by Fiona Perrin
‘I know. But, of course, they have a difficult relationship because of my dad. Somehow, though, because they’ve stuck together, despite it all, probably because of me, they disapprove of other people who can’t make it work. Well, my dad does. Anyway, I grew up with that mentality. I’m worried they’re just going to go on and on about Lars.’
‘Can’t he go with you?’
I shook my head. ‘That’d be just like saying we’d got back together.’
There was a pause. Ben didn’t say, ‘Well, haven’t you?’ but instead said in a casual voice, ‘Where do they live?’
‘In the Cotswolds – Chipping Sodbury.’
He paused, then said brightly, ‘Well, I need to see some people near Tetbury – old friends of mine from when I started out. I could drive you and the kids.’
‘Oh, God, no. They’d never understand that we were just, you know, friends.’
There was another pause where I thought about how special our friendship had become to me, before he said, his eyes still inscrutable behind the sunglasses, ‘Just tell them the truth – client on his way somewhere for Sunday lunch – needs a bed at theirs for the night.’
‘They’d never understand.’ I hugged my knees to my chest. ‘They’re absolutely lovely people but my father is virtually a recluse now – he’s a writer – and he just shuts down for months at a time.’ Talking about my parents’ relationship made me feel a chill despite the sun. ‘I can’t stand the disappointment in their eyes.’
Ben suddenly sat up, pushed his sunglasses back onto his head and looked at me with a hint of a smile around his mouth. ‘I’m very good with parents.’
‘No. I have to go on my own. Lars would see it all the wrong way if I took you there. He’s already asking lots of questions about us hanging out.’
‘Haven’t you told them it’s all completely innocent because, as you put it, I’m too busy shagging every other woman in London?’
I had to admit that the way he said it was a passable impression of me. I looked mock stern. ‘You’re actually proud of that, aren’t you?’
He guffawed. ‘You believe all these rumours?’
‘Claudia? The one in Milan? What about Elizabeth from Gorgeous?’
‘She’s just a friend like you.’
‘I know, but people think you’re shagging her so they probably think you’re shagging me.’ I was indignant.
‘Well, I’m not shagging either of you or anyone else. Look, what about if you went to the country and then came out for dinner with my friends and me on Saturday night? It would break it up a bit – you could leave the kids with your folks.’
‘They’d still ask questions,’ I said, thinking this was a fantastic idea. It would make the weekend much more bearable. ‘But it would be lovely. Who are the friends?’
‘One of those lovely couples who refuse to grow up,’ Ben said. ‘Maurice was one of my first bosses back in the day at Paul Smith when I was the intern. He made a bucket of money and married Jane – she’s always covered in paint, does these portraits of famous people with surrealist bits stuck onto them. Mick Jagger with his mouth as a guitar? Camilla Parker Bowles with a riding crop for a nose?’
‘Jane Feltman?’ My mouth fell open; she was a controversial artist who’d been very famous a decade ago. ‘Everyone’s always wondering what happened to her.’
‘What happened is that she married Maurice, moved to the sticks. They live in this fab house with a stream in the garden. I need to go and see them before I go back to Italy. I can ring them and see if they’re around.’
‘I would love to meet Jane Feltman. Does she paint now?’
‘Yes, but not the same stuff she used to. Went out of fashion. Now she does these massive canvases that nobody buys, but it doesn’t really matter. You know I’ve got to go back to Italy soon, and next week I’m off taking the boys to Greece for a fortnight. It’d be a good time to see them.’
Again, I felt a pang. How I’d miss him and our easy camaraderie. We’d have weekly teleconferences with Milan – but he was going to disappear from my immediate world.
Ben pulled his iPhone from his pocket and punched at the screen.
‘Jane? It’s Ben Jones.’
I could hear distant shrieks of excitement.
‘Yes, I know I promised but it’s been very busy.’
More shrieks.
‘It’s short notice but what are you and Maurice doing this weekend? It’s the art festival?’
He mouthed the words, ‘They’re having a party,’ and grinned. Then, ‘I’ll stay at the pub. Full? Kitchen sofa is fine. Is it OK if I bring someone on Saturday night?’
Embarrassed, I signalled he shouldn’t push it. But Ben carried on, ‘No. Just a friend. Very bright…’ I blushed. ‘And pretty…’ I gave him a rude gesture with my left hand but was pleased. ‘Staying with her folks down the road…’
There were more pleasantries before he prodded the bottom of the screen and looked at me from behind his sunglasses. ‘All sorted,’ he said. ‘It’ll be really good fun. I’ll come and pick you up.’
‘No, my parents mustn’t see you,’ I squeaked in panic. ‘I’ll drive over.’
‘Don’t be silly – one of those parties that are much more fun if you drink a bit. I’ll get someone to sort out a taxi.’
‘And book one for the way back? I won’t be able to be late.’
‘I’ll sort it all out,’ Ben said.
And that was that.
*
Julia, Parminder and I were in Highgate Woods with the kids. Julia was telling us how Nadine had a giant whiteboard on her kitchen wall with a timetable for Jemima: ‘Thursday, 2 p.m., Kumon maths; 3 p.m., violin; 4 p.m. judo; 5.30 p.m. cooking lessons and so on. She talked me through it when I went to collect Toby and Brad. Talk about tiger parenting.’
‘She’s an animal about sex,’ Parminder said.
‘Shagging every minute of every day,’ said Julia. ‘Protecting the world’s endangered species in between blow jobs.’
‘And lecturing the rest of us about perfect parenting,’ I said.
‘I’m still apologising for the Nicki Minaj thing.’ Julia started to laugh. ‘But sometimes she’s not so perfect though…’
Parminder and I swivelled quickly to face her. ‘Do tell,’ we pleaded.
‘Well, she was going on about you getting divorced and then not getting divorced…’ I’d thought I’d got used to being a Crouch End talking point, but still felt my blood boil.
‘…and about what a perfect marriage she and Freddie have… never arguing or a cross word, peace and harmony, blah, blah, blah,’ Julia said between gasps of giggles. ‘And Jemima comes in and starts going on about the boys not sharing and Nadine gave her all this guff about how forgiveness was a powerful life force and Jemima said she wanted a biscuit. “And a proper biscuit with sugar in like everyone else has.”’ I laughed – it was a pretty good imitation of Jemima in a strop. ‘And then…’
‘Come on,’ Parminder urged.
‘So, then Nadine said no and Jemima got up and stalked to the door and slammed it behind her, shouting, “Fuck you” in a voice that was just like Freddie’s.’
Julia demonstrated exactly the movement of Jemima slamming the door while swearing like her father.
Parminder and I eventually stopped laughing. ‘So, it’s not all harmony round at Nadine and Fred’s.’
‘No,’ carried on Julia. ‘It was pretty clear that this was something that Jemima had seen her father do and quite often. Nadine was really embarrassed and rushed her upstairs and I left, but, I have to say, I cried with laughter as soon as I was out the door.’
I sniggered too as I got the kids onto the bus and we went back to our not-so-perfect home.
*
Lars was due to go to Amsterdam to a convention on ecommerce that weekend but, as he was leaving that evening, said that he would change his schedule to go with us to visit my folks. ‘I want them to know that nothing has changed,�
�� he said.
I shook my head, thinking again what he’d said to Thor. Everything had changed. ‘I don’t want Dad to get his hopes up, especially as he was so upset about us splitting up,’ I said. ‘I’ll go on my own this time.’
Lars tried to come closer to me, but I indicated with a shrug that I wanted to keep my distance. You don’t have feelings like that for me any more. However honest I was with myself and how I felt, it still hurt.
‘I’d like to tell them that I’m sorry too,’ he went on.
‘It’s not just you leaving. It’s all the stuff before that. Me crying down the phone.’
‘But they believe in our marriage, don’t they?’ Lars’ voice occasionally had a desperate edge now, which brought back his Swedish accent.
‘Yes, probably too much,’ I said. ‘You know what they’ve always been like.’
He sat down opposite me at the table and picked up my hand. I knew it should feel like coming home after a long journey, but it didn’t. I moved it but he didn’t react. Instead he said, ‘Guess what? I’ve got a new word in English.’
I smiled warily.
‘It’s bogus,’ Lars said. ‘Nothing we ever do again will be bogus.’
‘Bogus is American,’ I said. Did he not know that I knew he was full of shit? After what he’d told Thor, we’d never been more bogus.
‘I’m going to a work party this weekend too,’ I said, ‘with some friends of the bloke from Campury.’
A small shadow hovered over Lars’ face but he only said, ‘I hope it isn’t too bogus.’
35
Driving down the M4 the following Saturday morning, I was jumpy. It was July, but somehow I felt – now that the heat of the summer had arrived – as if it would soon disappear; that what was coming was an end to things. I put my foot down, swung into the outside lane and decided not to think about what that might look like.
I’d called my mother to ask if she minded looking after the kids while I went out: ‘It’s sort of for work.’ My mother had sounded impressed that I was going to Jane Feltman’s house and hadn’t quibbled at all.
My parents’ cottage looked as if it should collapse under the weight of the ivy that clothed it. However pretty it was, though, I never arrived without a feeling of trepidation that what I would find inside would upset and disappoint me. Now my marriage was up for discussion; I gritted my teeth.
Two springers came bounding out. ‘There’s Liver and Bacon,’ shouted the kids, clambering out of the car.
Dad followed the dogs. He stooped now but his white shock of hair stood up at all angles. He wore wellies, green cords and a T-shirt that had faded to the colour of forget-me-nots.
‘Hello, darling,’ he said and kissed me. He aimed a boot at Bacon. ‘Damn mutts are all over-excited.’
‘Papa,’ shouted Tess and Finn, and, creaking as he knelt, he put an arm round them both.
‘Who wants to give Liver and Bacon a bone?’
‘Meeeeeeee.’
‘Can we go to the pub with you?’
‘Has Nana made chocolate cake?’
He slowly rose. ‘Let’s go and find out, shall we?’ They ran to the red door and he picked up one of our bags and went after them.
Mum appeared. In the bright sunlight, the lines on her face had deepened and she seemed smaller than ever. ‘Darlings.’ She hugged all three of us.
‘I bought you some Penhaligon’s,’ I said, handing over a parcel that made her smile, but then, typically, immediately start saying that I ought to watch money now, what with the situation. I felt the old claustrophobia that came with my parents and tried to shake it off, dragging the other bag through the door.
In the kitchen, with its bleached oak table and Aga, the kids were already sitting in the dog baskets with slices of chocolate cake.
‘You can’t give it to dogs,’ Tess told her brother. ‘It kills them, chocolate.’
‘Tess, no more talking about dying,’ I said. Then I drank a cup of coffee and survived the first hour of interrogation.
‘Agency is doing really well… no need to worry any more. Lars is seeing lots of the children… no, not travelling so much but he’s away this weekend in Holland, sends his love… Liv is fine, she has a new boyfriend…’ and on and on.
Then Dad got up to take the dogs and children out into the fields.
‘No digging holes in the garden this time,’ Mum said, shuffling them out. ‘I’ve never seen such big holes after you were both here at Christmas.’ That’d been when Tess was in her period of digging fake graves. When they’d gone, Mum gestured to the cafetière and I nodded. With another cup of coffee poured for each of us, she sat down and peered at me.
I waited.
‘So, what’s really going on with Lars?’
‘We’re taking it slow. Getting on with each other… trying to be friends again.’
Mum looked hopeful. As a child, I’d tried so hard to please them; later I knew that this was a subconscious acknowledgement that something in our household was wrong and an impulse to make it better if I could. She went on, ‘But it sounds like he’s changed for good, so what’s the problem? Surely you should let him move back in – stop all this uncertainty.’
‘We need more time and we’re getting on well.’
‘But you still love him?’
Love meant so many different things, I thought, but answered, ‘Yes, he’s the father of my children.’
‘Well, we think you should call off the whole silly business,’ Mum said.
I nodded slowly. Just get through it. ‘You mean Dad does.’ I felt some of my old frustration with her: can’t you stand up for yourself? Why are all your opinions really his?
‘We do. Is there someone else?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Well, I’ve had my say,’ Mum said, as if this was what she’d agreed would happen on behalf of Dad. ‘You have to think of the children.’
‘They’re doing much better, Mum. We’ve stuck to the same routine for weeks now and that’s helped. Mostly they just can’t be around us arguing any more.’ I picked up my coffee and told her a really long story about Tess’s history homework. Then how Finn was doing at football. Lastly, I extolled the attributes of Jenny, until she could only say, ‘Well, she does sound a lot better than the last one.’
At that I leapt to my feet and said, ‘Let me help with dinner.’
Later, I left her shuffling different dishes between Aga drawers, while I bathed the children in the bathroom that had been mine on my visits. I thought about how I’d hidden in there one particularly difficult Christmas in my twenties, pretending to be taking long baths with a book, just to escape from downstairs.
‘I love you so much,’ I told my own children in recompense.
They peered back at me from within huge towels like luxurious elves. ‘We love you too, Mummy.’
There’d be fun too, though, in this house: another Christmas when my dad was really getting into playing charades but picking the most obscure books so that when he finally told us what we were supposed to be guessing, Lars, Mum and I rolled around on the floor laughing. Or Mum stirring gravy while she drank a sherry, telling the kids about Christmas when she was a girl. Or back in the old house where I grew up in London, Dad letting me ride him down the hallway like a horse. Or taking me to the pub with him, with all the same sense of occasion Finn and Tess enjoyed.
I steered the kids towards my old bedroom at the back of the house, tucked blankets around them and put my bag in the spare room. Then I went downstairs where Dad was slicing runner beans and talking to Mum. They fell silent as I walked into the room – in much the same way as they always had when I was a child.
‘You sure you don’t mind looking after them while I go to this party?’ I said to make the awkward moment go away.
‘We love looking after them,’ said Mum. ‘And it will be good for you to go to a party like that. Imagine, Jane Feltman! You’ll have to tell us what her house is like. How did you
meet them again?’
‘Oh, I’m just going with my new client,’ I said, as if this were the sort of thing that happened every week. ‘They’re old friends of his and he’s visiting before he goes back to Italy.’
‘Poor Jane – it’s so confusing having people from the Mediterranean to stay: all that sleeping in the middle of the day and smoking everywhere,’ Mum said.
‘Ben is English, Ma,’ I said.
‘Probably still got some foreign habits,’ Dad said. ‘He after you, then, this Italian?’
I tried hard not to blush. ‘Dad, don’t be silly.’
‘He does know you’re married, eh?’ Dad was trying to sound as if he was teasing but there was an undertone that made me immediately suggest that I ‘ought to be getting in the shower’, although I knew the taxi wasn’t coming for another hour.
‘Divorce doesn’t do anyone any favours,’ went on Dad, as if that was the only subject on offer. ‘Look at those two kiddies: they don’t want all this modern thing of being shuffled from one home to another, not knowing where they’re going to sleep tonight.’
‘But it’s not like that…’ I began. ‘They’re fine and Lars is trying really hard and we’re really putting the kids first.’
He didn’t seem to listen. ‘Could kill him for making you miserable.’ A black shadow crossed his face. ‘Just would’ve thought it’s got to be better to have two parents living under the same roof.’
I bit my tongue and escaped from the room, spending a good fifteen minutes rinsing off the day, ten painting my face into what I hoped was a healthy glow and another five trying to make my hair look frizz-free.
I looked at my reflection in the silver-specked mirror and told myself it was to give me confidence at the party that I’d made so much effort.
Dad looked up approvingly as I came back into the kitchen wearing a pale yellow fifties-style dress that I’d bought a good ten years back and found in the back of my cupboard; it was like having something new. ‘Your mother used to have a dress exactly the same,’ he said.
A grey car pulled into the drive and I took a door key, promised not to be late and climbed into the back, making chit-chat with the driver as we sped down the country roads.
