The Adults

by Caroline Hulse

  “I know.”

  “I realized right after that it seemed a bit—stalky. That was never the intention. I’m quite a gentleman normally.”

  “I’m pleased you asked for the lodge next door.”

  Patrick dared to raise his gaze from the bed. Nicola was smiling at him.

  “Claire and I have split up, you know. It’s been on the cards for a while.”

  Nicola gave a small nod. “Matt told me.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yesterday. When he came to pick up Scarlett from the dance class. He wasn’t gossiping.”

  “It sounds like he was gossiping.”

  “He wasn’t.”

  “I’m pleased I don’t have to deal with that man anymore.”

  “He’s not a bad guy.”

  No,” Patrick admitted. “He isn’t.” He looked to the doorway. “Are your girls coming in? I’d like to meet them properly.”

  “You sure?”

  “Invite them in, then. The more the merrier.”

  Nicola stood up and strode to the door. “Girls,” she shouted.

  After a moment the girls appeared. Nicola ushered them inside.

  Patrick smiled at them. “Sophia and Emily, isn’t it?”

  Nicola flashed a beam at him.

  Emily gave Patrick a shy look. Sophia stared at him with clear and open hostility.

  Patrick met Sophia’s gaze and raised an eyebrow. She glared back.

  Patrick smiled at her again.

  Kids were kids, he supposed. But that was OK.

  “Shall I take your phone number?” Patrick turned back to Nicola. “So we can catch up—as old friends—sometime in Nottingham? Talk about old times?”

  “I’d like that,” Nicola said.

  Patrick beamed at her. It was too soon to be considering dating someone else, he knew that. And he didn’t really want to be starting anything from Claire’s spare room, with the tax records and exercise bike there or not. But he liked this woman. He’d take a thousand arrows for this woman.

  “I’m so sorry about your shoulder,” Nicola said.

  “Yeah.” Patrick licked his lips. “Well.”

  “You’ll still be able to run, though. So maybe you could do marathons instead of the Ironman? But, like—loads of marathons.”

  “Yeah.” Patrick thought about this. “Yeah. Maybe I will.”

  62

  Scarlett sat on the wall in the back garden at her grandparents’ house.

  This bit wasn’t really a back garden—Scarlett could see milking machines in the yard—but Scarlett wasn’t sure where the garden ended and the farm began. Patrick had once said about the farm it was “no place for children”—but really, with all the cows and geese and pigs, who else was it for? Grown-ups?

  Scarlett heard the squelch of Grandma’s wellies on the mud as she came round the side of the milk shed. “Scarlett!”

  Scarlett watched Grandma approach. Her wellies were dirtier than Posey’s boots. His boots were always clean—but that was because his boots weren’t real. Posey wasn’t real.

  It was time to grow up. Like Sophia said: “You can’t be a little kid forever.”

  Scarlett traced a silvery path on top of the wall next to her, following where a snail had gone before and left slime behind.

  Scarlett hadn’t told Sophia about Posey. Sophia had been talking about the vending machine outside the dance studio, telling her that little kids got flat drinks but you could have fizzy drinks when you’re older. Still, when Sophia said it, Scarlett thought of Posey.

  You can’t be a little kid forever.

  Scarlett knew it was true.

  But, still. Scarlett hadn’t seen Posey since he’d slunk off to the airing cupboard that night after Watership Down. His ears had drooped as he walked. He hadn’t even looked back.

  Grandma reached Scarlett, her wellies making sucking sounds in the mud. “You doing all right out here?”

  Scarlett nodded.

  “Your father’s phoned again. He’s going to pick you up at some point today.” Grandma bumped down onto the wall next to Scarlett. “That was as much information as I could get out of him. You know what your father’s like.”

  “Why do you say ‘father’ like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like it’s got loads of other words in there as well.”

  Grandma gave a bright smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Scarlett traced the snail’s journey with a finger again. “Did Dad say if they’ve seen Patrick yet?”

  “Yes. He’s recovering well from his fall, apparently. And he’s in high spirits, so that’s a relief.”

  “He didn’t fall. He got shot with an arrow. By Alex.”

  Grandma kept her smile stiff. She stared into the cow field. “How do you know that?”

  Scarlett shrugged.

  “Are you OK? You know it was an accident?”

  Scarlett shrugged again.

  Grandma kept staring into the field. “So. Apparently, this Alex lady is coming with Dad to pick you up. Whenever that ends up being. It’s not like we have animals to feed, or meals to cook, or anything.”

  “Right.”

  Grandma looked at Scarlett out of the side of her eye. “Do we like Alex?”

  “We?”

  “You.”

  Scarlett thought about this. “Yes. We do now.”

  “That’s good.”

  “She needs to buy better toys for her house. But she knows that now.”

  Grandma squeezed Scarlett’s shoulder. “I’m going back inside. Shout if you need me.”

  Scarlett traced the snail’s trail on the wall. She heard the sound of boots on the path again.

  “Do you want me to come in, Grandma?”

  When Grandma didn’t reply, Scarlett looked up.

  Posey stood on the path in front of Scarlett. “Howdy.”

  Scarlett felt her heart beat faster.

  Posey nodded at her feet. “Nice gear.”

  Scarlett looked down at her moon boots. “They’re almost the same as yours.”

  “They’re better. They’re gold. Gold is better than silver.”

  Scarlett looked down at her feet. “They get dirtier than yours.”

  Posey shrugged. “That’s just how it goes.”

  “I also got Bryan the Lion’s jungle palace.”

  Posey whistled his approval. “So Santa could afford it!”

  Scarlett nodded.

  “Do you want to show me your new dance? From your dance class?”

  “I haven’t got a chair here. I’d need a chair.”

  “Shame,” Posey said. “I bet you were really good at it.”

  “I was.”

  Posey sat on the wall next to Scarlett. “I came to say goodbye. I’m off on another trip.” Posey flicked the red tag on his bum. “I’m going back to China.”

  Scarlett looked at his tag and back to his face. “Will you be long?”

  “It’s a big country. And I know everyone there, so I might be a while.”

  “Will you live in a castle?”

  Posey shrugged. “Probably. There are a lot of cool castles there, but I haven’t decided which one yet. I just want to do my own thing for a bit, you know?”

  There was neighing in the distance. Scarlett heard the sound of hooves cantering across the ground.

  “I’ll help you pack.” Scarlett reached down to the floor and picked up some leaves, which became twenty-pound notes in her hand. She held the notes out to Posey. “You’ll need some money for your trip!”

  Posey gave a kind smile. “We don’t use money in China.”

  Scarlett let her hand drop. “I don’t know much about China.”

  �
��I can see that. Maybe I’ll tell you all about it sometime.”

  Scarlett thought about this. “You might come back?”

  “If you want me to.”

  The sound of hooves on the ground was getting louder. Closer.

  Posey didn’t seem to notice. “And I could come back for special occasions. I could come back to celebrate your big one-oh. Or I could be your date for your school prom.”

  “Yes,” Scarlett said. “I’d like that.”

  “Anyway.” Posey looked over his shoulder and back to Scarlett. “Gotta run.” He indicated behind him with his thumb. “That’s my unicorn.”

  A unicorn galloped round the corner. It came to a stop beside Posey with a neigh, shaking its rainbow mane.

  Scarlett gasped.

  Posey tapped the unicorn’s saddle. “Good girl.”

  Posey attached metal things to each of the unicorn’s feet, testing each one carefully. The unicorn lifted up each hoof after Posey had finished, studying it, before placing the hoof back down again.

  When Posey had done all four, the unicorn gave a soft huff of approval.

  Posey pulled on the side of the saddle to check it was on properly. He put a boot in one of the stirrups and lifted himself up and over the unicorn, setting himself back down, straddling it.

  Scarlett put her hand over her eyes to shade them from the sun.

  Posey smiled at her. He pulled on a lever at the side of the unicorn, like Patrick used to start the lawnmower. The metal things on the unicorn’s hooves started shaking and spluttering.

  And then Posey and the unicorn weren’t on the path anymore. They were moving up, straight up, into the sky. Flames shot out from the unicorn’s hooves, red and gold and yellow streams firing brightly from its rocket-feet.

  Scarlett watched, her hand over her eyes.

  Posey and the unicorn went higher and higher. Posey pulled on the reins and the unicorn did a fancy turn in the sky.

  Scarlett gave a clap of delight.

  Posey leaned back and raised the reins. He gave Scarlett a salute.

  Scarlett stood as straight up as she could. She saluted Posey back, hard.

  Posey and the unicorn started moving forward now, stiffly, like a horse on a merry-go-round. They rode through the sky, over the trees, over the farm buildings, and past the fields.

  Scarlett chased after them, though they were getting farther and farther away.

  When they were nearly out of sight, Scarlett slowed and stopped. She waved furiously with both arms, trying not to cry. “Say hi to everyone in China for me!” she shouted.

  She didn’t know if Posey had heard, but he waved anyway. Eventually Posey and the unicorn became just a speck in the sky.

  Scarlett put her hand to her chest, panting. She knew the fast beat of her heart was because she’d been running in wellies, but she felt something else as well. Her throat filled with feelings, choking her a little.

  Scarlett watched the speck in the sky turn to nothing. She screwed up her eyes anyway, searching the horizon. There was nothing to see.

  Eventually, she stopped shading her eyes. She stopped searching the sky.

  This time, finally and forever, Posey had gone.

  Post-shooting interview. Patrick Asher, 43.

  Shooting victim.

  Face-to-face. St. Thomas Hospital.

  OK, thank you. Comfortable. Probably because of all the drugs. They work wonders, don’t they? I’ve never done drugs before. I should have tried them sooner.

  That was a joke, Officers. I’m in quite a jolly mood.

  I’ve dodged a bullet, haven’t I? This is my It’s a Wonderful Life moment. Yesterday could have been it—my time, up. I saw a white light. I saw my funeral in my head—the flowers, the people. Then, next minute, I was waking up here, with everything mainly intact and everyone crowding round me.

  Claire and Scarlett were here, obviously, and Matt and Alex. My kids are coming this afternoon. Their mum’s bringing them, even though she’s meant to be doing Christmas dinner. Lindsay hates it when her plans are messed about, but the kids were desperate to come and see me, so what could she do? Those pigs in blankets just have to wait.

  My parents can’t travel but they’ve been on the phone nonstop. And I hear Nicola Trevor is coming back this afternoon. So that’s nice.

  I’ve not seen her since school. Complete coincidence.

  I can see that would have been confusing. We were in the lodge next door because I stood behind her in the queue for reception, thinking I recognize this woman. It was only after she left that I realized who it was. So I had to ask the receptionist to put us together, didn’t I? I couldn’t spend the weekend looking for Nicola round the holiday park. How did you know that anyway?

  Does Claire know?

  Right.

  It’s just…a little awkward. How embarrassing.

  Did Matt ask you about the arrow? My arrow?

  I understand not right now. But I’d like it as a souvenir eventually, if possible.

  Yes, I’ve forgiven Alex. She didn’t mean to shoot me, did she?

  It was the funniest thing. I was showing her how to load the bow, standing in front of the target, no thought of the danger. I know, it’s crazy, not like me at all.

  I’d had the training, yes. But I said we shouldn’t have signed the waiver when Alex hadn’t. But Claire’s so impulsive. She thinks rules are for wimps, and now look what’s happened. Rules are there for a reason, that’s what I always tell Claire. You need to control the fun, or it risks spilling into chaos. But she never listens to me, and now look where we are.

  I was standing in front of the target, explaining to Alex how to shoot, and she was holding her bow, stretching her arm back like I told her. I didn’t see what happened, but suddenly I was down, trying to work out why my shoulder was on fire.

  Yes, really stupid. Not like me at all. But there we are.

  I don’t know where the other two were. I was concentrating on Alex. Not hard enough, clearly.

  That was another joke.

  I felt a searing pain. The other three rallied round me but I fell unconscious quickly.

  I don’t know what they talked about. I’m not aware of anything until I woke up with a drip in my arm.

  Yes, we all got on famously, all trip. Barely a whisper of an argument.

  Who said there was tension?

  I can see why Nicola would have thought that, but it was just drunken high spirits. That’s how we are—all private jokes. We probably take a bit of getting used to.

  I can’t think of anything else. I’m sorry we’ve wasted so much of your time over Christmas.

  My face? I went for a run yesterday morning and I slipped on some loose gravel. I’d forgotten I had cuts and bruises, what with everything.

  That’s why you’re asking these questions? How funny.

  It’s funny to me. You think Alex shot me deliberately? Please. Why would she?

  It was just a nice, quiet holiday with our extended family. We’re all reasonable people. The weekend was going fine. We were having a lovely time, no drama, no fights. We’re all adults.

  I just don’t know why people find the concept so hard to understand.

  Acknowledgments

  This book would not be here without my fabulous agent, Caroline Hardman. Caroline, I am so grateful for your support and honesty, and so pleased to have you alongside me for this whole out-of-body experience. Thanks also to Thérèse Coen for your tireless enthusiasm on my behalf, and to the other brilliant people at Hardman & Swainson—I love being in such good hands and great company.

  Thanks so much to Emad Akhtar for championing my writing, for providing so much thoughtful insight, and making me laugh in every interaction. Also to Bethan Jones, Lauren Woosey, Laura Swa
inbank, and everyone at Orion who has worked so expertly on my book and looked so patiently at my dog photos along the way.

  Thanks to Andrea Walker and the team at Random House in the United States, and to all the other overseas teams who are publishing this book at Fleuve, AW Bruna, Euromedia, Aufbau, Mondadori, Evro Books, Znak, General Press, and Hachette ANZ. (Also, to any other publishers who may have taken it on since I wrote these acknowledgments in February 2018—thanks on behalf of future me.)

  A different kind of thanks to the non-book people. To my friends who are competitive exercisers, or in blended families, or barristers or scientists, I’m going to start with an apology. Obviously you are nothing like these people. Eek.

  Thanks to Andrew Bennett, Darren Birtwell, Craig Blyth, Miriam Bradley, Lorna Davies, Emma Duffy, Anthony Dutton, Dom Doughty, Ali Hogg, James Hogg, Aston Kelly, Amanda Moffat, Stu Moffat, Alison Peace, Claire Raffo, Kate Regan, Matt Regan, Chris Taft, Kate Taft, and Jane Shlosberg. Also, to the poker boys, the Holmes Chapel-and-beyond crowd, and my VM and EBS friends. Thanks to Mum, Dad, Tom, and all the Hulses, and to Ted and Linda.

  Finally, to Fletch, for bringing the imagination, the comedy, and all the geeky clumsiness on a daily basis. Thank you, most of all.

  About the Author

  CAROLINE HULSE spends most of her days writing, having fulfilled her dream of having a job she could do in pajamas. She also works in human resources sometimes.

  She is openly competitive and loves playing board and card games. She can often be found in casino poker rooms, and wishes other people would play Cluedo for money.

  She lives with her husband in Manchester, where the two are captive to the whims of a small, controlling dog.

  Twitter: @CarolineHulse1

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