‘Oh!’ Maggie said. ‘Yes. Sorry, I’ve been snowed under, I haven’t had time to even think about it.’
‘No problem,’ Sofia said. ‘There’s no hurry.’
‘Soon,’ Maggie said.
‘Good.’ Sofia smiled.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘Mama, can you help me with my project?’ Ruby called over from the dining table that afternoon. They’d stayed for lunch at Maggie’s and the kids had seemed to have the best time, with Ruby, Flora and Violet declaring themselves ‘treble best friends.’
‘Not right now, angel,’ Emma said, without looking up. ‘I’m trying to make a special dinner for Daddy.’
‘Is it his birthday?’ Ruby said and Emma could hear the edge of panic in her voice.
‘No, darling.’ She looked up from the bowl of cherries to see Ruby, as expected, wide-eyed with worry. ‘His birthday was just after Halloween, remember? I just wanted to make him something nice.’
‘Because he’s been working so hard?’
‘Exactly that.’
‘It smells good,’ Ruby said. ‘Is it for me and Sam too?’
‘Nope,’ Emma said. ‘You’ve got chicken tenders and chips. This is just for me and Daddy. But I’ll save you some cherries.’
She would too. Because she was sick to death of stoning them. She’d made the mustard dressing, the ham was in the oven along with the chicken tenders and oven chips. The new potatoes were on the hob par-boiling, and she’d opened a bottle of wine to breathe because last time they’d bought it, Paul had said it tasted better when it had been open for a while. (When they were in London, they never would have had an unfinished bottle of wine long enough to notice a difference.)
‘Can you help with my project tomorrow?’ Ruby asked.
‘I should think so,’ Emma said, pouring some frozen peas into a bowl and sliding them into the microwave. ‘What do you have to do?’
While Ruby talked about her project, Emma looked around the kitchen to make sure everything looked neat and tidy. Paul had a thing about unfinished jobs, so sometimes when she was ready to relax, he had to take out the recycling and wash out Buddy’s food bowl, change a lightbulb, fix a leaking tap. Emma didn’t want any of that tonight. She wanted the kids in bed, meal on the table, and her husband to herself for at least a couple of hours.
‘Mama!’ Ruby almost shouted. ‘You’re not listening!’
‘Sorry, darling, you’re right,’ Emma said. ‘Tell me again.’
As Ruby started to talk, the oven buzzer rang.
‘Gah, sorry,’ Emma said. ‘Tell me while you and Sam are eating.’
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Ruby said.
‘It does, baby. I’m sorry. I’ve just got a few things to do right now.’
‘I’ll go and get Sam,’ Ruby said, and left the room, looking dejected.
‘Fuck a duck,’ Emma muttered, as she slid the baking tray out of the oven with a tea towel, catching her knuckle on the metal. She was holding her hand under the cold tap when the microwave pinged. And then the doorbell rang.
‘Left my keys at work,’ Paul said when she opened it.
‘Could you go get the kids?’ she asked, heading back to the kitchen. Chicken tenders and oven chips on plates. Peas drained and poured into a bowl cos neither of the kids liked them on their plates. Ketchup on the table. Juice in cups: Paw Patrol for Sam, a hideous E.T. mug Ruby had found in a charity shop for Ruby.
She’d intended to get changed and put some make-up on before Paul got home. Typical of him to be early on the one night she wanted— No, that wasn’t fair. She’d been complaining about his late nights for ages now, she couldn’t also complain when he got home in good time. But she was aware that she was wearing baggy leggings and a shapeless top, flip-flops on her feet. She wished she’d thought to get a manicure and maybe a wax. Not that Paul cared. At all. But it would have made her feel better. She’d read in a novel once about a woman thinking it was important for her to make herself look presentable before her husband came home and, as she read it, Emma realised that wasn’t something that had ever occurred to her. She liked to look nice, of course, but she’d never felt like it was dutiful.
One day she’d been hanging Paul’s ancient saggy underwear on the radiator and thought about how for years she’d worn matching bra and pants, nice ones. Would have felt like if she hadn’t, she’d be letting the side down, letting herself down. But how that wasn’t something that would ever have occurred to Paul. Did men’s magazines write about how men should buy nice new undies to keep their women interested? Did they fuck. She’d felt a flash of anger at the sight of Paul’s pants ever since. But that was hardly his fault.
‘What’s for dinner?’ he said from the doorway. ‘I’m starving.’
Emma pushed one hand back through her hair. ‘We’re not having ours now. This is just for the kids. We’ll have ours when they’re in bed.’
‘Fuck, really?’ He’d taken his suit jacket off and was holding it over one arm, his briefcase still in his hand. ‘I didn’t get any lunch.’
‘You can eat, like, one chip,’ Emma said, squeezing past him and out into the hall. ‘But don’t eat anything else. I’ve been fucking about with cherries for bloody ages.’
‘Do I like cherries?’ Paul said, following her down the hall.
‘Sam! Ruby!’ Emma shouted up the stairs. She felt Paul’s hands on her waist and turned to look at him. ‘And yes. You like cherries. It’s cranberries you don’t like.’
Paul was looking at her mouth.
‘What?’ she said, smiling.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’ He was still staring. It made her feel squirmy. ‘What?’
‘I’ve just had a good day, that’s all.’ He inclined his head and pressed his mouth to hers. He tasted like coffee.
‘No kissing!’ Sam shouted from the stairs.
‘So tell me about your good day,’ Emma said once the kids were in bed and she and Paul were at the dining table with the meal Emma had made, and wine in their glasses.
‘The Matt Jackson deal is all signed.’
‘Wow,’ Emma said. ‘That’s great.’
The thought of Jools, of book club, made her stomach clench with nerves, but that wasn’t Paul’s problem.
‘Photo call and announcement in the next couple of weeks.’
‘Brilliant,’ Emma said. ‘Well done. I’m proud of you.’
Paul stabbed a piece of ham with his fork and popped it in his mouth. ‘Holy shit, this is good. You should cook more.’
‘Jesus,’ Emma said.
Paul looked up from his plate. ‘I didn’t mean ‘get back to the kitchen, wench’ I just meant you’re good at it.’
‘Good save,’ Emma said.
‘Well I have spent the day at a football club.’
Emma shuffled her feet under the table and hooked her foot around Paul’s. They always used to do that too. And in bed. They’d stopped doing that as well.
‘Are you happy here?’ Emma asked her husband. ‘So far?’
Paul nodded through a mouthful of ham and then said, ‘Yeah. It’s great. You are too, right?’
Emma tipped her head to one side. ‘Yeah. I mean … I don’t really feel settled yet. I thought I would, faster, you know? I’d like more friends. And I’d like you to be home more. That was meant to be part of the reason—’
‘I know,’ Paul said. ‘I’m sorry. It’s unfortunate that this came up so soon. But once it’s all done it should die down a little. And we can have the beach picnics and sunset walks.’
‘Good,’ Emma said.
‘And I’ll be getting a bonus so we can take the kids away at half term maybe? Disneyland Paris?’
‘Oh god,’ Emma said. ‘They’ll explode.’
Paul grinned at her. ‘We could surprise them. Like on the adverts. It’d be great.’
Emma had finished her ham so she pushed her plate away and drank some more wine. She was only halfway down the glass, but
Paul lifted the bottle and raised an eyebrow at her. OK. Sure. Good.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Maggie couldn’t sleep. Jim was snoring and the radiator under the window was ticking, but she’d been lying there for a long time now. Maybe hours. She’d been trying to work out where it had gone wrong, which specific decision had led her here, to this moment, these circumstances. She’d started with Jim asking her out for a drink, but there was a reason she’d said yes. Her father maybe. Her father telling her no one would be interested in her, making her think she needed to be grateful for anyone’s interest and attention. Because she hadn’t stopped to wonder if she was interested in Jim, attracted to him, even liked him. He’d asked her out and that had been enough.
Her mind kept returning to a thing her dad had said about her hair. She’d had it cut and blown straight – the hairdresser had suggested it – Maggie had been fifteen maybe. She’d loved it. It had felt smooth and sleek and it swung slowly when she turned her head. She couldn’t stop stroking it. At home, her mum had raved about it, going so far as to go and find the camera to snap a quick pic. And then her dad had come home from work. Her mum had called him into the kitchen where Maggie had been sitting at the dining table doing her homework. She’d said, ‘Mike? Look at Maggie’s hair! Isn’t it lovely?’ And her dad had given a short bark of laughter and said, ‘It’s something. I don’t know about lovely.’ Maggie had experienced a brief moment of breathlessness, like the time she’d fallen flat on the ground from the monkey bars. And then she’d felt … fine. What had she expected? Nothing? Something worse? She’d looked at her mum and watched something similar play out over her face: surprise, shock, pain, disappointment and finally resignation. She’d turned back to the oven, her dad had left the room. Done.
‘Are you seeing someone else?’ Maggie asked the darkness.
Jim didn’t speak for so long that she’d almost convinced herself he was asleep and hadn’t heard her, but then he said, ‘Who told you that?’
Wrong answer.
‘No one.’
Jim was already rolling over, away from Maggie, swinging his legs out of the bed.
‘Was it Jools? That stuck-up bitch, I knew she couldn’t—’
‘It wasn’t Jools,’ Maggie said, while thinking Jools knows?
‘So who then?’ He’d pulled his sweatpants on and was halfway round the bed, heading for the door.
‘I saw a text.’
He stopped. ‘You looked at my phone?’
‘It was on the table. The message popped up. I wasn’t looking, but I saw it anyway.’
‘I’ve told you about looking at my phone.’
Maggie felt the familiar fear start to rise. Her heart racing, her mouth drying. She told herself to breathe, to stay where she was, let him tire himself out.
‘I can’t believe you looked at my phone,’ he said.
‘I can’t believe you’re seeing someone else.’ Except she could. It wasn’t hard to believe at all. In fact, she realised now that he’d probably been seeing other women all along, for as long as they’d been together. She was an idiot.
‘Who is she?’ Maggie asked, rolling onto her side and pulling her legs up towards her stomach. Even though she already knew. She wanted to hear it from him.
‘Why do you care?’ Jim asked. He was in the doorway now, almost out of the room, and Maggie wanted to shush him so Amy didn’t hear.
‘Why wouldn’t I care?’ Maggie asked. ‘Do I know her?’ She wanted to sit up, get out of bed, but she also wanted to stay exactly where she was, possibly for ever.
‘I’ll stop seeing her,’ Jim said. ‘I’ll tell her now.’
‘You don’t have to,’ Maggie said, closing her eyes.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Maggie opened her eyes again and stared at the shape of her husband in the low light at the foot of the bed.
‘What are we even doing? I’m not happy. You’re clearly not happy if you’re shagging someone else—’
‘It’s just sex,’ Jim said. ‘Fuck knows you don’t want to—’
‘It’s not just sex to me,’ Maggie said. ‘It’s lying and sneaking around and other people knowing. I don’t want to be the kind of wife who wonders where her husband is whenever he’s not home. I don’t want to be afraid to put my hands in your pockets when I’m putting your clothes in the wash. I never wanted any of that.’
But beyond that she didn’t, couldn’t, trust him any more, she’d realised that she didn’t even like him any more. She’d been happier in the summer when he wasn’t around. She was happy when Amy interrupted them when he wanted sex. She was happy when he went out in the evening, even though she knew he was going to Eve. She deserved better than that. And she had to set a better example for Amy. She absolutely had to.
‘So what are you saying?’ Jim sat down at the foot of the bed and half-turned towards her.
‘I think you should move out,’ Maggie said.
Jim stood up. Stretched his arms behind his back. Stared at Maggie in the dark. And said, simply, ‘No.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Emma woke suddenly. She’d heard a bang, downstairs, she was sure.
She pushed her foot against Paul’s calf and whispered his name. Nothing. She listened, half-sitting up in bed, but she didn’t hear anything else. Maybe it had been in her dream. But she was sure it had been real. She felt as if she could almost still hear it, echoing around the room. She swung her legs out of bed and opened the door.
Ruby’s bedroom door was open and she could see faint light coming from downstairs. Her heart racing, she headed down the stairs and into the kitchen, where she found Ruby at the dining table, homework spread out in front of her.
‘Rubes!’ Emma said, coming up behind her daughter and wrapping her arms around her. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I couldn’t get back to sleep,’ Ruby said, without turning. ‘So I came to finish my homework.’
Emma rested her chin on her daughter’s head. ‘What was the bang?’
‘I got a chair to put the light on …’
It was only then that Emma noticed Ruby had switched on the light in the oven’s extractor hood.
‘And then I knocked it over. Sorry.’
‘That’s OK,’ Emma said. She moved around the table and pulled out her own chair, sitting down and looking over at her daughter.
‘But you know you don’t need to get up in the night to do homework, right?’
‘I know,’ Ruby said. ‘But I wanted to. I like it.’
Emma frowned. ‘Did you have a bad dream?’
Ruby shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
Emma wasn’t sure what to do. This didn’t seem healthy. But Ruby seemed happy. And if she couldn’t sleep, Emma couldn’t force her. She remembered a time in her own childhood when she’d wake in the night and struggle to get back to sleep and how much easier it would have been if she’d been able to get out of bed and just do something, rather than lying there for hours getting more and more annoyed about not being able to drop off again.
‘Would you like some hot chocolate?’
‘Please,’ Ruby said. She was idly tracing a pencil over a page of one of the books.
‘What homework are you doing?’ Emma asked, as she crossed the kitchen to the fridge for the milk.
‘It’s about plants,’ Ruby said. ‘The life cycle of a plant.’
Emma leaned back against the countertop as she looked back at her daughter. ‘Seriously? I don’t think I learned about that until high school!’
Ruby smiled then and shrugged. ‘It’s interesting.’
‘Want to tell me about it?’
While Emma made the hot chocolate, Ruby told her everything she’d learned so far about osmosis and chlorophyll (which she couldn’t actually pronounce) and the water table. It made Emma feel oddly nostalgic for school.
‘There’s an experiment,’ Emma said. ‘Something with food colouring and celery, I think?’<
br />
‘We did that at preschool,’ Ruby said.
‘Oh.’
‘But could I get a plant for my room? Like a real one? That’s growing?’
‘Course,’ Emma said. ‘I’ll get one tomorrow after I drop you off.’
Ruby smiled and then yawned so widely it almost looked painful.
‘Hey,’ Emma said. ‘I think you might be tired.’
Her daughter smiled, bashfully.
‘Want to come and drink the hot chocolate in my bed?’
Ruby’s eyes lit up.
‘Em.’
Emma groaned. She could already feel that her back was tense, her shoulders tight, and she wasn’t even close to being awake.
‘Em,’ Paul said again.
She forced one eye open and winced against the morning light. Paul was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at her. He looked happy and handsome and she almost wanted to pull him down on top of her, but he was already in his suit and the kids would be awake in a minute and—
‘Look at her,’ Paul said, his voice reverential.
Emma turned to find Ruby fast asleep in bed next to her. She looked impossibly younger and more beautiful when she was asleep. Her cheeks pink, bottom lip pouting out, long eyelashes fanning over her cheeks. Emma wanted to kiss her and kiss her and kiss her, but also just to stare at her perfect face.
‘Did she have a bad dream?’ Paul asked.
Emma shook her head. ‘Went downstairs to do her homework. At two a.m.’
‘Christ,’ Paul said. ‘That’s not good. You going to have a word with the teacher?’
Emma hadn’t really thought about it during the night, it hadn’t seemed quite real, but yes, yes she was.
She nodded.
‘’kay,’ Paul said. ‘Text me.’
‘Will do,’ Emma said.
She suddenly remembered a time when they’d not long been together. Emma had the day off. Paul had got up to go to work, dressed in his suit and tie, and come back to the bedroom to kiss Emma goodbye. She’d pulled him back to bed with the tie and kissed him until he gave up any suggestion of going into work. Then he’d taken the tie off and used it to fasten Emma to the bed. That had been a good day. She curled one finger around the end of his tie now and tugged lightly.
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