by Janey Fraser
Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that.
Mel’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’
He was tempted to fudge. But hadn’t he learned that lies always caught up with you? ‘We might have to sell Seabridge, I’m afraid.’
‘Why?’ Nattie’s eyes looked frightened. ‘It’s going to stay in the family for ever. You always said that. We’ll be able to take our own children down there when we have them.’
Andy thought back to the telephone call he’d had with George; the one that was going to change all their lives. ‘Look, we’ll talk about it another time, maybe when Mum’s back. Meanwhile, let’s enjoy this weekend, shall we?’
The meeting with George didn’t take long. There wasn’t much to say and what there was didn’t make nice listening. Andy felt just as he used to in the home when being told off for something. So he did now what he had done then. Pretend he was somewhere else. Imagine it wasn’t happening to him. Get the hell out as soon as he could. Blame someone else.
No, he wouldn’t do that.
‘I did advise you not to do it, Andy. Said it was too much of a gamble.’ Poor George, with his thinning grey hair, tweed jacket, stiff manner and posh way of speaking. His financial adviser looked as distressed as if he had just lost all that money himself.
‘It’s OK.’ Awkwardly Andy patted him on the back, even though he wasn’t the kind of bloke you did that to. ‘You were right.’ He scratched his head and smiled ruefully. ‘Guess I thought I was still wonder boy; that nothing could go wrong.’
George made a wry expression. ‘You’ve been very lucky in the past. In fact, you’re one of my few clients who made a killing out of this recession. I’m still not quite sure how you did it, to be honest.’
‘Nor me.’ All this was so unreal that it was as though he was discussing someone else. ‘When I first started work, I thought hedge funds were what you got paid if you did a Bob-a-Job, trimming someone’s garden.’
George managed a weak smile. ‘I suppose this puts an end to your sabbatical, then. Any thoughts on where you’ll go next?’
‘Not sure.’ Andy considered telling his financial adviser about Pamela being in rehab: a place they couldn’t afford now. No. There were some things you had to keep to yourself. ‘But I’d like to do something that lets me spend more time with my family. I’m not going back to that insane life when I never saw them.’
George nodded. ‘Know what you mean. In fact, my wife’s been itching to get back to work for years. Now the boys are out of nappies, we’ve decided it’s time for a career swap.’ He looked a bit embarrassed. ‘I’m going to work from home while Julia’s going back to the City.’
Andy tried to imagine George as one of the older dads on the school run and failed. His financial adviser hadn’t got married until he was fifty, he’d once told him, and could easily be mistaken for his boys’ grandfather. ‘Good luck. Maybe you ought to do a parenting class.’
‘Interesting!’ George scratched his chin. ‘I’ve been reading about them in the Telegraph. Bit of a growing trend, aren’t they?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Ever been tempted to do one yourself?’
‘I have, actually.’
There was no way Andy was admitting to actually running one. Not when he was so clearly a hopeless example himself.
‘Any good?’
No, Andy was about to say. But then he thought of Paula, who worked with Jilly at the au pair agency. The woman who always wore gym kit and who had come up to him at the fête, telling him that the role play about teenagers and clothes had ‘really helped to smooth things over with my lot’.
‘Not bad at all. In fact, we’re just off for a bonding weekend.’
George’s eyebrows rose.
‘Not that kind of bonding! A summing-up session, down at our place in Devon.’
‘Great! Pamela going too?’
‘No. She’s busy.’ Mention of his wife’s name gave him a bit of a jolt. Reminded him why he was here in George’s smart office with the mahogany desk and photograph of a family with expensive public-school smiles. He’d need to tell Pamela at some point. Tell her that he’d lost their money. That they were, more or less, broke.
*
‘Call this a “holiday place”?’ gasped Sandra, the woman with all the kids, whose husband turned out to be a very quiet, meek man. ‘It’s a flipping mansion.’
Andy tried to look as though he wasn’t listening although he’d heard similar comments, phrased in different ways, from quite a few of his guests as they arrived in a straggle of cars and (in one case) by train.
He’d felt the same when Pamela had, some years ago, dragged him down to this small seaside town not far from Exeter. Bloody hell, he’d thought, gawping at the huge white 1920s place sprawling in front of him. This could have housed the entire boys’ home! It even had a hot tub in the garden, despite the fact it was a stone’s throw from the sea. ‘Going cheap,’ Pamela had assured him eagerly. The footballer who had owned it had gone broke. They could afford it, couldn’t they?
That hadn’t been an issue although Andy still had doubts even after he’d allowed his wife to have her way. It didn’t seem morally right to him that they should have such a huge second home when they already had a lovely house in Corrywood. ‘You work so hard,’ Pamela had sulked. ‘The least you can do is to make sure we have family weekends in the country. Proper country; not the suburbs.’
In the end, she’d been right. They’d had some great times down here, especially when the girls had been too little to object to ‘nice healthy walks’. They’d also had Rob and Bobbie and the kids down too, although not as often as they should have done, perhaps. ‘Those children could wreck a barn,’ Pamela would say crossly after they’d gone, leaving a trail of handprints on the walls behind them.
Goodness knows what she would say if she saw the place now! Within a few hours of arriving, there was a pile of haversacks in the hall (scratching the paint) and sleeping bags strewn all over the bedrooms. Outside, families from Judith’s session, some of whom he didn’t even recognise, were putting up tents on the lawn. Too late, he realised that the grass would be ruined. And some kid had left the top off a lemonade bottle so it was dripping on to the floor in the kitchen …
He might have guessed. Jack! ‘Hi there.’ He ruffled the small boy’s head affectionately. If someone didn’t know better, they might have thought they were related by blood instead of marriage. The kid’s boyish smile and those freckles reminded him of the only photograph he had of himself as a child. Faded and dog-eared, it was a copy of the one stapled to his notes in the home. ‘Is Mum around?’
Jack was busy polishing off a tub of chocolate ice cream; part of some supplies that had been left in the freezer from when Pamela and the girls had been down last. Little pickle! ‘Dunno.’
Andy looked around. There she was! Chatting to that small blonde woman who was a grandmother, according to Judith, even though she looked much younger than Camilla. They were on the other side of the kitchen by the French windows that led out to the hot tub. Andy felt a tremor of misgiving. He hoped everyone would be careful. He’d warned them all about the tub and the cliff path and the tides in the group email; explained that each parent needed to be responsible for their children’s safety. Then Bobbie looked up, noticed him and gave a friendly wave.
His heart beating hard, he walked towards her. ‘It’s very kind of you to have us,’ said the older woman, hooped gold earrings swinging.
‘Not at all.’ He turned to Bobbie, who was wearing a loose pale blue shirt outside her jeans. She must be what, twelve weeks or maybe thirteen now? Pregnancy really suited her! Pamela had loathed getting big, describing it as an invasion of her body. ‘Did you find your room? I put you in the usual one.’
‘It’s great. Thanks.’ Something in her eyes made him suspect that all wasn’t right.
‘Where’s Rob?’
‘He’s not coming.’
Diploma
tically, Vanessa moved away into the crowd of guests, all oohing and aahing over the Aga and the flat-screen television on the kitchen wall. ‘We had a row.’ Bobbie bit her lip. ‘He found out that I’d rung his secretary.’
‘So what?’
Bobbie coloured. ‘The problem is that I pretended to be someone else.’
Andy caught his breath, gesturing that they should move round the corner for a bit of privacy. When Bobbie finished telling him the whole story about ringing up Rob’s secretary and pretending to do a survey, he couldn’t help being frank. ‘You were lucky that no one pressed charges.’
‘I know.’ She hung her head. It was all he could do not to put his arms around her in comfort. Dammit. He couldn’t not. Briefly he gave her a quick hug. To his relief, she didn’t move away: instead, she spoke into his shoulder so her voice came out all muffled. ‘But it was as though I was someone else! I was so scared he was having an affair that I just had to know.’
Then she stepped away as though she had said too much. ‘I understand; I really do,’ he replied quietly as they went back into the kitchen where Jack was ploughing through a second tub of ice cream. ‘It’s the not knowing, isn’t it? It makes your imagination runs riot.’
‘Exactly!’ Bobbie caught his hand. ‘How’s Pamela getting on?’
‘She seems to be doing well, although she still has issues too, from her past. Things she did that she now regrets. Other things too that she had no control over.’
‘Don’t we all, mate?’
Horrified, Andy heard an all-too-familiar voice beside him. What was he doing here? ‘Kieran? I didn’t think you were coming.’
‘Why? Cos you didn’t send the email?’ There was a nasty little grin. That man’s breath was disgusting! And he was still hacking away with that awful cough, right in everyone’s face. No wonder Bobbie was taking a step back. ‘Luckily one of the other parents told me how to get here.’ He whacked Andy on the arm in a mock playful fashion. ‘Nice pad you’ve got here, mate, I must say. Pity the wife couldn’t make it. But she’s on call.’
‘On call?’
‘Yeah. She’s a doctor, you know.’
Sure she was. Kieran was a pathological liar. Andy didn’t trust him as far as he could have thrown him. He didn’t like the way he was looking Bobbie up and down, either.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce me then?’
There was nothing for it. ‘This is my brother-in-law’s wife. Bobbie Wright.’
‘Brother-in-law’s wife? Bloody hell, that’s a bit of a mouthful, innit! Nice to meet you. Funny name, Bobbie. Isn’t that a bloke’s?’
Bobbie flushed. How he loved it when she did that! Andy ached once more to put his arm around her protectively. Bugger Rob. His wife was pregnant, for God’s sake. He should be down here looking after her.
‘It’s short for Roberta.’
‘Right posh! Must say, Andy, you’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you? All these smart relatives and a place like this. Long way from the home, isn’t it?’
Andy froze.
‘See you around then.’ Kieran winked. ‘Just going to help myself to that food over there. Then after that, I’d like a little chat, if you don’t mind. About that business venture of ours.’ He nudged Andy hard in the ribs. ‘By the way, hope you’re not giving us Brussels sprouts for dinner, are you?’
Andy felt sick, recalling the argument he and Kieran had had in the home. Kieran had claimed Andy had been given one more sprout than him, so had leaned over and pinched his. Food battles had been two a penny but that incident had always stood out in his mind because that had been THE night. The night of the robbery.
Bobbie, he could see, was waiting courteously until Kieran had moved on before speaking. ‘I’ve seen him around at school,’ she said quietly. ‘What did he mean about being a long way from the home?’
‘His home,’ said Andy quickly. ‘We grew up near each other in Essex. One of those coincidences.’
Bobbie’s face cleared. ‘Amazing! Did you know that the woman over there – the one with the dangly earrings and arty scarf – used to go out with the very quiet chap who’s married to the mother with all the kids? They haven’t seen each other for years until today. Small world, isn’t it?’
Andy tried to smile. ‘Kieran wasn’t a friend then and isn’t now. To be honest, I wish he wasn’t here.’
There was a light touch on his hand. ‘I can understand how you feel, Andy, but you did the right thing to invite him.’
Hah!
‘That’s what this weekend is all about, isn’t it? Getting to know each other better and working out how to be good parents. I only wish Rob was here. Oh no. JACK! DON’T MOVE! I’LL GET YOU!’
‘What is it?’
‘Look!’
Bloody hell. How did that little monkey climb on top of the freezer? Surely he wasn’t really going to jump down on to his skateboard?
Oh my God …
ONE IN FIVE PARENTS DRINK ‘TOO MUCH’
AFTER THEIR KIDS HAVE GONE TO BED
Extracted from a news item in the Daily Wail.
(Ed’s note: Check statistic. Office straw poll suggests figure much higher.)
Chapter 37
BOBBIE
BOBBIE STILL FELT hot under the collar when she thought of that awful row in the hospital car park after the scan. If only Jack hadn’t swapped her mobile phone cover with Rob’s! Then he’d never have got Araminta’s message about dropping her complaint.
Rob’s eyes had gone cold and hard with suspicion. ‘You were the one who made that call to Araminta?’
‘Well, yes. Sort of.’
‘Excuse me.’ The receptionist from radiology had come running out into the car park at that point. ‘You left your baby picture behind!’
‘Do you realise how upset you made her!’
‘So, er, would you like the picture now?’
‘You realise it’s probably illegal?’ Rob had run a hand across his brow. ‘I’m sure there’s a law against obtaining information through deception.’
‘MUM, DAD, DON’T ROW!’
It was the cardinal sin to row in front of the children, especially if there was a stranger present. But she had to explain herself if Rob was going to understand. ‘I thought’, Bobbie hissed quietly, ‘you were having an affair.’
‘Maybe I’ll just post it.’
‘How could you think that?’
‘How could Mummy think what, Daddy?’
Bobbie tried to speak but all she could think of was the baby waving at her from the photograph. ‘Hello!’ it seemed to say. ‘Please don’t ruin my life before I get here.’
‘You don’t trust me, do you?’ Rob shook his head indignantly. The disappointment in his eyes was horrible. ‘How can we honestly have another baby – babies! – together?’
‘Are we sending them back, Daddy?’ asked Daisy hopefully.
Bobbie’s stomach began to heave. Had her husband really just said what she thought he’d said? That bit about not having another baby together?
‘Do you realise what a difficult position you’ve put me in at work?’ he added, holding open the car door for her.
‘I’m so sorry.’ She could see now how stupid she had been. Yet at the time, Sarah’s idea had seemed quite a good one.
Rob was staring straight ahead. ‘Just drop me at the station, would you?’ he said flatly. And when she did, he just got out with a quiet goodbye to the children and nothing at all to her.
Since then, he had hardly spoken to her. Not even when she’d begged him to accompany her on the parenting weekend. Now, as she sat on the huge circular bed in Pamela’s guest room, with its pale blue silk cover, listening to the screams of laughter outside in the garden, she was actually glad he hadn’t come to Devon. Cold empty silences were no way to bring up children.
Suddenly there was a bleep indicating a text. Mum! As a teenager, and also in her twenties, Bobbie could remember thinking that her mother didn’t understand an
ything about her life. In the last few years, however, she’d begun to realise that Mum was more in tune than she’d realised. Maybe she could talk to her. Tell her what a mess she’d got herself into. See if she had any solutions.
Hi, Bobbie! In New York for Herbert’s pilot show! So exciting! Have just been up to the top of the Empire State Building for a reception! Canapés and champagne. Are we still on for Mothering Sunday? Herbert’s diary is UNBELIEVABLY busy so he’s asked me to check. Can’t wait to see you! Don’t ring or text back – just going to another party. Love Mum x
Maybe not.
‘Right, Daisy! Are you sitting comfortably?’
Through the screen, Bobbie could hear her daughter giggling. In front of her was the audience, lounging on the carpet and on Pamela’s now not-so-white sofas. Expectant faces whom she’d grown to know so well over the previous weeks. Not Really Pregnant Mum, Too Many Kids Mum, American Express (looking rather full), Matthew and parents from the other class whom she didn’t know, like that chap with the bald head and tattoos who had grown up near Andy.
‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’ he kept saying. Did he? wondered Bobbie. It was true that he did look vaguely familiar. Now he was staring at her. Along with all the others. When Miss Davies had suggested, with that sweet earnest expression, that they played the Parent and Child question game (a form of Mr and Mrs), everyone else seemed to think that was a great idea.
Everyone apart from her, that was. It would be easier if she had some support. She felt quite envious of Jilly from the au pair agency who was holding hands with her husband in the front row. That loving, understanding glance between them just then had given her a little kick in the stomach. What was Rob doing now? Probably on the phone to his mother, telling her about ‘poor’ Araminta who’d been hoodwinked by his wife into revealing details about her personal life. Or having a team meeting with some attractive advertising executive. Someone who wasn’t insecure. Someone who wasn’t frazzled out with kids.
‘Are you ready, Bobbie and Daisy!’ Miss Davies’s voice trilled out. ‘The idea behind this game is to see how well you know each other. We’re going to ask you some questions. Then you write down your answer in capital letters on the sheet and hold it up for the audience to see. Let’s get going, shall we? Bobbie, what’s Daisy’s favourite colour?’