Playgroups and Prosecco

by Jo Middleton

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘although there were already no feelings there. That was just a nail in the coffin.’

  ‘What do you mean “no feelings”?’ he said, leaning forwards. ‘We have been married in between, you know. Are you saying there were feelings there when we were together?’

  ‘Not romantic feelings,’ I reassured him.

  This was difficult. I wanted to be as honest as I could, but it felt difficult to describe the power that I’d felt Cam had over me.

  ‘I guess I was scared that I was going to feel angry, or out of control, that he might be able to manipulate me,’ I said. ‘It’s not that I thought I’d fall madly in love with him or anything, but the way he left – well, it’s always felt as though I wasn’t allowed to decide how things ended. It’s always felt a bit like something unfinished, but when I saw him I realised I’d been wrong the whole time – it was finished. I didn’t feel anything at all. I want to say pity but honestly, not even that. Just … nothing.’

  I waited then for a few minutes while Ian stared at the ground between his feet.

  ‘It’s a lot to take in,’ he said calmly. His reasonableness is one of the things that has always made him such a great friend – he never flies off the handle, he takes his time to consider things.

  ‘Of course,’ I said.

  Another few minutes of silence.

  ‘So what happens next?’ Ian asked eventually, looking back up at me. ‘Have you spoken to Flo?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ I said. ‘You’re her dad, Ian. I don’t care what Cam says or does: in my heart – and in hers – you’re her dad, and whatever we do next we do together.’

  It all got a bit messy then. I started to cry and when I looked at Ian he was crying too. I tried to hug him but I ended up spilling tea in his lap and then we both laughed and I knew everything was going to be OK, no matter what happened.

  We decided we wanted to do something as soon as we could, so Ian is going to come over tomorrow night once Jess is asleep and I’m going to prep Flo.

  Monday 4 June

  Bad start to the day when I was woken up by the sound of the binmen and realised I’d forgotten to take out the bins. I ran downstairs and out into the street in my pyjamas but they were already turning back out on to the main road. Waved awkwardly to my neighbour across the road who was getting in his car (fully clothed).

  At 8.30 p.m., when Jess had finally given up complaining about tummy ache, I messaged Ian. I’d already had a word with Flo earlier in the evening to let her know Ian was coming over. I had tried to be all casual and reassuring about it but it was a bit tricky without being able to tell her what it was about and she was very quiet over tea.

  I really wanted a glass of wine while I waited for Ian but I also wanted to seem super calm and in control for Flo, so I resisted the call of the Chardonnay from the fridge door.

  When Ian arrived, he looked fidgety. He kissed me on the cheek and whispered, ‘I’m terrified’ in my ear. I gave him a smile which I hoped said, ‘It’s going to be OK. You’re a brilliant dad and Flo and I love you very much’ but that’s a lot to convey in a split second, so who knows?

  Flo was in the lounge watching TV, so we went through. Flo was sitting under a blanket with it pulled right up under her chin.

  ‘Hey, Dad,’ she said as Ian came in.

  ‘Hey, sweetheart,’ he said, ‘what are you watching?’

  ‘Just Friends,’ she said, switching it off. ‘So … what’s going on?’

  ‘Well,’ I said, leaning forward and looking right at her, ‘first of all I want you to know that we both love you.’

  Ian laughed, which broke the tension. ‘Frankie!’ he said. ‘You’re making it sound as though one of us is dying! Flo, please don’t worry – your mother is doing her “concerned parent” bit, not deliberately trying to scare you.’

  I frowned at him, but Flo was laughing, so I stopped. Perhaps I had been a bit full on.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘I’m just not very good at this sort of thing.’

  Fortunately, Ian is, so he took the lead. We told her about her father getting in touch and how I had met with him and how, if she wanted to, she could see him, and we could be there or not be there, whatever made her feel most comfortable.

  We’d agreed to keep it very straightforward, but no pressure. We didn’t tell her about the stealing – we knew that wouldn’t help matters. We just wanted to give her the basic facts and to be as supportive as possible. Ian was amazing. It was hard enough for me as her mum, but there’s Ian, not even her biological father, having to offer to be there when she meets this other man. I can’t even imagine how that must feel. None of that was on his face, though; only concern for Flo.

  She was quiet for quite a long time after we’d finished our bit.

  ‘Has he had any other children?’ she asked. I hadn’t been expecting that to be her first question.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘He didn’t say that he had, but I didn’t actually think to ask. I can find out for sure, though?’

  ‘OK,’ said Flo.

  She was quiet again.

  ‘I don’t really know,’ she said eventually. ‘Honestly, I’m not that fussed – he’s the one who left and we’ve always done perfectly fine without him.’

  ‘That’s true,’ I said. She didn’t look convinced though.

  ‘But then maybe it would be good to get some closure?’ she said. ‘I might regret it if I didn’t meet him.’ She’s so bloody mature sometimes, for a fourteen-year-old, she makes me so proud. ‘So maybe I should meet him, just to see. If you didn’t mind, Dad?’ She looked at Ian.

  ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I think you’re right.’

  ‘But it wouldn’t be because I want him to be my dad,’ she said, ‘it’s just to see.’

  ‘It’s OK, Flo,’ said Ian, getting up and giving her a hug, ‘don’t think you’d get rid of me that easily. You’re going to be my girl, no matter what.’

  I had a little cough at this point to sort my face out.

  We agreed that I’d message Cam and we would arrange to see him. I fetched the Chardonnay and two glasses and a packet of Quavers for Flo and we all watched Friends until bedtime.

  Tuesday 5 June

  Messaged Cam. No reply.

  Wednesday 6 June

  Desk items considered briefly as weapons but deemed unsuitable – 6. Jaffa Cakes eaten directly from desk drawer – 5. (Totally understandable in the context.)

  I had a letter back about one of my fundraising applications at work today. I’d only sent it off a couple of weeks ago and I wasn’t sure if the quick response was a good or a bad thing. Turns out it was bad.

  ‘Many thanks for your application blah blah. We regret to inform you that your application has not been successful blah blah. At the current time our available funds are very limited and we didn’t feel that your project showed enough measurable benefit for our target groups etc.’

  I took it in to show Steve. He read the whole thing, painfully slowly, with his lips pursed, shaking his head at intervals.

  ‘It’s pretty disappointing, Frankie,’ he said, handing the letter back. He carefully laced his fingers together and made a point with his index fingers, like I do when I’m playing ‘Here’s the church, here’s the steeple’ with Jess. He rested his index fingers on his mouth and looked at me over the top of them. ‘It’s a shame that you weren’t able to make the project fit the funding well enough.’

  I scanned his desk for something to hit him with.

  ‘I think the whole thing about fundraising,’ I said, ‘is that the project has to be created with the need in mind and then you find the right funding for it. You can’t make something fit. This project you wanted to do and the funder you wanted me to apply to just didn’t match.’

  I’ve tried to tell him this several times over the last few months, but he was insistent that we go with the list that Angela had identified.

  ‘Isn’t it the job of the fundrais
er though to work their magic and create that connection?’

  Book? Only paperback, probably wouldn’t hurt him enough. Hole punch? That might do it. My hand twitched.

  ‘As I keep saying, Steve, I’m not a fundraiser, and I’m definitely not a magician. I have an English literature degree and I work here purely out of convenience. I try to make the best of it because it fits around my family. I tolerate you at best, Steve, although I have to admit it’s difficult working with someone who clearly doesn’t have a clue what they’re doing.’

  Steve looked appalled.

  I raised my eyebrows, gave him a stare, then I turned around and left his office, slamming the door behind me. I sat down at my desk. I wanted to high five someone but there was no one there so I had to make do with messaging WIB and telling them all about it.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Sierra, ‘I’m impressed! Could you come round and sort Fox out this afternoon, maybe? He’s just told me I’m a big fat poo that should be shut in a box.’

  Thursday 7 June

  Reply from Cam. We arranged to meet him tomorrow afternoon. Ian is going to come over and stay with Jess. Flo seems OK about it, but she can be pretty hard to read sometimes. She says she doesn’t remember him, so I suppose it’s difficult to have very much of an emotional connection with someone who is basically a stranger.

  Friday 8 June

  Flo was quiet in the car on the way to meet Cam, but not sobbing or chewing her knuckles or anything. I asked if there was anything she wanted to know beforehand, or anything she wanted me to ask or not ask. She told me I really needed to chill out. She was probably right.

  We’d arranged to meet back at the bike café at four o’clock. We were about ten minutes early, so I got us both tea and cake and we talked a bit about school, Flo looking up at the door every time someone came in.

  At 4.15 there was still no sign of Cam and no messages. Flo was starting to look a bit dejected. I felt responsible for him, for her – for everybody, really. You’d think after ten years that he would make the effort to show up on time, wouldn’t you? We waited another fifteen minutes, but still nothing. I decided to call him. He answered after three rings.

  ‘Hey, Franny!’ he said. ‘How’s things?’

  ‘How’s things?’ I said, trying to be calm. ‘We’ve been waiting for you for half an hour at the bike café!’

  ‘Oh shit, sorry!’ he said. ‘Was that today? I thought it was tomorrow. God, I’m so sorry, Franny.’

  ‘We can hang on if you want to come now?’ I suggested. I thought I could hear laughter in the background.

  ‘Err …’ he said, ‘now isn’t really a good time, to be honest. It’s the camping site – we’ve had a bit of an issue and I need to get it sorted ASAP.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, sarcastically, ‘busy time of the year for tents, I guess.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said, totally missing the sarcasm, ‘I’m so glad you understand, Franny. How about next week instead? Wednesday, maybe?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, just wanting him gone now, ‘Wednesday.’ I hung up the phone.

  ‘He’s not coming, is he?’ asked Flo.

  ‘I’m so sorry, darling,’ I said, ‘he got the days confused and he has this big thing at work …’

  ‘I heard, Mum,’ she said, ‘and it’s OK, it’s not your fault. Let’s not go home yet, though – it’s nice here just us.’

  So we stayed and ate more cake and Flo told me about Sasha’s brother setting off the fire alarms at school. It was nice, just us.

  Monday 11 June

  Minutes spent worrying about whether or not I’m a good parent because I don’t like reading books that rhyme – 38. Glasses of wine to numb the guilt – 2.

  Jess asked me this evening if I still like her.

  ‘Of course I like you!’ I said, scooping her up and kissing her squidgy cheeks. ‘I love you, too! Why would you ask that?’

  ‘Because you are always looking at your phone and you don’t watch properly when I do dances or shows with the ponies and you haven’t read me any Famous Five for ages.’

  I felt awful.

  I’ve been so preoccupied over the last few weeks with Cam and Flo and work that I probably have been neglecting her. When a three-year-old spells it out to you, though, it does not make you feel good about yourself.

  I made a big fuss of bedtime and got Flo to come into Jess’s room to listen to some Famous Five with us. I moved Jess on to my own favourite children’s books as soon as I could because as much as it looks like a blissful bonding moment on TV shows, reading about Poppy and Sam’s adventures on the farm again and again, every night for six months, makes me want to put the book down and throw myself under the nearest bit of farm machinery while Rusty and the children watch my blood and bones get spewed out on to the ‘field of ripe corn’.

  I used to feel terrible about it, because I love books and I want my children to love books and every other parent I speak to talks about story time like it’s the best thing to happen to them since they were single and child-free and had that one night of passion with the Swedish Pilates instructor from the gym, when their bodies were still tight and bendy, but I just found it so tedious.

  Famous Five, though – you know where you are with a romp about smugglers in secret passages. Also, I tell myself that Jess is really just listening to the soothing sound of my voice and not noticing the gender stereotypes and casual racism.

  Tuesday 12 June

  Men on Tinder discounted based purely on inability to use capital letters properly in their bio – 13. Further men discounted for including the line ‘does anyone even read this? Lol’ in their bio – 6.

  Work is decidedly tense since my ‘chat’ with Steve last week. He looks almost scared of me, but also sort of shifty, as if he might be plotting some horrible revenge. I’m talking to him with the edge in my voice that I use when Flo has done something to annoy me and hasn’t yet apologised.

  Cecilia noticed the atmosphere when she came in today for a meeting about the summer exhibition. It starts at the end of July and, with all of the fundraising applications I’ve been working on, plans are not as far along as they should be.

  Cecilia took me aside after the meeting to ask if everything was OK. Her eyes were twinkling and she could barely contain herself. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d say you’d had a passionate affair gone wrong!’ she said quietly in the kitchen. ‘It was electric in there!’

  I laughed – a lot.

  I’m taking Flo for a second attempt at seeing Cam after school tomorrow so I told Steve I had to leave early tomorrow for a hospital appointment. He asked what it was about. I told him I was having a cervical examination because I’d been experienced some irregular bleeding. He didn’t ask any more. I expect I will get a sad face on my performance sticker chart.

  I’m really nervous about tomorrow. I tried to talk to Flo about it but she just said she was fine. She was watching a YouTube make-up tutorial and barely looked up. Parenting teens is so difficult because you really have no idea whether they are actually tormented and just putting on a brave face or if, genuinely, the make-up tutorial is just that good. I have watched some and they can be pretty hypnotic, to be honest.

  I had a little play with Tinder to distract me – I’ve neglected it lately. I had matched with a man called Mike. I read his profile and then messaged WIB.

  ‘What does it mean if someone is interested in “exploring a more dynamic idea of a relationship”?’ I asked.

  Sierra replied. ‘It means they want the option to shag about and you have to be OK with it.’

  Unmatched with Mike.

  Wednesday 13 June

  Left work at three to pick up Flo, wishing I actually was going to an invasive cervical exam.

  Cam was already at the café, which was an improvement on last time at least. I feel like this is the point where I should fill in lots of detail about what an emotional experience it was, but honestly? It really wasn’t. Cam was fine – friendl
y and chatty – although he talked more about himself than anything else. Flo seemed OK with it, bored if anything.

  After about forty-five minutes he looked at his watch and made excuses about a work meeting. They hugged awkwardly, like work colleagues who weren’t sure of one another.

  ‘So?’ I said to Flo as soon as he had gone.

  ‘It was fine, I guess,’ said Flo.

  ‘Just fine?’

  ‘Well, no offence, Mum, as I know you must have liked him once,’ she said, ‘but he’s a bit of a dick, isn’t he? All that talk about his creative spirit when his job is just writing about tents?’

  I laughed. ‘He’s certainly always had a bit of a way with words,’ I agreed. ‘Do you think you’ll want to see him again?’

  ‘I don’t mind keeping in touch,’ she said, ‘but I can’t ever see any kind of deep and meaningful father/daughter situation going on. Ian’s my dad, isn’t he? Really.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, giving her a big hug, ‘he really is.’

  We were in the car on the way home when Ian called. Flo answered my phone for me.

  ‘Hey, Dad,’ I heard her say. Then a pause while Ian talked. ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.’ Another pause, and then she laughed. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘I love you too.’

  More silence at Flo’s end and then she turned to me, twisting the phone away from her mouth. ‘Mum,’ she said, ‘Jess is hungry and Dad is ordering pizza – do we want some?’

  ‘Well, dur,’ I said. ‘I think we deserve a pizza, don’t you?’

  She turned back to the phone.

  ‘Mum says yes,’ she said. ‘See you soon!’

  Slightly regretted the seven slices of ham and pineapple when I was lying in bed later on my back and my stomach still looked about four months pregnant, but totally worth it.

  Friday 15 June