by Alice Ross
‘Yes,’ sniffed Kate. ‘But did they survive them?’
He’d shrugged. ‘One couple didn’t. They bailed out when the going got tough.’
As his gaze dropped to the floor, Kate had creased her forehead. ‘You and your wife?’
He’d nodded. ‘We wanted kids. Desperately. Took us an age to get pregnant, which was stressful enough. All the tests, the poking and prodding. But, it did happen eventually. And we were delighted.’
‘Oh. But I… I thought you said you didn’t have any children.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t. Alannah miscarried at twelve weeks. We were devastated. And after that, everything kind of fell apart.’
More tears had flowed down Kate’s cheeks at that point. ‘I’m so sorry. I had no idea.’
‘How could you? I don’t talk about it. Usually.’ He’d taken her hand in his. ‘You have to talk to Andrew, Kate. Tell him how you’re feeling. And what you suspect. You may not like the answer, but at least you’ll stop tearing yourself apart wondering. And, whatever’s going on, I’m sure you can work it out. But you need to do it together.’
Kate nodded. He was right, of course. The old Kate wouldn’t have dithered and prevaricated. She’d have faced the matter head-on. Grabbed the bull by the proverbial horns. She’d have called the dishwasher repairman within minutes of the machine conking out; would have known immediately what to do about the practice when the locum had informed her she was leaving; and would have spoken to Andrew weeks ago about her suspicions.
‘That was the problem with me and Alannah,’ Gregg went on. ‘We didn’t communicate properly; kept our feelings to ourselves. And look where it got us. Six months after the miscarriage, we split up. But we’d only been married three years. You and Andrew have a long history. I have no idea what he’s doing, but if he is messing about with the au pair, he needs his head looking at. He has a fantastic wife and, from what I’ve seen of your kids, a great family. Talk to him. Find out what’s going on and work it out. And if he needs reminding about exactly how fantastic you are, point him in my direction.’
Kate had pulled a face. ‘Thanks. But I haven’t even told him you’re working here.’
‘Why not?’
Her cheeks had reddened. ‘I just… There hasn’t been the right moment.’
He’d smiled at her. ‘I hope you’re not worried about what he’ll think. I know we were close in the past but that was eons ago. I still think you’re amazing, but your life’s with Andrew. Go home and talk to him and find out what the bloody hell he’s up to.’
In no mood to speak to Domenique when she returned home, Kate whipped up her car keys and headed straight to nursery to collect Jemima. To her immense irritation, she bumped into Frances.
‘I, um, hope you don’t mind,’ the woman began, somewhat sheepishly. ‘But Jemima has been telling Cecilia about the informal cookery club you held in her honour. Cecilia thinks it’s such a lovely idea she’s asked if she can have one for her birthday.’
Kate’s brows rocketed up her forehead.
Frances shuffled her sling-backed feet and cleared her throat. ‘I know it’s short notice given it’s this Sunday, but I wondered if you and your friends would be interested in coming to the house and carrying out a little cookery demonstration. One the children could possibly join in.’
Kate took a moment to register the request.
‘I’ll pay. Money is no object.’
Blimey. The woman really was desperate. And after her former shoddy treatment of Kate, evidently munching a large slice of humble pie.
Kate, though, was not in a conciliatory mood. ‘I’ll have to check with the other members,’ she said crisply. ‘They’re all very busy women.’
‘Oh, yes. Of course.’
‘And regarding payment…’
‘Three hundred pounds okay?’
Kate blinked. She’d been about to say that so long as Frances covered the cost of the ingredients, no further monies would be necessary. But with such a generous offer being proposed, an idea occurred to her. ‘Three hundred pounds would be great. By cheque. Made out to the local cat shelter.’
‘Oh. Right. Yes,’ blustered Frances.
‘In that case, I’ll let you know how the others are fixed as soon as I’ve spoken to them,’ said Kate, whisking around and marching down the path with Jemima at an impressive pace.
Still avoiding Domenique, Kate drove Jemima straight to the newsagent’s to inform Connie of Frances’s request.
‘Hah! That is hilarious,’ Connie chuckled. ‘I bet it killed her to ask you.’
‘By the look on her face, it did. But what do you think?’
‘I think it’ll be great fun. I’m definitely up for it. Let me call the others and see what they say.’
Trish and Melody were equally as enthusiastic.
‘And Melody even spotted another business opportunity,’ Connie reported back. ‘One combining children’s cookery classes with lessons on nutrition. As I’m desperately trying to think about how I might work with food in the future, I’m going to investigate further. And while I’m at it, I’ll look up ideas for the birthday demonstration and email them to you all.’
‘Great,’ puffed Kate, relieved to hand over the task, while wondering what on earth she’d been thinking, accepting Frances’s request when she had much more important matters to deal with. Like what to do about the discovery of the boarding pass and the fact that her husband had been on holiday with the au pair.
Kate spent the rest of the afternoon mentally preparing herself to confront Andrew.
But the minute he walked in the door, the smidgeon of confidence she’d garnered during her chat with Gregg bolted out of it. She couldn’t do it. She was terrified. Terrified of what the confrontation could potentially do to their family. She might think her marriage was worth saving, but did he? By confronting him, she could be unwittingly presenting him with the opportunity he’d been waiting for – the opportunity to tell her he didn’t love her any more; that their marriage was over; that he was leaving her for Domenique. The thought sent an icy chill flashing down her spine. And envisaging how upset Jemima would be made her want to weep. The child was miserable enough. Plus, if it all fell apart before Cecilia’s birthday party, and Kate couldn’t face fulfilling her obligation, then she doubted Jemima would ever forgive her. No, she concluded, watching Andrew with his oldest daughter on his lap; her fleeting moment of superiority over Frances that afternoon meant that – for Jemima’s sake – she’d now have to wait until after the birthday party to face up to her worst fears.
And quite how she was going to manage to do that, she couldn’t begin to imagine.
Chapter Fourteen
Half of Kate was desperate for Cecilia’s birthday party to be over; the other half wishing it would never come round – because the end of the event meant she’d have to confront the hideous situation. She didn’t know which was hardest: facing up to it, or employing acting skills worthy of an Oscar winner to pretend everything was normal while a tsunami of emotions raged inside her and she battled constant tears and nausea.
With thoughts of Jemima glued to the forefront of her mind, she threw herself into the birthday preparations, which had involved a deal of meticulous planning.
The day, though, when it eventually came around, appeared to have quite different plans to those meticulously prepared by Kate. Beginning with those made for childcare.
‘But you can’t be ill,’ she gasped, gaping at Andrew as he lay in bed, looking, admittedly, very ill indeed. Serve him right, she thought. Poetic justice. Or it would have been, had it happened on any other day. Today it was just downright inconvenient.
‘I feel like crap,’ he croaked, wiping a hand over his clammy brow. ‘I haven’t the energy to crawl out of bed, never mind look after the twins all day.’
Kate’s already heavy heart plunged to somewhere near Brisbane. ‘But what am I going to do with them
?’
‘I don’t know. Ask Domenique. But if she’s not around, you’ll have to take them with you.’
Domenique was not around – it being the weekend and therefore her time off. Indeed, it appeared she’d been out all night and hadn’t yet returned home. Kate didn’t know whether to be relieved or dismayed. On one hand, it meant the girl wasn’t around to pander to Andrew’s every need. On the other, it left her with little option but to pack up Mia and Milo and take them to the party. A circumstance which did not please Jemima at all.
‘Noooooo,’ she wailed. ‘They’ll spoil everything.’
‘They won’t,’ countered Kate, peeling Mia off the path, where she appeared to be licking something. ‘They’ll be so good you won’t even notice they’re there.’
Jemima’s tearful face appeared as convinced as Kate felt.
Accompanied by a weighty sense of dread at the realisation that time was running out on life as she knew it, Kate parked up outside Frances’s house. Alongside a Kleen Windows van. Who on earth had their windows cleaned on a Sunday? Evidently Frances, whose panes gleamed so brightly, Kate wouldn’t have been surprised if they encountered a shammy every day of the week.
She unloaded Milo from the car and was about to release Mia, when the window cleaner himself appeared from the back of the house. A rather gorgeous hunk in low-slung jeans and vest top, who, with a mop of shaggy blond hair, wouldn’t have looked out of place on Bondi Beach.
‘Need a hand?’ he asked, as Milo barrelled into him.
‘Er, no, I’m fine, thanks,’ she uttered, suspecting that this guy – and his hands – would be so in demand, that even if her portals did require attention, he wouldn’t be able to fit her in for several months. Little wonder he had to work Sundays.
Having set Mia down on the ground, Kate was wondering how best to extricate Milo from the window cleaner’s very muscular-looking leg, when the man swooped up the child as though he weighed no more than a feather, and set him on his broad shoulders. Milo giggled uproariously.
As Mia began shouting, demanding the same attention, the gleaming front door was whipped open by Frances.
‘Oh,’ she gasped, insipid blue eyes dancing over the scene and a sweep of horror settling over her face. ‘The twins.’
‘Yes,’ said Kate, noting the quiver in the woman’s voice, while attempting to inject a dash of positivity into her own. ‘Andrew’s ill and I had no one else to look after them. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Er, no,’ blustered Frances, who Kate doubted could have looked more appalled if she’d discovered a sinkhole had swallowed up her piano-playing garden gnome.
‘They’re under strict instructions to be on their best behaviour.’
‘Riiiiight,’ murmured Frances, as Mia rived a handful of flowers out of one of the beautifully presented pots.
Despite their very clear and strict instructions, the twins’ behaviour reached an all-time catastrophic high. Much to Kate’s mortification, Frances’s dismay and Jemima’s mounting misery. They broke one of Cecilia’s presents, almost broke a shiny window, and reduced several of the young guests to tears. Even Melody’s intervention – normally fail-safe – had no effect.
‘I told you they’d spoil everything,’ Jemima sobbed, clinging to Kate’s side.
‘Wee,’ screeched Milo, bowling up to them in the kitchen.
‘Oh God. Not here.’ Kate scooped him up, staggered down the hall and plonked him on the toilet, Jemima trailing behind.
Milo began to howl.
‘He meant Oui not wee,’ huffed a clearly exasperated Jemima. ‘It means yes in French.’
‘Oh. Right,’ said Kate, mentally tagging that onto the ever-expanding list of reasons she shouldn’t have employed a French au pair. ‘In that case, there’s no point us being in the bathroom then, is there?’
The three of them were heading back up the hall to the kitchen, when the front door opened and Jeremy stepped inside.
‘Goodness. It all seems to be going on in here,’ he exclaimed, evidently noting the discarded wrapping paper on the floor – partly shredded, courtesy of Mia – and grimacing at a shriek from the living room – possibly also courtesy of Mia.
He dumped an overnight bag on the floor. ‘Just back from a dentists’ convention in Brighton.’
‘I see,’ said Kate. ‘Well, you’ve come at the right time. We’re just about to start the cooking.’
‘Great. Feeling a bit peckish.’ He smiled one of his dazzling smiles and patted his flat stomach.
Kate pulled a face. ‘Actually, I hate to ask, but would you mind keeping an eye on the twins while I’m busy?’
Jeremy’s orange face – which remarkably maintained the same shade throughout the seasons – paled quite dramatically. He cast a look at Milo, who was now demonstrating his haka routine.
‘They’re a bit excited. It being a party,’ Kate explained. ‘They’ll be better in the garden where they can run around and let off a bit of steam.’
He nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll… er… give it a shot.’
Despite the distraction of the twins haring about in the garden every time she glanced out of the kitchen bifold doors, and Jeremy looking increasingly bedraggled, Kate thoroughly enjoyed the cooking demonstration. As did the children. They made French bread pizzas – Trish caramelising onions, Melody grating a mound of cheese, Kate halving small baguettes, while, under Connie’s supervision, the children smeared the bread with a rich tomato sauce, sprinkled on the cheese, then piled on a range of toppings, including the onions, pepperoni, tomatoes, olives, ham and pineapple. They made healthy baked bites – the little ones mixing their own bowls of rolled oats, sultanas, cranberries, marmalade and apple sauce, then rolling them into balls before Melody popped them in the oven for ten minutes. Trish sliced sweet potatoes, which the kids lined up on baking trays – counting them out – before adding a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkling with sea salt, ready to be baked. Kate was about to set the group away mashing bananas for cupcakes, when she heard a howl outside.
Bracing herself, she turned to the doors to discover Jeremy lying face down on the ground, the twins jumping on top of him.
‘Um, excuse me a moment,’ she said to her audience. ‘Trish, would you mind taking over?’
Noting the scene, Trish pulled a face, then nodded her understanding, as Kate slipped outside.
‘Right, you two,’ she said, yanking the pair off Jeremy. ‘Enough is enough.’
‘God. They’re stronger than they look,’ puffed Jeremy. Hauling himself up from the ground, he swept back his strawberry-blond fringe, which immediately flopped back over his eye.
‘You all right?’ Kate asked through an apologetic smile.
‘Well, I’ve been better,’ he said, casting a disdainful look at the children, who were now attempting handstands. ‘They really are a handful, aren’t they?’
‘I’m so sorry,’ apologised Kate. ‘I’m going to call Domenique. Hopefully she’ll be around now and can come and pick them up. If she isn’t, I’ll take them home myself. Even though Jemima will never forgive me for abandoning my party duties.’
‘Well, let’s hope Domenique is around then,’ said Jeremy, hurling one last look at the twins, before scurrying into the house.
Keeping one eye on the children, Kate tugged her mobile from her pocket and keyed in Domenique’s number, not knowing whether to be relieved or suspicious when the au pair informed her she was now back and would come and pick up the two tearaways. Kate wondered if she’d returned to mop Andrew’s fevered brow, or other parts of his body, but, as Milo made to kick over a plant pot, she decided she’d worry about that later.
Implementing a damage limitation-strategy, Kate opted to keep the twins in the garden until help arrived. Which was fine, until Milo announced ‘Poo!’
Carrying him down the hall to the bathroom, dragging Mia with her free hand, Kate spotted Andrew’s car outside. Meaning Domenique must h
ave arrived.
Returning to the kitchen a short while later, she still found no sign of the girl.
‘Anyone seen Domenique?’ she asked the three cookery club members, who were now clearing up.
‘No,’ replied Trish. ‘Has she come to pick up the twins?’
‘Yes. The car’s outside, but I don’t know where she is.’
‘She might be on her phone or something,’ said Connie. ‘Leave the twins here and go and look for her.’
Kate did just that, popping her head into two of the rooms downstairs, both of which were empty. She was about to head back to the kitchen, when a gust of wind blew ajar the door she was passing. At the sound of a low groan, she peeked through the chink.
And saw Jeremy and Domenique.
In a very passionate clinch.
Eyes bulging, she scurried down the hall, before stopping and resting her back against the wall, her head reeling. Suddenly it all clicked into place – a stream of coincidences she hadn’t even noticed until now: Domenique had been away last night, and so, too, had Jeremy; Domenique had always offered to pick up Jemima when she’d known Jeremy would be there, and she’d taken Jemima swimming the days her lover was also at the pool. And hadn’t Jeremy been “playing tennis” on the Frenchwoman’s days off? All those texts must have been their constant plotting to spend time together.
Crikey. Who would have thought it? Certainly not Kate. And probably not poor Frances either. Kate might not be able to stand the woman, but she didn’t wish that on her.
But none of the above explained why Andrew had been in Nice at the same time as the au pair. Unless Domenique was sleeping with Jeremy and Andrew. But somehow, judging from the way she and the dentist had been devouring one another, Kate doubted even a twenty-three-year-old would have the energy for two affairs.
Drawing in a deep breath and feeling significantly lighter of heart, she resumed her route to the kitchen. Reaching the stairs, she spotted a sobbing Jemima on the landing, probably keeping out of the way of the twins. Feeling the usual stab of guilt at not spending enough time with her, Kate climbed the stairs, reaching the landing in time to spot her daughter disappearing into a bedroom. She was about to follow her when she caught sight of another couple through a crack in the door. This one doing slightly more than Jeremy and Domenique: the window cleaner and… Frances.