your lips didn’t get damaged, I see,’ she said when he’d finished.
He just held her close and felt the warmth and energy that was Fran. ‘Oh God. I am sooo glad you’re here,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘I thought you were hacked off with me – seeing us all in the car, me not turning up when I said I would. When you didn’t answer my calls …’
‘Oh, Tom,’ she said, sadly, ‘when are you going to learn that I’m not like … well, other people?’ She disentangled herself from him. ‘It’s wearing the way you always think I’m going to strop off at the slightest thing.’ She shook her head at him, but it was in a ‘What am I going to do with you?’ way and not an ‘I’m so angry I’m going to throw you on the floor’ one.
‘I’ve been out shopping for bits and pieces with Jamie and Natalie for the flat,’ she explained. ‘Goodness me, so much time taken to decide on an ironing board. Anyway, I had my mobile, but it was right at the bottom of my bag and the shops are so noisy. Otherwise, my little wounded soldier, I would have been here like a shot.’
She administered some more mouth-to-mouth resuscitation which was disturbed abruptly by Hattie saying, ‘Why are you kissing Fran?’
They leaped apart to find Steph standing behind Hattie.
‘Perhaps she has something stuck in one of her back teeth,’ Steph said and there, just for an instant in the look she gave Fran, was undiluted vindictiveness. Tom would have been quite happy not to have seen that look ever again.
‘I’m very sorry to hear about the accident,’ Fran said. ‘Were you hurt, Steph, or just shaken up?’
‘Both.’
‘Mummy’s hurt her neck,’ Hattie explained, looking sad.
Tom nodded. ‘Earlier she could barely get up off the sofa.’
‘Well you should take it easy,’ Fran said. ‘Get plenty of rest.’
‘I intend to. My bedroom here is very comfortable. The bed especially.’
Fran kept smiling and did not respond to whatever point Steph was trying to make about sleeping arrangements.
‘We were just about to play a board game, weren’t we, Hattie?’ Steph announced. ‘Does Daddy want to play? I thought Monopoly.’
‘Please, Daddy, please!’ Hattie was jumping about.
He saw Steph’s smug smile.
‘Monopoly’s too old for her,’ he said.
‘Well, you’d like to try it, wouldn’t you, Hattie?’
Hattie would, although Tom guessed that ten minutes in, she’d rather be playing Snakes and Ladders.
‘Perhaps Fran could play too,’ Hattie suddenly suggested and Steph’s smile faltered.
‘Oh that’s kind.’ Fran bent down to Hattie. ‘But I have to go back. I’m working on a new animal. Just to see if I can.’
‘What is it?’ Hattie asked.
‘It’s a hedgehog. I’ve found one living in my garden. He has a little bolt-hole there.’
‘Bolty what?’
‘Oh, sorry, Hattie. It means somewhere you can go where you know you’ll be safe. Him and his fleas are curled up in a burrow under an old tree stump.’
‘Are we going to play this game?’ Steph held her hand out to Hattie and clicked her fingers. Hattie went like a shot.
‘I’d better go,’ Tom said, morosely, when Steph had taken Hattie in. ‘This is bloody purgatory, Fran. And I can’t turf her out now, not when she’s meant to have whiplash. I’ve got a whole weekend of this to look forward to.’
‘Hmm. That whiplash, comes and goes, doesn’t it?’ Fran leaned over and kissed him. ‘Perhaps you could try and sneak over and see me sometime this weekend, when Hattie goes to bed. Leave Steph to babysit.’ She was very close to his face and he felt her scrutinising him, but before he could give an answer, she provided one herself. ‘No, that’s not going to happen, is it? Now, why is that?’
He knew she was waiting for something from him and when it didn’t come, she said, ‘Well, you have no choice then. You’ll have to let her monopolise you.’ There was a laugh. ‘Ah, see what I did there. Monopolise … very good. Off you go then, Tom. Go directly to jail, do not pass Go …’ She patted him fondly on the backside and walked away.
He wasn’t taken in by Fran’s cheery tone – he knew she was frustrated that he would not open up to her about Steph.
He walked back into the house feeling as if he was being packed off to jail. Perhaps next time Fran came she would bring him one of her cakes. He didn’t care how dreadful it was, just as long as it had a file in it.
CHAPTER 51
Pulling back the curtains on Sunday, Tom saw the rain and knew that things were going to get rough. Rainy days and an active five-year-old were enough to test even the most patient parent.
He had no hope that today would be as ‘successful’ as yesterday.
Saturday morning had been particularly good, largely because Steph spent the morning in bed, suffering with her neck, but when he’d suggested that he take Hattie out so that she could continue to sleep in the afternoon, she made another miraculous recovery. Within minutes, she had appeared in the kitchen, ready to go. He had looked at her white trousers and slate-grey cashmere jumper and decided on a farm tour.
Apart from a little pull down of her mouth when they arrived and she’d had to walk over the mud and straw, Steph had powered up her mothering act. She agreed with a dad in the hen barn that it was indeed hard to get your children to eat eggs and chatted with another mother about how important it was for every child – a sweep of her arm to gather up Hattie – to be out in the fresh air.
Hattie had responded to all this by walking between them, catching hold of their hands and asking to be swung back and forth.
‘This is lovely, isn’t it?’ Steph had said. ‘Just the three of us.’
Unable to face the prospect of a cosy evening in, he’d driven on to Newcastle for pizza. Steph had assumed her natural place in the spotlight, charming the waiters with exactly the right degree of mummy flirt and trying to charm him too. Her enthusiasm as she helped Hattie with the wax crayons and colouring pad the restaurant provided was something to behold.
But the day had not all been Steph’s. When Tom had gone to bed, his mobile had rung and it was Fran. After listening politely to his tale of woe, she’d said, ‘Well that’s all very fascinating, Tom, but I’ve been doing some research into telephone sex, and I’m sitting here in only a very small pair of black satin panties and wondered what you thought about that?’
He had thought: Way hey, let’s bloody go for it.
As he watched the rain slashing down, Tom tried to dig back into that lovely memory, but he could already sense trouble brewing in the kitchen.
Hattie was asking if she could have pancakes again and Steph told her that she needed to get the Sunday newspapers first.
‘It’s a long walk in the rain,’ Tom said and, in response, Steph tossed her keys up and down in her hand and said she’d just found them.
‘Where were they, Mummy?’ Hattie asked and got told, sharply, to be quiet.
‘I’m sorry,’ Hattie said, her lip looking a bit wobbly, and Tom put his hand on her shoulder and said to Steph, ‘It was a perfectly reasonable question.’
He saw Steph’s urge to snap something at him, bu
t she reined herself back. ‘Yes, Mummy’s sorry, Hattie darling. She didn’t sleep very well. She’s the one who’s a bit growly this morning. Why don’t you lay the table while I’m out and we’ll have those pancakes as soon as I get back?’
Hattie set to with a will and they put a tablecloth on and used the better china and sat and waited for Steph to return. And waited. The nearest paper shop was a ten-minute drive there and back. After half an hour, the sight of Hattie repeatedly going to the window to check for Steph’s car sent Tom to the frying pan and he started making the pancakes himself.
‘Do you think Mummy’s all right?’ Hattie asked as she watched him and he said she’d bumped into someone and got chatting. So much for not doing Steph’s PR any more.
When Steph did return, an hour and a half after she’d left, Hattie was hunkered down on his lap. He was trying to read to her, but her misery kept making him lose the thread.
‘Oh well done, you’ve had the pancakes,’ Steph said, looking at the dirty frying pan. ‘I was desperate for a coffee after the night I had. Naughty Mummy had an almond croissant too. Here, Hattie, look, I bought you some comics.’
As if she sensed that Tom was going to have a go at her, she added, ‘Come on, Hattie. Sit with me and I can read my newspapers and you can read your comics. Girls together.’
Hattie was like a little wave throwing itself against a rock, working extra hard to engage Steph and chat. Steph kept saying ‘Lovely’ and ‘Excellent’ while rarely taking her eyes from the Lifestyle sections.
By evening, Steph’s neck was hurting too much to do bath-time and de-lousing, and as Tom watched Hattie splashing about half-heartedly, he knew she would be thinking this was her fault. It had to stop. He had to have the argument he should have had on the first day – Hattie was upset now anyway, how much worse could it get?
Just as he was wrapping Hattie in a towel, Steph wrong-footed him again. ‘OK,’ she said enthusiastically, ‘who’s for loads and loads of stories?’
Off Hattie trotted, in heaven once more.
*
Downstairs, Tom opened a bottle of wine and drank a glass straight off as he was ironing the school uniform.
‘Good idea,’ Steph said as she came back down and poured herself a glass.
When he went to say goodnight to Hattie, she was smiling.
‘What are you looking so happy about?’ he said.
‘It’s a secret.’ She put her finger to her lips and the smile grew even wider under it. He could get no sense from her.
In the sitting room, Steph was sitting on the sofa checking her phone when he walked in. He saw she’d brought the wine bottle and the glasses in from the kitchen.
‘Why’s Hattie so happy?’ he asked, sitting down in the armchair furthest away from her.
She put her phone back in her bag. ‘You’ve made this really nice in here, Tom. English cosy. God, do you remember that first flat we had in Barnes? That carpet!’
He drank some more wine. ‘I’m presuming you haven’t told her about leaving on Tuesday, then?’
Steph smiled. ‘We had to take it up in the end, didn’t we, that carpet? Smelled of cat’s pee. Nice little flat though, Tom. Often think about it. We could lie in bed and only see tree tops.’ She smiled at him, all the power of her charm in that smile. ‘Happy days, Tom.’
‘When are you going to tell her?’
Steph finished off the wine. ‘Tell her what?’
‘That you’re going on Tuesday.’
‘I have told her.’
He put his glass down. ‘Steph, what have you done?’
‘I told her I’m going, but that I’ll be back. I’m planning to move here. That’s why I was really so long this morning – I was looking in estate agents’ windows.’
‘You’ve told her what?’ he said slowly, hearing the tremor in his voice.
‘That I’m moving here.’ Steph’s smile was chilling. ‘It’s something I’ve been thinking about since I arrived. I’d forgotten how lovely it is in this part of the world.’
That might have been believable if she hadn’t repeatedly told him how ‘dull’ she found the place. But she was getting into her stride.
‘I could be based anywhere near a good airport, so why not here? I don’t want to miss any more of Hattie growing up, Tom.’
‘Steph, this is a fairy story,’ he said, sharply, thinking of Hattie upstairs, blissfully happy.
‘No, it’s the truth. I’ve left you with all the hard work and it’s time to take some responsibility now.’ There was a self-deprecating laugh. ‘I know I don’t often show it, but I think you’re a wonderful father.’
He felt as if he was being caught in a sticky web.
‘I’m not saying that I expect any reconciliation.’ Her hands came up as if that was a definite. ‘But as you said on the telephone, the divorce will happen of its own accord soon, and in the meantime there’s no reason why we can’t be amicable for Hattie’s sake.’
She gave him a look that before would have had him on his knees in front of her. She did sincerity so well. Sometimes she even meant it.
‘Steph,’ he said, finding it hard not to shout that word, ‘you can’t tell Hattie you’re moving up here when you have no intention of doing it. And what about Alessandro? Is he going to move here, too?’
‘But I do intend to move here, Tom.’
It was as if anything he said was just bouncing off her. He got up and closed the door. ‘This fantasy of being more involved with Hattie? You want to think back to when you were completely involved with her?’
‘I was younger then,’ she said, quickly. ‘Hattie was younger. I’ve really enjoyed this visit—’
‘Being here for a few days is not the same.’ He felt his temper start to flare. ‘You have to put her first when you’re tired, when you’re irritated, even when you’re ill. I don’t see any evidence of you committing to any of that, even in the short time you’ve been here. Are you really telling me you’d change? Give up the parties and the late nights, your friends, taking off at the drop of a hat when a good job crops up?’
‘You used to enjoy that life, Tom.’
‘Yes. But my priorities changed when Hattie came along. Yours didn’t seem to.’
‘That’s not kind, Tom.’ Steph pouted and these days it just looked ridiculous to him.
‘What’s this really about?’ he asked.
‘Why do you think I always have an angle?’
He sat down again and found himself dramatically rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand, feeling as if he couldn’t think straight. He tried to be calm but firm.
‘Steph, please see sense. Be honest about what kind of relationship you want with Hattie. If all you can offer is to see her now and again, that’s fine, but stick to what you promise. And don’t tell me you want more responsibility for her, because I don’t think you’re capable of handling it.’
Here were the tears. ‘I just made a few mistakes, Tom.’
‘You’re not listening to me, Steph. You lose interest in her after a while. Or, because she’s not exactly as you want her to be, all ribbons and dimples, you try to change her. When it doesn’t work, she irritates you. Then you get angry.’
‘I was under a lot of stress at work, Tom.’
‘And I wasn’t?’ he shot back.
‘You can’t judge me on that. It’s not fair,’ she said, sulkily. ‘Things are different now. I want to be a proper mother to Hattie.’
She could lie so well it made you forget what the truth was. Did she actually believe this stuff herself?
‘We’ve been through this,’ he said, ‘so many times. She just gets too much for you.’
She turned away from him and the curves and lines of her face still had the power to move him. But what he felt now was pity, not love.
‘It’s not your fault, Steph,’ he said. ‘But lying about it is. Just be honest. Let’s bring an end to all this bloody acting.’
She was still tur
ned away.
He waited for her to say something and when she didn’t, he stood up, suddenly too weary to keep going. ‘I’ve got work tomorrow. Sleep on it, Steph, then we’ll have to think about how the hell to unpick what you’ve said to Hattie.’
*
Another night where it took him ages to get to sleep, his shoulder painful and his mind refusing to switch off. And then he was woken up by Hattie again, slipping into bed with him.
‘What’s up?’ he mumbled and she put her hand on his arm and he was wide awake. It was a grown-up’s hand.
‘Tom,’ Steph said. ‘We’re still good together.’
In the light from the landing, he could see the gloss of her hair and her breasts and he thought of all those times with her. Different hotels, different beds.
The smell of her.
A body he knew so well inside and out.
Her mouth was on his and it would have been so easy to just go under and drown, but he was struggling up into the air, rolling to the other side of the bed.
He didn’t want to be a slave to all that again – a bit player in the Steph show. He wanted Fran.
He stumbled to Hattie’s room and stayed there a long time, staring at the baby monitor.
When he went back to his own bed, Steph was no longer in it.
CHAPTER 52
Sunday 22 June
Another mishmash of what I’ve learned, I’m afraid.
1) Baby monitors are rubbish. If they were really useful they’d work over longer distances. Then I could just put one in Tom’s house and one in mine and hear what’s going on. Although, now I think about it, that’s probably called bugging not monitoring.
2) When you hear that the man you love has been in an accident you worry. And it seems such bad luck – he is already being held hostage.
3) A woman can click her fingers at a child and make you instantly want to stop being reasonable and adult.
4) Tom should spill the beans and share the load – if that’s not too much of a mixed metaphor. Whatever he’s afraid of, it cannot be as bad as the torture he is enduring now – trying to please a tiger.
5) As regards point 4, I do not know if that is exactly the situation, but I have learned that secrets are corrosive. And they do have a habit of turning round and biting you on the bottom.