‘Osc,’ he started, ‘tell me about your famous Miss Hobbs.’
He prepared himself for a sudden change in the mood, a sulk maybe, or just a tight-lipped monosyllabic grunt. But to his amazement, Oscar’s face lit up.
‘She’s great, Dad,’ said Oscar. ‘I love her. She hasn’t got a mum either.’
‘What?’ said Mark. ‘How on earth do you know that?’
‘She told me.’
‘She told you she hasn’t got a mother? Just you or the rest of the class? When?’
‘The first day, she came and sat down next to me on the pavement outside school. It was cool.’
‘You mean . . . the first day of term?’
‘Mm.’
‘After school?’
‘Mm.’
‘How come?’
Oscar shrugged. ‘I said. She came and sat with me. On the pavement. It was cool.’
‘So . . . let me get this straight. She followed you out and started telling you intimate stuff about her private life?’
Oscar nodded. ‘’Spose.’ He dived off backwards into the pool.
Jesus Christ, thought Mark. This was serious. How insane was this woman? And why was she seeking out his son?
‘You have got a mother, Osc,’ he started, swimming after his boy. ‘She’s just . . .’
‘. . . in heaven, I know,’ said Oscar, through the water. He let himself float away from his dad. Mark followed.
‘Has she been nagging you about Parents’ Evening, Osc?’
Oscar kept his eyes down. He mumbled a yes, and Mark persisted.
‘Has she been . . . annoying you?’
He shrugged. ‘A bit.’
‘How often does she mention it? Every day?’
Oscar laughed. ‘At least.’
‘Right,’ said Mark, decided. ‘I’ll be there at Parents’ Evening.’ Oscar’s face shone back at him. ‘And I’ll find out all about your Miss Hobbs. Don’t you worry, young man!’
‘Yippee!’ yelled Oscar, and splashed his dad to celebrate.
Mark’s face was grim as he watched his son swim away from him. Now he had to work out how to leave work early enough to make it to the school before the 8 p.m. deadline.
Meanwhile, a few yards away in the ladies’ changing room, Nicky drew back the plastic curtain, looked down at her eldest niece and did a double take.
‘Cherub,’ she said in shock, ‘you’ll get us arrested.’
Claire had phoned her an hour previously, in a state of desperation. She needed to buy Abigail some new school shoes before Monday, because some bully had nicked hers. (Nicky knew how much Abigail hated her shoes, but kept mum.) Claire had managed to fob Isabel off on Derek, which made a change, but Sarah-Jane was refusing to join either and was insisting she spend the morning with Aunty Nix.
Secretly, Nicky was rather relieved. She’d been getting depressed at how much her work was eating into her spare time, and she desperately needed to get out of her place. And a spot of exercise would do her the world of good, clear her brain. Especially at that posh pool near her sister’s place, where the changing rooms didn’t make you want to rush round with a mop before taking off your clothes.
‘OK,’ she had told her sister, ‘I’ll take her swimming, on one condition.’
‘Anything,’ Claire promised.
‘Afterwards, over a big bottle of wine, you listen to my sordid little love-life problem and help me sort my head out.’
Claire cheered so loudly down the phone Nicky had to move it away from her ear.
So now, here she was, staring at her niece, feeling suddenly old.
‘When the hell did you grow up?’ she asked.
Sarah-Jane laughed. ‘Shut up.’
‘No, really,’ said Nicky. ‘Last time I looked, you were in nappies.’
They walked through to their lockers.
‘You do realise that if you go out like that, I’m going to have to follow you round as your chaperone?’ said Nicky.
Sarah-Jane snorted.
‘I’m telling you,’ said Nicky, ‘I’ll be beating them off with a stick.’ She looked around the changing room muttering, ‘Now, where can I find a stick?’
Sarah-Jane bent down to pick up her towel.
‘Whoa!’ cried out Nicky. ‘Since when did they make bikini bottoms out of string?’
Sarah-Jane laughed again, blushing furiously.
‘Sarah-Jane, chuck, I’m seriously concerned. You’ll have old men following you round the pool.’
Sarah-Jane stopped smiling. ‘Really? That’s horrid.’
She held her niece by the shoulders and walked her over to a full-length mirror. They looked at each other in the mirror and smiled. Sarah-Jane was only half a head shorter than her.
‘You are a beautiful girl,’ Nicky told her niece. Sarah-Jane beamed. ‘But, sweetheart, you’re dressed like a woman. You’re only ten years old.’
‘And a half.’
‘And a half. Sweetheart,’ she said softly, ‘you look like a sixteen-year-old.’
Sarah-Jane’s mouth opened and her eyes sparkled. Nicky spoke softly.
‘A sixteen-year-old hussy.’
The sparkle in her eyes moistened.
‘And you’ve got the rest of your life to look like a sixteen-year-old hussy.’ She winked and Sarah-Jane smiled. ‘Do you have a different swimming costume on you?’ she asked gently.
Sarah-Jane nodded. She had the school one her mother had packed. She went and changed into it. When she pulled back the curtain, Nicky wolf-whistled.
‘Shall we get some jewellery beads afterwards? We can make a bracelet,’ she said. Sarah-Jane nodded enthusiastically.
By the time they reached the edge of the enormous pool, it was almost full.
‘Remember,’ warned Nicky, ‘I’m a bit short-sighted. I can’t see further than that column over there. Don’t go too far.’
And Sarah-Jane dived off, splashing Nicky in the face. Nicky edged to the nearest steps down into the pool and started a slow, even breaststroke along its edge.
She didn’t hear Oscar at first because her ears were too full of water. But after a moment, she realised that the wildly gesticulating boy in front of her was him. She squealed back at him and gave his cheek a little pinch. She somehow felt it wouldn’t be appropriate for her to get too close – not while wearing a bikini. She trod water, keeping everything underwater except her face.
‘I’m here with my dad!’ cried Oscar.
‘Oh, really?’ replied Nicky. ‘Fantastic! Perhaps I could say a quick hello!’
Oscar’s face brightened. ‘I’ll go and get him. He’s coming to Parents’ Evening!’
‘That’s wonderful! I’ll wait here.’
Oscar dived off and swam away at great speed. As she waited, Nicky did wonder if this was the best way to finally meet Oscar’s father, seeing as she was basically wearing brightly coloured underwear. She scrunched up her eyes to see where Oscar was, but he’d gone out of her visual range. She leant on the edge of the pool, and scanned the slightly blurred faces over at the deep end. She wondered which of the men was Oscar’s father.
At first, Mark didn’t understand what Oscar was saying.
‘Miss Hobbs is here!’ yelled Oscar through the water. ‘Miss Hobbs is here! I’ve just seen her! She wants to meet you! Miss Hobbs! She’s here! She wants to meet you!’
When the words finally started making sense to Mark, he almost wet the pool. This was not the place to feel superior enough to give a teacher a rocket. For a start, he was wearing his swimming trunks. God only knew what she’d be wearing. A Victorian bathing costume, hopefully, under a dress. Secondly, he needed to prepare himself before coming face to face with any teacher, let alone Oscar’s. He’d never liked teachers, had always been petrified of them, and age had not done anything to improve his fear. Just the smell of classrooms made him want to puke. Thirdly, he knew it was going to be ugly when he met her and he didn’t want Oscar to see him scrape the floor with som
eone the boy liked. Or worse, he didn’t want Oscar see him dissolve in front of some old harridan.
Oscar stopped splashing and looked at his dad.
‘Dad?’
Mark just shook his head. ‘There’s a time and a place, Osc. And this is neither. I’m sure she’ll understand.’
Oscar didn’t even bother to argue. He just turned his back, muttered ‘I knew it’, and swam away. Mark also turned his back and tried to swim into the densest patch of people. The last thing he wanted was for the old bat to spot him and come and find him.
By the time Nicky could finally distinguish Oscar swimming into her range of vision and saw that he was by himself, she was not remotely surprised. What had she expected? His father carrying him proudly on his shoulders, beaming with love, and laughing at his good fortune in meeting the woman who spent every day with his son?
‘Sorry,’ said Oscar. ‘Um, I couldn’t find him.’
They both knew he was lying. Nicky even wondered if he’d made up the fact that his dad was here at all. He was probably here with Daisy and Lilith again.
She gave him her best smile.
‘Not to worry,’ she said, her voice upbeat. ‘Probably not the best place to meet him anyway.’
‘Yeah, that’s what he said.’ Oscar nodded eagerly.
She and Oscar made a sad little parting and she went back to swimming her even widths amidst the chaotic Saturday-morning crowd. After a while, she decided it was time to get out and started to look for Sarah-Jane.
‘Why don’t you go on the wave tunnel?’ Mark asked Oscar. ‘I’ll catch you when you come out the bottom.’
‘All right,’ said Oscar glumly. ‘You don’t need to catch me though.’
‘Yes I do! It’ll be fun!’
‘Dad.’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m ten.’
‘Oh. Right. OK.’
‘And then we can go home,’ said Oscar. ‘I can play on my PlayStation.’
‘Fine.’
Oscar swam to the far end of the pool and Mark watched him till he was no longer discernable. He thumped the water with his fist. How come something always spoilt what little time they did have together? He swam to the edge and heaved himself out. As he walked slowly to his towel he cast a glance over at the pool. He stopped in his tracks at the sight of a woman standing near one of the plastic tables and chairs, wearing a tight, multi-coloured bikini. He looked at her hair – the water had made it darker and straighter, but yes, it was curly. Corkscrew curly. And she was really wearing that bikini. It was packed with soft pale curves. He watched as she rung out her hair on the floor and a young girl, possibly the same age as Oscar, ran towards her from the pool and, resting her arm on the woman’s hip – one of the most deliciously soft pale curves of all – started towel-drying herself off. He stared as she suddenly flung her head back, spraying water all around her. Then he turned away fast. As he did so, the sharp movement caught her attention. Nicky glanced over, away, and then quickly back again. She stared, towel in hand, at the man turning and walking away. She watched him as he disappeared, his broad shoulders slightly hunched and gleaming with water. The sandy-coloured hair was now wet and dark, but she knew it was the same. She took in all the finer details as quickly as possible. Long, taut legs, topped with clinging trunks which emphasised a bottom tight enough to eat in one; naturally wide, strong upper arms that alluded to healthy exercise rather than time spent pumping iron. She couldn’t take her eyes off him until, gradually, his form lost its sharp edges and slowly grew fuzzy. She was now squinting at him. Then, to her horror, he suddenly turned halfway back towards her, as if he’d just realised he’d forgotten something. She whizzed back round, instinctively sucking in her stomach. Shit. He’d nearly seen her ogling. Heart beating a little faster, she clasped Sarah-Jane firmly by the shoulders and led her into the changing rooms, cursing the fact that you couldn’t go swimming in heels, make-up and clothes.
9
‘RIGHT!’ EXCLAIMED CLAIRE, her eyes bright. ‘I want to hear everything. And I mean everything.’
‘Oh dear,’ muttered Nicky. ‘I may have given you the wrong impression.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, that there’s actually something to tell.’
‘Just tell me. I can’t bear the suspense.’
Nicky sighed. ‘Well, actually, believe it or not, there’s been another development since this morning.’
Claire squealed. ‘Oh my God!’ she said. ‘This is almost as exciting as when I started using Ocado! Tell me everything!’
‘I saw him again,’ said Nicky dramatically. ‘Today. At the pool.’ She paused for dramatic effect. ‘In his trunks.’
Claire paused. ‘Who?’
‘Him!’
Claire’s eyes widened. ‘Who?’ she demanded. ‘Who?’
Nicky sighed deeply.
‘WHO?’ repeated Claire.
‘The bloke I saw the same evening I kissed Rob,’ Nicky told her melancholically.
As Claire’s jaw almost dropped into her wine, Nicky’s head dropped into her hands.
‘Do you mean to tell me,’ asked Claire quietly, ‘that you’re spending your mental energy on someone you’ve only seen instead of on someone you could actually . . . you know . . . play Fill My Sandwich with?’
‘Mummy?’ came Sarah-Jane’s voice from the doorway. Nicky and Claire spun round. Three little faces stared at them. ‘Whose sandwich is being filled?’ asked Sarah-Jane.
‘I want to choose my filling!’ cried Abigail.
‘GO TO BED!’ shouted Claire. ‘NOW! Mummy’s having me time. She’s off duty. Daddy will read you a bedtime story.’
‘Daddy’s asleep on Isabel’s bed,’ said Sarah-Jane, crossing her arms. ‘And anyway, he’s hopeless at reading stories. Absolutely hopeless.’
‘What am I going to do?’ moaned Nicky to Claire. ‘I’m going to marry the wrong man, have children with him and then abandon my family for the right one and ruin everyone’s life.’
‘GO TO BED!’ shouted Claire at the girls.
‘We miss all the fun,’ mumbled Sarah-Jane, as she stomped back upstairs, pushing her younger sisters ahead of her.
‘I want peanut butter and banana in mine,’ said Isabel.
‘Bleagh,’ said Abigail. ‘That’s disgusting. I want cream cheese and jam.’
Claire looked up at Nicky. ‘I can’t even be crude in my own house.’
Nicky stared at her. ‘“Play Fill My Sandwich with”?’ she repeated, slowly.
Claire started laughing. ‘The walls have ears in this house. I was trying to say it without saying it.’
Nicky snorted. ‘What with? Mother-of-three rhyming slang?’
‘Don’t change the subject,’ said Claire. ‘What the hell is going on with you and Rob?’
‘Well, that’s just the problem,’ said Nicky. ‘I was absolutely convinced that it was over.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we had this amazing kiss –’
‘Oh yeah, that sounds over –’
‘– and I genuinely didn’t want to take it any further. I was completely and utterly unmoved. Emotionally, I mean; physically, I was a wreck. But then the next day, when I was bracing myself to confront him and tell him that I was only interested in him as a friend, blah blah blah, the bastard beat me to it.’
‘Bastard!’
‘And I felt . . . strangely disappointed.’
Claire held Nicky’s hand across the table.
‘Nix,’ she said softly, ‘how do you feel about him?’
Nicky moaned. ‘I get motion sickness just thinking about him. The thing is, we finally kissed as adults, not as hormonal teenagers, and there were absolutely no fireworks. Fact. So. It’s over.’
Claire let out an almost hysterical burst of laughter. ‘Fireworks?’ she cried. ‘What the hell have fireworks got to do with anything? That is adult kissing! Real love isn’t about fireworks. It’s about safety, security, trust, respect and sharin
g a mortgage.’
Nicky looked at her sister. ‘Oh well, that’s really won me over,’ she muttered, pouring herself more wine.
‘I’m sorry,’ Claire firmly told her sister, ‘but it’s a no-brainer.’
‘Good,’ muttered Nicky. ‘That should help.’
‘This is what you have to do,’ Claire said. ‘Listen to me. You have to stop fantasising about strangers who have wives and children of their own, however “floppy” their hair is and “wide-set” their “blue-green” eyes are. You have to follow all your gut instincts and go for Rob, have two – possibly three – children with him, and live Happily Ever After.’ Claire finished her glass of wine. ‘You’re simply too fussy, Nix, that’s why you’re still single.’
Nicky stared.
‘Look at this kitchen,’ demanded Claire suddenly.
Nicky frowned. ‘Eh?’
‘Look at it.’
Nicky looked round the kitchen.
Claire spoke without taking her eyes off Nicky. ‘Couple of dodgy doors coming off the hinges, sink’s too small, no dishwasher. But! It’s still a kitchen – my kitchen – and it’s a hell of a sight better than no kitchen at all. Where would I be with no kitchen?’
‘In a restaurant?’ tried Nicky.
‘And it’s exactly the same with men,’ concluded Claire. ‘You may think you’re holding out for the Smegging dishwasher, but the fact is you just haven’t got one.’
‘I have got a kitchen,’ said Nicky. ‘And a dishwasher. And it’s a Smeg.’
‘I’m talking metaphorically, Nick.’
Nicky decided now was not the time to tell her sister she was talking out of her metaphorical arse. Claire was still talking.
‘The point is,’ she continued, ‘you’re holding out for a fantasy figure, when a perfectly decent, serviceable man – who happens to be particularly pleasing on the eye – is staring you in the face, and if you don’t snap him up quickly, someone else will and that will be that. And you’ll be alone, while someone else happily compromises with the man who was meant to be yours.’
‘You mean,’ said Nicky gravely, ‘someone else will be having their sandwich filled by him?’
Claire nodded firmly. ‘And their tiles grouted.’
The Learning Curve Page 14
