No, I switch the vibrate setting off. I like to look at my phone when I feel like it, not when it tells me to.
Well, you’ve got hold of me now, so that’s something. How did you know I was back?
Yes, Sheila’s very helpful.
I can’t tell you anything the others haven’t. Alex didn’t have any training, and she can be a clumsy fucker. She picked up a bow and shot him by accident. Alex and Patrick got on fine, and there’s no reason she would want to shoot him. Which is, I think, what you’re getting at.
Yeah, we had a couple of arguments.
They were probably embarrassed to say. Only silly ones, nothing major.
I don’t remember one about crisps, but you’re right, that is about our level.
Sorry, but I’m not one of life’s listeners. I’m “spectacularly vague,” according to Alex.
But Scarlett wasn’t even there for the archery.
You should have asked Claire if you wanted to speak to her. She’s in proper charge of Scarlett, if you get what I mean. But if you must speak to her, she’s at her grandparents’.
Here. Take the number off my phone. But I’m trusting you not to upset Scarlett. She likes Patrick, and this has been tough enough on her already.
52
When Alex heard everyone return from seeing Santa, she approached Scarlett tentatively, bracing herself to be rebuffed by the rabbit. The rabbit must hold a grudge from last night.
Yet neither Scarlett nor Posey protested. Scarlett shrugged her coat back on and waited by the front door, blinking at Alex with all-knowing eyes.
And when Alex set the ice cream sundaes down on the table, Scarlett actually said, “Thank you.”
Even better, while eating, they had some direct question-and-answer conversations of the proper call-and-response format.
Alex took a spoonful of her sundae, tasting the over-sweetness of the salted caramel. “Did you have fun with Santa?”
Scarlett shrugged.
“Your dad said the man gave you some Percy Pigs.”
Scarlett scraped the side of her sundae glass with her long spoon.
Someone set off a firework on the lake. Alex jerked back dramatically, as she had at any sudden noises or motion all day. She’d forgotten what it was like to have a hangover.
Alex tried again. “Did Santa tell you what you were getting for Christmas?”
“He wasn’t the real Santa. His beard wasn’t real.” Scarlett raised her gaze slowly to look at Alex. “But he said we looked like a very happy family.”
“That’s nice.”
Scarlett moved the liquid round with her spoon.
“Are you OK, Scarlett?”
“Posey’s gone.”
“Oh.” Alex wasn’t sure of the right reaction. “That’s a—shame?”
“It’s because of you.”
“OK?” Alex kept her voice neutral.
“Because you mentioned the film Watership Down.”
Alex put her spoon down.
“We didn’t know what it was, so we watched it last night on the iPad.”
“Oh, God, no!” Alex felt the pressure in her sinuses; she held the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t mean for you to watch that. It’s a horrible film.”
With her fist, Scarlett wiped some ice cream off the tablecloth. “And Posey got scared of himself. Because he didn’t know the bad things about rabbits before watching it.”
Alex had her head in her hands. “Scarlett, I am a terrible stepmum. I’m so sorry.”
“But you got rid of the spider for me.”
Alex lifted her head a little. “You’re right, I got rid of the spider.”
“And you didn’t kill it.”
“I didn’t kill it.”
“Which proved Posey was wrong. About the scientist thing.”
“It was Posey who wasn’t sure about me?”
“He was scared of you. That’s why he was so mean. He was the one who suggested Mum and Dad do karaoke so they’d get back together. He was trying to protect me from you.”
Alex nodded.
“He said when you were gone, Patrick could go back to his old wife and leave me with Mum and Dad.”
“I think…I think what Posey doesn’t understand is that Patrick probably doesn’t want to go back to his old wife.”
“It sounded like a good idea when Posey said it.”
Alex held Scarlett’s gaze deliberately. “Do you miss it? It just being you and your parents? It’s OK to say that, you know.”
Scarlett looked down at her ice cream. It was pooling into a sludgy liquid at the bottom of the glass.
“Because you know they won’t live together again,” Alex said, gently. “Don’t you? That they’re happier living apart?” She watched Scarlett put a halfhearted spoonful of melted ice cream into her mouth. “Do you understand? I’m sorry. It must be sad. For you. It must be normal, though. Loads of families like that at school, I bet?”
Scarlett pushed her sundae glass away.
“What about your friends? They can’t all live with both their mum and dad?”
“Erin doesn’t live with her dad.”
“Is Erin a friend of yours?”
“Sometimes. When she’s not being an idiot.”
Alex thought of Ruby. Yes. “But Erin must have fun with her dad when she sees him.”
“He’s in a prison. He robbed a post office.”
“Did he really?” Alex would have to ask Claire more about Erin’s dad. “What about your other friends?”
“Stan’s dad doesn’t live with them. He fights pirates.”
Alex gave a polite smile.
“Not cartoon pirates.” There was that familiar look of scorn. “Real, modern pirates. On boats on the other side of the world.”
Alex stopped smiling. “Oh.”
“Stan says his mum likes it when he’s away with the pirates. She’s more shouty when his dad’s at home. Bangs doors more.”
Alex pushed her melting ice cream away. “What can I do, Scarlett? To make it better for you?”
Scarlett shrugged again. She’d got that shrugging gene from her dad, Alex thought. The gene would be super-dominant down the paternal line.
“Don’t buy me clothes anymore. For presents.”
Alex laughed in surprise. “OK.”
“Clothes aren’t presents.”
“OK. Noted.” Alex remembered something. She stopped laughing. “I—” She stopped. Would a spoiler alert make it better or worse? “Doesn’t matter.”
The two stared at each other.
“Do you want another ice cream before we walk over to archery? Or a Coke?”
“I’m not allowed Coke.”
“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”
“I don’t want it. It rots your teeth.”
Alex held her hands up, palms facing Scarlett.
Scarlett pushed her sundae glass away. “You never have good toys at your house. It’s boring. Where do you keep all your toys?”
“I have lots of jigsaws. Made of sustainable cardboard.”
“Jigsaws don’t count.”
“Clothes aren’t presents and jigsaws aren’t toys.” Alex gave a firm nod. “This has been useful. Because I don’t always know what to do, since I don’t have kids of my own. Which is why I need you to help me.” She leaned farther across the table, resting her elbows. “So how about you tell me what counts as a toy, and I’ll see what I can do for next time you visit.”
53
When Patrick got back to the lodge, it was like the row with Claire had never happened. But not in a good way.
Claire barely looked up as he shut the front door behind him. She was tidying the kitchen in that overeager way she did: scrubbing the surfaces down with
a cloth like she was doing an important thing, using the activity to completely shut him out, but in a way that meant he couldn’t complain. She must have noticed the cuts on his face, but she didn’t care enough to ask.
Matt had his feet up on the sofa and was swiping at his phone with a restless finger. “All right, Pat.” He peered at Patrick’s face, clearly about to ask about the cuts, before changing his mind. “How was your run?”
Patrick studied Matt for any significant signs of new knowledge. Claire had better not have told him. It was none of Matt’s business.
But when Patrick didn’t answer, Matt just looked back down and swiped at his phone again.
Patrick poured a glass of water. He drained it. “Where are the others?”
“Alex took Scarlett for ice cream.” Claire slammed the dishwasher shut. “They’re meeting us at the archery in half an hour.”
Patrick poured another glass of water. “I’ll grab a quick shower.”
When no one responded, Patrick headed up the stairs.
She’d better—better—not have told Matt.
* * *
—
“You handle the arrow like so.”
The teenage instructor held the tension of the archer pose, holding his bow and arrow aloft as he demonstrated how to use the finger guard. His voice was too know-all for Patrick’s taste—he was the kind of lad that other people liked but Patrick didn’t trust. He always associated that level of confidence with a disruptive influence.
And how young this boy Alfie was. How many opportunities he still had.
Patrick nodded, not sure what he was nodding at but knowing this Alfie wouldn’t move on without seeing acknowledgment. Matt and Claire did the same.
Patrick let his mind drift over the events of the morning as the instructor went through his script.
Alfie looked at his watch. “I really should wait for the other two. But they’re late. And I’ve got a driving lesson.”
“We’re good to go. Have you got a health and safety waiver form?” Claire winked at him. “I’ll sign it, then you’ve done your bit. Honestly.” She gave him her full-beam lawyer’s smile. “I’ve done loads of shooting, I’m practically Robin Hood. I can teach the other two.”
Patrick was going to say something about rules being there for a reason and that it was important to honor the integrity of the forms but he stopped himself. This kind of law-following anti-cool might be one of the reasons Claire was leaving him.
Uncool. Just for trying to keep them all alive.
Matt reached forward toward their box of equipment. Patrick picked it up and hitched it onto his hip before Matt could grab anything.
“Here”—Matt held his hand out—“let me take some of that stuff.”
“No need.” Patrick inched the box away from Matt. “I’ve got it.”
“The bows, at least. That box will be an arse to carry with bows sticking out of the top.”
“I’m fine.”
Matt shrugged. He set off walking with Claire.
Patrick followed Claire and Matt to the archery field with some difficulty, repositioning the box on his hip continuously, shifting the weight across his aching arms.
He listened as Matt and Claire chatted on about nothing. Matt had his hands thrust deep in his pockets.
Had Claire and Matt even noticed that Patrick wasn’t saying anything? Did they not notice, or not care? Or both?
When they reached the field, Matt unlocked the gate and held it open for the other two.
Patrick followed Matt and Claire up to the shooting area. A row of circular, primary-colored targets greeted them, the targets set out on stands. Lines on the ground indicated shooting positions.
Patrick half placed, half dropped the box on the grass. He stretched his arms out with difficulty, muscles throbbing with the pain of release.
“Nice to have the range to ourselves.” Matt took his wallet and keys out of his pockets and threw them onto the grass. “Result.”
Claire looked around the field, hands on hips. “People are scared of a bit of rain.”
Patrick looked up at the steel gray clouds around them, clouds that turned to charcoal directly overhead. A single fat drip of water hit him in the eye.
Patrick blinked, blinded for a second. He was surprised how much the drop smarted.
He waited to feel more drops of rain, but they didn’t come. Just that one single spot, right in his eye.
“Have you really done this before, mate?” Matt asked. “Or did you just say that so we didn’t have to have an instructor?”
Claire crouched down at the box. “Grew up on a farm, Matt, far from a town.” She sorted through the equipment in the box, moving bows and quivers of arrows. “As you know. Not much to do.”
Matt kicked carelessly at a clod of earth, appearing not to care he was showering his keys and wallet with soil. “What a waste, when you could have been using that time to chat to the Countess. You could have practiced walking with a book on your head, or learned which side of the cup to drink from.”
“Your jokes haven’t changed in ten years, Matt. Leave my mum alone.”
Patrick put his hands on his hips and looked up. He wanted to bellow into the heavens. He didn’t even exist now. They were continuing their relationship right in front of him. Patrick had just been a tiny blip—a blip they couldn’t even see anymore.
Matt looked at the equipment box. “Shall we get started, or do we wait for Scarlett and Alex?”
Claire took the bows out of the box and laid them on the grass. “We might as well have a practice.”
She dug further into the box. “Finger guards.”
Claire pulled out a piece of misshapen black leather. She slipped it onto her hand and wiggled her hand in front of her, studying it like she owned a new ring. “We didn’t have these on the farm. Just ripped our fingers to shreds. I probably don’t have any fingerprints left.”
Claire took out a quiver of arrows. She loaded her bow and stretched her arm back. She pointed at the nearest target and held her position, arm straining.
“Go on then, Katniss,” Matt said. “Show us what you’re made of.”
Claire moved her arm an inch, training the bow on the target. “Don’t watch.”
She adjusted her aim minutely and released the arrow. The arrow flew across the field and lodged itself in the large white circle on the edge of the board with a solid thunk.
Claire lowered the bow. “Out of practice.”
“You hit the board,” Matt said. “That’s better than we’ll do. Right, Pat?”
Patrick picked up a bow and arrow. He stood in front of a target next to Claire’s. He took an arrow from the quiver and placed it into the bow.
“There’s finger guards, Patrick.”
She didn’t get to tell him what to do anymore. “I don’t need a finger guard.”
Claire rolled her eyes. Actually rolled her eyes. At Matt.
“Whoa, Pat.” Matt raised his hands and held his palms up toward Patrick. “Can you point that somewhere else, please?”
Patrick looked down at his hands. It seemed he was holding the bow up in Matt’s direction, like he was aiming it.
Patrick lowered the bow.
“Did you not listen to that instructor banging on about health and safety?” Claire shook her head at Patrick. “He might have been about twelve, but he talked sense. Don’t ever point the bow at a person, even if it’s not loaded. Good shooting habits are important.”
Patrick wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. “Sorry.”
“Christ, Patrick.” Claire turned away, she concentrated on her target. “Scarlett will be here soon.”
Patrick turned back to his target. He stretched his arm back again and felt the strain in it, the muscles weak from carrying the box. He aimed at
the target and released the arrow. The arrow bounced off the corner of the board; it twanged into the grass.
Matt laughed. “I bet you couldn’t do that again if you tried.” He picked up his own bow and arrow.
Claire took another shot at her target. This time, she hit the red inner ring.
She gave a satisfied nod. “Getting my eye in.”
Patrick walked to his target. He picked up his fallen arrow and examined it closely. It looked OK. He reloaded the bow.
He heard Matt’s voice behind him. “Arrow OK, Pat?”
Patrick scowled.
“A bad workman always blames his tools.”
Patrick spun round to face Matt and his fucking grin.
“Hey.” Matt frowned. “Stop pointing that at me!”
Patrick looked down, not understanding what Matt meant. He looked at the angle of his bow and realized he’d lifted it without noticing.
Matt must have actually thought, for a second, that Patrick might shoot him. How ridiculous this man was.
Patrick lowered his bow. “Don’t be silly.”
“Patrick, you’re all het up. Calm yourself down and stop being an idiot.”
“An idiot, Claire?” He swung his bow round to face her. “Is that what I’m being?”
“Stop pointing that at people!” Claire was shouting too. “That thing’s dangerous.”
“Since when do you care about safety? You’re always telling me I’m too uptight. ‘Patrick, no one wears a bike helmet to go to the corner shop.’ ‘It doesn’t matter that I’ve left the hairdryer plugged in.’ ‘We don’t need coasters.’ ” Patrick had raised his voice to a mimsy one, in an impression of Claire. It sounded nothing like her.
“Stop pointing that actual weapon at people.”
“Then why are you pointing yours at me?”
Claire looked down at her bow. “Because you’re scaring me!”
Patrick turned his head toward Matt. Matt was glancing between Claire and Patrick, shifting his weight between his feet.
“She’s leaving me. Did she tell you that? She probably did, in a nice cozy chat this morning when you all went to see Santa. Did she tell you how she can’t wait to be rid of me after this weekend? The relief she’s going to feel when she finally gets me off her plate?”
The Adults Page 25