Angie would be happy to watch the kids, she said.
I guessed she must want money – more of it. Or even a divorce? Maybe Mr Wonderful had been down on one knee, made her an offer that she could not refuse?
‘Perhaps, if it’s about our situation, you should speak with your attorney?’ I suggested. ‘Then I’ll speak with mine.’
‘This is purely personal,’ she said. ‘So we don’t need to go through our attorneys.’
‘Do you want to come by the apartment?’
‘No, we’ll meet on neutral territory,’ she replied.
So I named a coffee shop in downtown Minneapolis.
‘Yeah, sounds good,’ she said.
‘Okay, I’ll see you Tuesday after work.’
Lexie had her hen’s butt face on.
‘What about this Rosie?’ she demanded, making Rosie’s name sound like a swear word. ‘Joseph talks about her all the time. It’s all Rosie’s hair and Rosie’s clothes and Rosie’s cool apartment and Rosie’s Yorkshire puddings. I’m sick and tired of Rosie, Daddy’s British friend.’
‘But you have a British friend, Alexis. Why can’t I have one, too?’
‘I don’t get Stephen to turn your kids against you.’
‘Rosie hasn’t turned your kids against you.’
‘Why is Joe fixated on this woman?’
‘Joe is not fixated, Lexie. They just like each other, get along. Rosie never met you, and while Joe and Polly were around she never mentioned you – fact is, she never mentioned you at all.’
‘I guess she knew she didn’t need to mention me if she already had you by the balls.’ Lexie worried at a fingernail. ‘I thought you wanted to make up with me?’
‘I never told you so.’
‘Last fall, you said we ought to see a counsellor.’
‘You told me it was way too late for counselling. Do you want to get a latte or a cappuccino?’
‘A latte and a brownie – I missed lunch today.’
I went up to the counter, ordered, waited while they fixed the coffees, glanced at Lexie now and then. I saw that she was looking very tired. Maybe she was overdoing things, exterminating vermin, digging weeds in Mr Wonderful’s backyard and servicing the guy who made her fly?
‘How is life in general, Lex?’ I asked.
‘It’s okay, I guess.’ She sighed. She crumbled up her brownie. ‘But I must admit it’s sometimes not too great. The kids are so demanding these days, always wanting this and that and cluttering up the place with Barbies, Lego—’
‘What about the guy who makes you come to life?’
‘Next month, he’ll be going to Dubai alone.’ Lexie sounded like she had the words pulled out of her with forceps and was trying not to scream. ‘We’re not so good together any more. Stephen is a—’
‘What?’
A louse, a slug, a piece of shit?
Come on, Lexie, let me hear you say it?
‘A serial marriage-wrecker. He’s done this before, you know. Put the moves on married women and convinced them they should leave their husbands, go with him. Rhoda at the office called me up a week ago. It seems he has some history. I think he must be seriously disturbed.’
‘Or perhaps he’s seriously dumb? But maybe that’s unfair. After all, there’s no way he could be as dumb as me.’
‘Oh, Pat!’ She looked at me and I could see her eyes were bright. ‘Patrick, we were lovers once. We could be lovers still. We have two awesome children. We could put all this behind us, couldn’t we? Strike the past out for our children’s sake, if not for our own?’
I could see she needed to be comforted.
She needed me to take her in my arms, to kiss her better, to tell her it would all work out, to say we could pretend the past few months had been a nightmare and we had woken up and everything was fine again.
But although I could remember how I felt about her once and was even kind of sorry we could not go back and be the way we were, there was no way I’d want to do what she suggested.
I had no desire to punish Lex, I swear. But when she left me for the British guy then went to bed with Ben, she smashed up something precious. However much I wanted to repair it – and part of me did – I knew deep down it couldn’t be repaired. It might have been repairable one time.
But there was Rosie now.
ROSIE
‘Patrick, don’t you care?’ I asked him when we next spoke on the phone. Gosh, I loved my new and whizzy smartphone! It organised my life so well that I could not imagine how I’d got along without it, even though the battery lasted only half a minute. ‘You must surely care a little bit?’
‘Yeah, I care about my kids and how we’re jerking them around. But as for Mr Wonderful and Lexie, Ben and Lexie – no, it doesn’t bother me at all. I guess I always kind of wondered about Lex and Ben, even from the time we were in high school.’
‘Or maybe you knew they liked each other? But since Lexie was your girl and Ben was your best friend, perhaps you trusted them?’
‘Perhaps I was a clown? Whenever we and Ben and Mrs Fairfax One or Two met up, there’d always be this kind of flirting going on. Ben would compliment her on her outfit, notice when she put her hair up, tell her she looked great, and Lex would blush and simper, make big eyes at him.’
‘What’s Ben’s problem, Pat?’
‘The world’s a great big toy store full of dolls. They come in every colour, shape and size. He wants them all.’
‘Why does he bother to get married, then?’
‘If he’s single – if Tess isn’t going back to him, and if she has any sense she won’t – chasing other women is allowed. But if he’s a married man and if he has a mistress, she can be his guilty secret, his little bunch of fun.’
‘Perhaps it’s just as well he has no children.’
‘None we know about, in any case.’
‘I’m glad I don’t want children.’
‘But you get on great with Joe and Polly, Rosie! Why—’
‘What’s in it for me, apart from getting fat and being sick and having swollen ankles? Then there’d be the sleepless nights, the toddler tantrums, teenage mutinies. I think I’ll pass.’
‘You like my children, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course I like your children, Pat. I love them, they’re amazing. But they’re still like Labradors.’
‘My children are like dogs?’
‘Yes, in the sense that I love other people’s dogs to bits. My mother’s are all gorgeous. But, given the choice, I’d rather have designer handbags.’
‘I think you’d be a perfect mom.’
‘I think you’re projecting and seeing what you want to see in me, not what’s really there.’
‘I must admit that sometimes I don’t get you, Rosie Denham.’
‘I don’t get men at all. You’re married, so am I your little bunch of fun?’
‘Darling, you’re my life.’
PATRICK
I’m glad I don’t want children.
I so wished she did. I wished she wanted mine. So was this the same withdrawing I had sensed before and was she warning me to keep my distance? She did not get men? I sure as hell did not get women …
‘Pat, are you still there?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Joe and Polly – don’t misunderstand me – they’re a pair of charmers, and you know I think the world of them.’
‘They think the world of you.’ Then, recklessly, I played my wildest card. ‘I know they’d love a baby brother, baby sister.’
‘Polly’s still a baby.’
‘You’re great with kids, you know. Why don’t we think about it? I get a divorce from Lexie, then maybe we—’
‘Patrick, you’re still married. You already have two children. Maybe we could change the subject?’
Yeah, okay, point taken, ask her something safe, non-controversial – don’t interrogate this woman, you know she won’t stand for it. ‘What’s the weather like in the UK?’
; ‘It’s gorgeous, warm and sunny, perfect.’
‘I heard you have a heatwave?’
‘Yes, it’s quite a novelty, and of course it’s lovely to go out without a waterproof, umbrella, all that stuff. But it’s not all good. The sun brings out the fashion tragedies – khaki shorts and socks and sandals on the hideous old men, see-through cotton trousers on the women and too much wrinkled cleavage on display.’
‘You won’t be young forever, Rosie.’
‘But I hope I’ll always have the sense to dress my age. I don’t want to frighten little children, do I? Be a great big blot upon the fashion landscape?’
‘I must come direct from Fashion Tragedies R Us.’
‘You don’t, and if you ever got it wrong, I’d put you right.’
ROSIE
Why did I have to be so mean? Why shouldn’t poor old men let their old knees enjoy some sun? Why did I say such stupid, spiteful things?
I suppose because I missed him like a part of me. I’d never understood that cannot-live-without-you stuff, but now I understood it all too well. While he was away from me, I had to remind myself to eat, to sleep, to breathe.
Perhaps he was the same? Maybe he forgot to eat, to sleep, perhaps he had to tell himself to breathe? Whatever – after one long phone call during which I cried and cried and said I couldn’t live without him, I received a text.
We can’t go on like this. I’ll see you Thursday.
I met him at Heathrow and, when we kissed, it was as if I’d never kissed a man before. I could hear angels singing. The people milling round us stopped to stare and, in a place where people kiss each other all the time, we still managed to cause a small sensation. A group of Japanese with phones and video cameras must have been recording because, when we came up for air, they beamed at us and bowed. It was well embarrassing. We’d be up on YouTube next, I thought, and all our friends would soon be having fits.
But I so didn’t care. When you’re in love, you just don’t care.
‘All this jetting round the world, it must be costing you a fortune?’ I began, as he took my hand and we headed for the exit.
‘This is the first time the college didn’t pay.’ He stopped and looked at me, gazed deep into my eyes. ‘Rosie?’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know what you did to me or how you did it, but you make me happy.’
‘You make me happy, too. How long will you be here?’
‘A week, that’s all. I’m going to a conference in Colorado soon. I’m doing presentations, chairing meetings, so I need to do some preparation. But I can afford to take a few days off.’
‘Let’s make the most of them.’
‘It’s a lovely morning,’ I announced, when we woke up naked and perspiring in my stuffy flat, in the dusty, stifling heat of London, which stank of petrol fumes and frying burgers like it always does in summertime. ‘Let’s go to the seaside.’
‘Oh.’ He looked at me, mock-rueful. ‘I guess it’s not mandatory I should eat more whelks, more cotton candy?’
‘We’re not going to Brighton.’ Now I made my mind up – no more hiding him away. Whatever happened next, I wanted Dad to meet him. I wanted Mum to get to know him and – I hoped – to like him. I wanted Granny Cassie to meet and like him, too. ‘Pat, let’s go to Dorset.’
‘Now?’
‘Why not?’
‘Okay, we’ll go to Dorset.’
PATRICK
Rosie’s home was the last word in cute. It was all honey-coloured stone and fancy chimney pots and smart white paint. Its windows sparkled in the summer sun.
I didn’t know these places could exist outside of storybooks. I would not have been surprised to find it was made out of sugar candy. It looked like something from that movie, what is it – The Hobbit – except that it was kind of cuboid, or at least not round. But, as I pulled the parking brake, I still expected Bilbo Baggins and a couple other hobbits, dwarves or some such to walk out the door.
‘It was just a little bailiff’s cottage once,’ said Rosie, as I stared. ‘But it’s been gentrified. Dad’s had some rebuilding done and there’s a new extension at the back. Mummy’s got her dream Nigella kitchen at long last. But most of it looks like it must have done for two, three hundred years.’
‘It’s like something from a fairy tale.’
‘Yes, isn’t it?’ She turned to smile at me. ‘One day, maybe we’ll bring Joe and Polly here? I rather think they’d love it.’
‘Yeah, I guess they would. But they might try to break off pieces, thinking the whole thing was made of gingerbread. Rosie, are your parents home?’
‘Dad will be at work in Dorchester. Mummy’s probably helping at the hospice. Or maybe she’s in court.’
‘Your mom’s a judge?’
‘She’s a JP, a Justice of the Peace, a voluntary magistrate. I don’t know what you call them in America? Maybe you don’t have JPs?’
‘We do. They marry people. Rosie, if your mom and dad aren’t home, maybe we should come back later?’
‘Granny will be here. She’s probably dozing in the sitting room pretending that she’s not asleep at all. I don’t sleep in the day, she says. So come on, let’s go and wake her up.’
When Rosie opened the front door, a ton of dogs flowed out. I don’t much care for dogs, I must admit. But these four big black ones all seemed well-behaved and courteous. They didn’t bark at us, jump up or try to knock us down.
They were all delighted to see Rosie whom they greeted with affection, dancing round, wagging their tails and obviously hoping for some hugs, which of course she gave them. They nodded toward me but kept their distance. I decided we might get along.
Granny was the littlest old lady I had ever seen, smaller even than a Chinese grandmother and they’re often tiny. She had the brightest, bluest eyes and soft white curling hair and dimples in her rosy cheeks. She was as cute as fifty buttons and I loved her from the start.
‘This is Professor Riley, Granny,’ Rosie said, after Granny woke up from her doze and after they had kissed. ‘Pat, this is my granny, Cassie Denham.’
‘Hello, Mrs Denham, good to meet you, and do please call me Pat.’
‘Hello, Pat.’ She offered me her hand. She eyed me up and down. She smiled, kind of flirtatiously. ‘It’s nice to meet you, too. I’m sure we’ll get on like a house on fire. Rosie always has good taste in friends.’
What a big improvement on Mommy’s attitude toward me, which could not have been any more chilly if it tried!
I took Granny’s little hand and held it for a moment and it was like I held a bunch of warm, dry bones, a newborn kitten or some other tiny, fragile creature, curled up on itself. She must have bad arthritis, I decided, and it had to be quite painful. But I got the feeling Granny was the kind of person who never kvetched or grumbled. She was far too curious and interested in life. I could see it in her bright blue eyes.
‘I’ll go and make us all some tea,’ said Rosie.
‘I’ll come give you a hand.’
‘No, you stay here with Granny, Pat. She loves meeting new people and she would like to talk to you, I’m sure.’
‘I would indeed,’ said Granny. ‘So you come over here and sit down on the window seat where I can see you. You must be an American?’
‘Yes, ma’am, I’m from Minnesota.’
‘What is Minnesota, a city or a state?’
‘It’s a northern state in the Midwest. It’s mostly agricultural, but there’s some industry as well. Minneapolis-Saint Paul, where half the population lives, is a big conurbation, and – Mrs Denham, do you know the USA?’
‘I’m very sad to say I’ve never been there and I won’t be going now. They wouldn’t let me on a plane in case I died on them. It’s my heart, you see.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, my dear, there’s no need to be sorry! I’ve had a long and active life and always been a busy little bee. It’s my turn to put my feet up now, and most would say a good thing,
too.’
She twinkled merrily at me. ‘So, America – is it like on television, like in all the films? Does everybody have a gun? Do you have a gun yourself and did you bring it with you? Do you have it on you now? May I see it, may I check it out – is that what you American people say?’
‘Ma’am, I never owned a gun. I never wanted one.’
‘Oh,’ said Granny. ‘What a disappointment.’
I almost apologised before I realised she was kidding me.
She said she’d heard of Minnesota. She remembered now. The teacher showed them on the map when she was just a little kid in elementary school. Hiawatha came from Minnesota, didn’t he? She knew some of the poem.
She was beyond delighted when I said I knew it, too.
When Rosie came in with the tea stuff, we were getting nicely reacquainted with Hiawatha’s childhood, reciting line for line;
‘From the full moon fell Nokomis –’
‘Fell the beautiful Nokomis –’
‘Patrick, what on earth is going on?’ Rosie stared at us like we were crazy. ‘What are you two doing – casting spells?’
‘We’re reciting poetry, my darling,’ Granny said. We’re resoiting powetry – that’s how it came out. ‘Pat, I don’t recall the next bit. Maybe you can help me?’
‘She a wife but not a mother.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Granny and she beamed at me.
I felt like I was home.
But why did Rosie look so sad? Why did her eyes cloud over? Oh, shoot – I probably imagined that.
ROSIE
‘She likes you,’ I told Pat while Granny Cassie had a doze and we washed up in Mum’s new kitchen. I don’t know why my mother has a dishwasher. All her precious china is always washed by hand. ‘She thinks you’re virry noice.’
‘That’s good to know. I’d hate to get on Granny’s bad side.’ Pat grinned at me. ‘Virry noice – yeah, that’s exactly how she speaks. But I can’t place her accent. It’s not at all like yours.’
‘Granny is a Brummie.’
‘What’s a Brummie?’
‘A Midlander from Brummagem. I mean Birmingham. It’s a big industrial city in the heart of England.’
‘How did Granny Cass fetch up in Dorset?’
‘She met my grandfather while she was a land girl during the last war. They were very different. He was posh and she was working class. Grandad loved the countryside and she came from a city. He was a farmer’s son but she had never seen a cow and she was terrified of horses.’
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