Something to Tell You

by Lucy Diamond

  ‘So yeah, fingers crossed,’ John finished now, and Robyn jerked back to attention because he was looking at her as if waiting for an answer.

  ‘Fingers crossed,’ she agreed heartily. And despite having fantasized previously about John dying horribly of some disgusting venereal disease, alone and preferably in a ditch, with rats gnawing at his sweating, pox-ridden body, she was clearly far more mature about everything nowadays, because she actually did want him to find a new job and get himself together, if only for the sake of the children. No, for his own sake, too, she corrected herself more generously, so that he could regain his confidence and move on.

  ‘Do you think you and Dad might . . . get back together?’ Sam had asked when John had returned to the city, and the hope in his voice had almost been enough to drive a wedge through Robyn’s heart. Of course he wanted his dad back home, and for the four of them to carry on as if nothing had happened; Daisy had asked something very similar too. And sure, once upon a time Robyn probably would have forgiven him and done her best to reassemble a happy family for the sake of everyone else; to keep up appearances as much as anything.

  But she was done with faking it these days, and so she had had to dredge up all her courage and tell them the truth as gently as possible. No, Mum and Dad weren’t getting back together. They were still going to be friends (which was stretching said truth, admittedly) and they still loved Sam and Daisy very, very much, but they were going to live in different houses from now on. It would be fine, honestly; she would make sure of that. They were all going to be absolutely fine.

  And they were, by and large. Robyn’s heart had been in her mouth when Sam had gone off for his first week at secondary school in his too-big blazer and shiny new shoes, but he had settled in quickly, discovered he loved chemistry (a boy after her own heart) and had been invited along to the basketball-club try-out sessions by the PE teacher. Robyn swore he seemed to be standing taller lately too, as if he was finally appreciating his own height. As for Daisy, she had exhausted her love of insects at long last, and had now moved on to a fascination with the solar system and space exploration. For her birthday a few weeks earlier, they had trekked down the motorway to the National Space Centre in Leicester and it had been, apparently, ‘the best day of my life’.

  Robyn was taking that as a pat on the back, a sign that she was getting through this okay. Yes, Daisy and Sam still missed John being home; that was understandable. She’d never tell him as much, but she missed him too, every now and then – the companionship of marriage, at least. Still, her world had expanded in other areas, which felt like compensation. She’d been out for drinks with Beth Broadwood and some of the other mums from school, for instance, and they’d had a really great laugh. Plus Victoria, her boss, had talked her into joining the Divorcee Club, which was apparently a hand-picked selection of excellent women who were always up for a night out. Or a Saturday brunch, if the kids were with their dads and the weekend was looming emptily ahead. Or, hell, just a coffee sometimes, if anyone needed a friend to talk to. ‘Count me in,’ Robyn had told Victoria. ‘To all of it.’

  As well as that, she had realized that splitting up with your husband did not have to mean being shunned by his family, as she’d dreaded – once a Mortimer, always a Mortimer, Jeanie had assured her. Both Jeanie and Paula had been brilliant in terms of childcare and making sure Robyn and the children were still invited along to things, and other family kindnesses. Also, she, Paula and Bunny had started going jogging together every week, and Daisy was wildly excited about being a bridesmaid for Bunny and Dave, along with Bunny’s niece Chloe. You could say Robyn had lost a set of in-laws and gained some friends instead.

  ‘Will you excuse me a mo,’ she said to John, noticing Bunny across the room now and giving her a little wave. Robyn had received a text from her last night, saying she’d passed the final part of her personal-trainer course, and she wanted to go and congratulate her with a hug, as well as book herself in as a client. And why not? Family had to stick together, in Robyn’s opinion. ‘Talk to you soon,’ she said, already walking away. Then she smiled and hurried over to her sister-in-law. ‘Hey there, you qualified fitness guru, you,’ she called out. ‘What brilliant news – well done!’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Frankie was enjoying herself hugely. So this was what it felt like to belong to a big, friendly family, with siblings and cousins and partners, she thought repeatedly, as her new relatives came up and introduced themselves, as she smiled at the teasing and in-jokes that bounced between them. There was this whole network of shared memories, this history that connected them all, with every allegiance, spat and happiness a valid part of the chain. And now she was a link in it, too.

  She’d already been won over by Paula, and Matt had turned out to be as good-natured and lovable in person as he’d been in their secret pre-birthday correspondence. (She’d pretended to Paula that she wanted to ask his advice about trees, on behalf of a friend; Paula clearly hadn’t suspected a thing.) Dave and Bunny were absolutely adorable, so visibly in love that they’d held hands almost the entire time, and were both super-friendly and welcoming, immediately inviting her, Craig and Fergus along to their wedding in the spring. She wasn’t entirely sure what had happened between John and his wife (ex-wife?) Robyn, but they were both very pleasant, individually, to her, as were Stephen and his partner Eddie. As it turned out, Stephen was a solicitor specializing in family law and had been interested to hear about the Julia saga. ‘Any further problems, ring me,’ he’d said, handing her his card. Then he’d grinned. ‘Or just ring for a chat too, obviously. I can do big-brotherly advice as well as the legal stuff.’

  ‘Big-brotherly advice,’ Eddie scoffed, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. ‘Spot the youngest child who’s thrilled to be an older sibling all of a sudden,’ he added teasingly. ‘Don’t let him start bossing you around now, Frankie. He’s been longing for this moment, his whole life!’

  Frankie had laughed at Stephen’s indignant face. ‘I don’t mind at all,’ she assured them. ‘I’m thrilled, too, to have some big brothers and a sister, after being an only child forever. And thank you,’ she added, tucking the card in her purse.

  The only person who hadn’t come over and chatted to her was the matriarch herself, Jeanie, but that was understandable, Frankie thought, eyeing her across the room as she briskly stacked empty plates and stooped to pick up a fallen wine glass. That was fine. Harry assured her that he was ‘working on it’, which was all Frankie could hope for, really.

  Good old Harry. Her dad! They’d had such a great time together at the cricket back in September, it had felt really easy and companionable. He’d been lovely to Craig and Fergus, insisting on making them all toad-in-the-hole and mash for dinner one night – his speciality, apparently. He was trying to learn a new dish every month, he’d explained: ‘Turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks.’ What was especially nice for Frankie was the fact that he was one of the few people in her life who’d known her mother as a young woman, and who could tell her funny stories about impetuous, rule-breaking Kathy, which felt like bonus prizes to Frankie. They’d already arranged for Harry to come down again and stay for a couple of days in the New Year, and she was looking forward to it very much. ‘Anything you need in the meantime,’ he’d told her, ‘you just ask me, okay? You’ve got thirty-four years’ worth of favours stored up with the Bank of Dad, after all. Ask away!’

  Closer to home, things were settling down a bit, following the tumultuous summer they’d had. Fergus had started school and was exhausted half the time – on the second day he’d been horrified that he was expected to don his uniform and head off to the reception class once more (‘What, I have to go again?’ he’d asked in scandalized tones) – but he was now in the swing of things and seemed to be looking forward to the nativity play at the end of term, judging by the way he was singing Christmas songs around the flat at any opportunity. It was odd, having him out all day, though; the place felt w
eirdly quiet and empty without him, but the flipside was that she and Craig were getting so much more work done, with the extra free time, that they were almost too busy to notice.

  Craig had told the newspaper that he wanted to end his parenting column, and had gone out on a high with a truly lovely final piece about looking forward to the future. He’d signed off by thanking the readers sincerely for the tremendous support he’d received from them ever since he’d begun writing about being a dad and as a result, he had been all over social media the day the piece was published. ‘You’re trending!’ his editor had texted him excitedly, and Craig had received many heartfelt messages from the public wishing the family well. Since then they’d both found other strands of work to compensate for the demise of the column: Frankie had been commissioned to design some cards and stationery with her dragon illustrations and, having enjoyed painting Paula’s little dog, had also decided to venture into the lucrative world of pet portraits. She’d advertised her services online, setting herself up as an Etsy seller, and had already had a gratifyingly enthusiastic response.

  As for Craig, among other things he had successfully pitched an idea for a new magazine column called ‘Dear Dad’, a variation on the agony-uncle idea, where he dispensed fatherly wisdom to all those in need. So far he had covered topics as far-ranging as testicular-cancer checks, the best way to wallpaper a room and handling toddler meltdowns, and was thoroughly enjoying the variety. Even more excitingly, he’d been courted by a publisher, who’d approached him about writing a non-fiction book on modern fatherhood. Flattered by the praise and enthusiasm of the editor and dazzled by the financial offer that had been made, Craig felt his star was on the rise and had wasted no time in getting stuck into the opening chapters.

  He seemed much happier in general, thank goodness – back to his old genial self, now that things with Julia were gradually figuring themselves out. The three of them had met up a number of times, in the presence of Julia’s solicitor, to establish a way forward, and so far they’d managed to avoid going to court and having any official judgments made. Or bawling at one another across the table, either, which felt like progress.

  Craig wanted to introduce Julia gradually to Fergus, one step at a time, and she, thankfully, had eventually agreed. They had managed the process carefully and sensitively, first by Craig and Frankie showing Fergus the baby photos he’d never seen (‘So, you know how babies come out of ladies’ tummies? Well, you came out of THIS lady’s tummy – look, here she is, with a big tummy, and you’re inside. Then – pop! – here you are. That’s Mummy Julia, remember we saw her in the playground that day?’) and doing their best to answer his questions. Then they’d invited Julia round to the flat a couple of times, so that she could play trains with him (lucky woman) and read him stories, taking everything at Fergus’s pace.

  Bless him, despite their angst and dread beforehand, he’d been totally cool about the whole situation – ‘Lots of people at school have extra mummies and daddies,’ he’d said grandly – and Julia appeared to be trying her hardest too, markedly humbler and more acquiescent than she’d seemed on first arrival. She’d found herself a part-time job in a vegan café and was renting a small flat in Acton, not too far away, and had just started picking Fergus up from school one afternoon a week and giving him his tea. Most importantly, she had calmed right down, dropping her aggression and being more cooperative. She’d even confessed to Frankie how stressful she’d found motherhood initially, how scared she’d been that she wasn’t a natural, but how determined she was to put things right now. She was seeing a therapist and working through her problems, and Frankie could tell that, although she was still troubled, Julia was doing her best. At times she found herself actually liking the other woman, especially her sparky sense of humour. She could understand why Craig had loved her all those years ago.

  ‘I have a daddy and two mummies now,’ Frankie had overheard Fergus loftily telling his friend Preena in the park the other day. ‘One is Mumma and she’s my favourite, but Mummy Julia is funny and has hair like me.’

  ‘We’re just achingly modern,’ Frankie had laughed to Preena’s mum, rolling her eyes, but she felt proud of how far they’d come. If this year had taught her anything, it was that families could be resilient, could flex and bend to accommodate new additions or work around a problem. Was any family normal, deep down? Hers certainly wasn’t, but she felt as if she and Craig were far stronger together, now that they’d weathered this storm side by side. Plus she felt part of something bigger these days, ever since she’d met the Mortimers. She had a dad and a sister, both of whom she adored, three brothers too, who all seemed great, and it felt as if there were whole new layers of safety net beneath her, ready to catch her if she needed support.

  And who was to say what the future held, in terms of family, anyway? Because just yesterday she and Craig had gone to view some office space nearby that was up for rental, with the plan to give Frankie in particular more room to spread out, workwise. But as she looked around the whitewashed studio and made financial calculations in her head, another idea altogether had come to her. ‘You know . . . for what this would cost us in terms of rent, on top of the existing mortgage payments for the flat, we could actually look at buying a bigger place to live instead,’ she said in a low voice, conscious of the estate agent lurking discreetly in the background. ‘Somewhere with a small office and maybe even a garden, if we put all our savings into the pot. What do you think?’

  Craig had nodded, thinking it through. ‘I’d really like that,’ he said. ‘Somewhere that’s ours, somewhere permanent. Maybe with an extra room . . .’

  ‘Oh yes, good idea, for when Harry or Paula comes down to stay,’ she’d replied, but he’d looked awkward – shy, almost – and she realized that she’d misunderstood, that he was actually thinking about something quite different. Was he? ‘Do you mean . . . what are you saying?’ she asked, not wanting to get ahead of herself. They still hadn’t quite had the conversation about babies, if that was where Craig was going; she’d been waiting for the dust to settle following Julia’s arrival, but couldn’t deny the subject had been on her mind.

  ‘I’m saying . . .’ He seemed uncharacteristically reticent. ‘I think I’m saying that I’d like us to have a baby together. Expand the family. What do you think?’

  So she’d been right. And what did she think? ‘Wow,’ she said, taken aback, trying to marshal a response.

  ‘When you said to me you were worried about losing Fergus, and how that would mean you were no longer a mum . . . it broke my heart. Because you’re the best mum,’ he went on. ‘A wonderful mum. And think about it: a little brother or sister for Ferg, an extra member of the family – the chance for you to pass on your seriously excellent genes to another human being. I mean, come on. What sort of idiot wouldn’t want that?’

  He grinned at her and it was all she could do not to grab him by the shirt collar and attempt some baby-making right there and then. She leaned in to kiss him instead, her heart filling with happiness. ‘Well, this idiot isn’t about to turn you down,’ she said, smiling. ‘Okay then, you’re on: let’s make some huge lifetime commitments together. As many as possible. Count me in for the long haul.’

  Frankie was interrupted from her misty-eyed reverie just then by a tap on her arm. ‘Hello,’ said a voice, and Frankie jumped as she realized that Jeanie was standing next to her, lips pursed as if she meant business. Oh, Christ – here we go. She’d had nightmares about this moment.

  ‘Hi,’ she said politely, casting around to see if Paula or Harry had noticed her predicament, but neither of them was looking her way. ‘Um.’ She swallowed. ‘Thanks so much for letting me come here today. I really appreciate it.’

  Jeanie gave a curt little nod, her eyes giving nothing away. ‘I was wondering . . .’ she said in the next moment, and Frankie held her breath, imagining all the different ways this sentence could end, every single one of them unspeakably awful. ‘The painting you did for P
aula,’ Jeanie went on. ‘It’s very good. Very good indeed. Matt said you did it all from photographs.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Frankie replied cautiously. Okay, so of all the imaginary conversations she had played out in her head with her father’s wife, it was fair to say that none of them had started like this.

  ‘Well.’ Jeanie still hadn’t quite managed to look at her properly yet, her gaze fixed on the middle distance between them. ‘I was wondering,’ she began again, and then she did look at Frankie and, to Frankie’s surprise, actually seemed kind of nervous. ‘Do you . . . Might you . . . take a new commission? For Harry’s Christmas present? Only our last dog died a year ago, and I know Harry still misses him very badly.’ Her lips twisted together slightly, and Frankie had the impression that it wasn’t only Harry who missed the dog. ‘If I got some photographs together, do you think you could – I mean, I’m sure you’re very busy, but . . . ?’

  ‘I would love to,’ Frankie told her warmly, a lump in her throat. ‘Of course I will. What sort of dog was he?’

  ‘A springer spaniel. Charlie, we called him, and oh, he was a proper Charlie, if you know what I mean!’ She was animated suddenly as she remembered him, the stiffness temporarily leaving her features and her eyes becoming faraway. Frankie guessed she was tramping through a forest somewhere with a bouncy dog, his nose to the ground, his tail beating with happiness. ‘We always had springers, they’re such smashing dogs. But with us getting on, we weren’t sure we could cope with one any more.’ She folded her arms across her chest and looked down, as if worried that she had said too much, made herself vulnerable in the face of the enemy. ‘Anyway.’