Picnics in Hyde Park

by Nikki Moore

  Matt tilted his head questioningly.

  ‘It’s a task and reward system,’ she explained, gesturing at Jasper and pointing at her watch. ‘They get to do something of their choice the following day, or pick a treat.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Genius.’

  ‘I’d reserve judgement until we see how well it works, or doesn’t work, tonight,’ Zoe chuckled, some of her earlier awkwardness fading away. If he could act like nothing had happened between them, so could she.

  As predicted, it was a nightmare getting the kids into bed. While she was wiped, they were energised, excited and continued to rattle on about their day. Aimee was quicker to settle with a promise that she could read an extra chapter of her book at bedtime the following night, but Jasper tried every trick under the sun to delay. A toilet trip, needing to tell Daddy something really important that couldn’t possible wait until the next morning, another wee, a water to drink, he was too hot then too cold and his bed was too lumpy.

  In the end Zoe promised to take him out shopping for a sticker chart the following Monday, explaining that if he could get a gold star at least four days in a week he could pick an item out of her special prize box. Unknown to him, and Matt as yet, she was also going to remove all the gadgets and gizmos from his room and put them in the playroom. He needed fresh air and intellectual challenges, not an overload of consoles and tablets. The promise of reward for good behaviour might help prevent any temper tantrums about the limited technology time.

  Matt watched with interest while she talked to both children, and then hugged them goodnight once she had. Zoe was pleased to see the cuddling was starting to look and feel more natural.

  When the two of them finally closed the kid’s doors and stood in the hallway, Matt leaned back against the wall, pretending to mop his brow. ‘Phew, that was hard work. I don’t know how you do it.’

  ‘It’s my job,’ she quipped, ‘and it’s usually quicker than that.’ She slumped against the opposite wall, exhausted. ‘They were over-excited from our mini-adventure. I’d hoped they’d be tired out by the time we got back, but…’ she shrugged feelingly.

  ‘Fancy a glass of wine in the garden then?’

  She hesitated. ‘I’m pretty tired.’

  ‘We need to talk, don’t we? Plus, you get a lie-in tomorrow.’

  Studying his open expression, she couldn’t see how to reasonably refuse without looking petty or like she was upset with him. Besides, a glass of wine outside had already been in her plans. ‘Yes. Okay, a wine would be lovely, thanks.’ With her eyes on his broad back, she followed him down the spiral staircase.

  They were soon settled on matching wooden sun loungers on the decking overlooking the large green lawn and abundant apple tree ripe with fruit. The white rose bed was in full bloom, lending a quaint English beauty to the hidden garden in the heart of London. Vibrant turquoise and mauve flowers in pots surrounded Matt and Zoe, their delicate floral scent filling the air. A dewy glass of white wine sat on a low table between the loungers for her, with a condensation covered beer for him. The air was still warm so there was no need for the cardigan she’d left hanging over the deck railing that morning after her daily dawn coffee. Although they were only a few streets away from the main Knightsbridge Road, there was surprisingly little traffic to be heard, as if a strange hush had fallen over the city.

  ‘Thank you for giving them such a fantastic day.’ Matt leaned over to pick up his pint and took a few deep gulps, eyes on her the whole time.

  She wiggled on the lounger cushion self-consciously. ‘No problem.’

  ‘They seemed really happy. You must have had fun.’ He looked wistful.

  ‘I’ve got some nice photos on my phone if you want to take a look. Yeah, it was a nice treat for them, but it really doesn’t take that much to keep kids happy,’ she rubbed the bridge of her nose, ‘just some time and attention. If there’s a fun activity thrown in, even better.’

  He rolled his eyes, ‘Yeah, yeah,’ he teased, ‘I get it. I need to spend time with them. Which is why you’ll be pleased to hear I’ve cleared my diary and am spending the day with them tomorrow. I was thinking of taking them to the Harry Potter studio tour.’

  ‘Matt, that’s brilliant. I’m so pleased.’

  ‘Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to join us?’ he said casually. ‘I know it’s your day off, but—’

  ‘Sorry, I can’t,’ she avoided his gaze by leaning forward to pick up her white wine. The curved glass was cool and smooth against her fingertips. She was tempted to say yes to Matt, but spending down-time with them all as a family wasn’t going to help her see things any more clearly. Besides, she had a commitment to keep. It was time to finally sort things out with her aunt, if that was possible. Five years was too long a time for the divide between them not to have been bridged. ‘I’ve made arrangements to see my—’ she paused, realising it wasn’t a good idea to mention Ruth by name in case Melody ever had, ‘a friend tomorrow. I’m also going out tomorrow night. But thank you. It sounds like fun. It’s probably just as well you get a chance to bond with them alone,’ she added, taking a big gulp of wine, ‘if I was there I’d probably wade in all the time.’

  ‘A friend, huh?’ For a moment he looked like he was going to ask more. Instead he added, ‘As for wading in, it wouldn’t bother me.’

  ‘But the children need to see you as an authority figure too,’ she answered. Deflecting any further conversation. ‘Nice wine by the way, what is it?’

  ‘Pinot Noir,’ he supplied, looking disappointed. ‘Anyway, if you don’t want to come tomorrow that’s fine. Another time maybe.’

  ‘Maybe,’ glugging some more wine back, Zoe exhaled, letting the edgy notes of a Jessie J song spin her away for a moment, tapping her free hand on her thigh. Matt had put the radio on and opened the kitchen window so they had background music and Zoe could already feel relaxation beginning to seep into her muscles. Her eyelids were becoming heavy with wine and a hectic day in the sun with the kids. She rested back in the lounger, tipping her face to the wide, azure sky over the tops of neighbouring houses and trees. It was gone nine o’clock but was still light, with no trace of twilight. However, the blue of the sky was softer and vaguer than it had been that afternoon and the ferocious heat of the sun’s rays had abated.

  Matt seemed content to listen to the music and stare off into the garden, pint glass balanced on his knee and tense shoulders unwinding an inch at a time.

  The silence stretched out, but it was comfortable.

  Zoe released a long, low sigh. For the first time since leaving New York, she felt really and truly content. It hadn’t been that long since the break-up but the five years with Greg were already hazy, like they’d been part of somebody else’s life. It was surprising how quickly you could adjust to change if you had to. She was also surprised to realise it was a life she wasn’t necessarily that sad to have left behind. Though thinking she was happy at the time, she was starting to wonder if working in America and marrying Greg would have been settling, rather than truly living. There had been no grand passion between them like in the movies, and she was starting to question if she’d really loved him. The shape and sound of her ex was already dissipating, the idea of him like a mirage rippling in the distance.

  The pain and embarrassment of his betrayal was still there, niggling away under her skin like a splinter, but the fury had lessened and relief was starting to creep in. Yes, maybe she’d had a lucky escape. If he’d cheated on her a few weeks before their wedding, then why not once they were married or later, when there were children on the way? When confronted, Greg hadn’t been able to articulate why it had happened. And if he didn’t know why, what would stop him doing it again?

  She glanced across at Matt, his black hair striking against his light grey t-shirt, the fabric pulling taut across his chest and shoulders. This was her life now, her normality. Her boss, his kids, the luxury home, summer in London.

  But it was all a daydream, or a ni
ghtmare, depending on how you looked at it.

  She shook her head. These weren’t the kind of thoughts to have in front of him. He might see the truth written on her face. ‘You always have music on,’ she murmured. ‘When you’re not producing it, you’re listening to it.’

  ‘Music’s in my soul, it takes me to another place. I just love closing my eyes and letting the running beat and notes wash over me, or energise me. It can make me laugh, or smile or get me,’ he put a fist to his chest, ‘right here. It’s powerful stuff.’

  ‘I feel that way about reading,’ she confided, drinking her wine, the liquid cool and crisp on her tongue with a faint echo of peaches and lemon. ‘I can travel to different times or lands and live inside someone else’s head rather than my own.’ She chuckled, ‘No wonder Aimee and I get on so well.’

  ‘Yes, I noticed. I also noticed loads of boxes of books in your room. How come you haven’t unpacked them?’

  ‘There’s no bookcase to fit them all in, and I’ve got a bit of a thing about them needing to be arranged in orderly rows, according to genre and then within that alphabetically.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re very neat. You tidy up as you go along, your stuff is always folded, you don’t leave things lying around the house. In that way you’re the complete opposite to Melody, who always left a trail of mess in her wake.’

  She nodded and kept her mouth shut to stop from blurting out that Mel had been the same when they’d been kids. It was the only thing she and Ruth had ever disagreed about, their aunt constantly having to remind her youngest niece to pick up after herself. While Ruth thought Melody had got better, in truth it was that Zoe had covered for her, sweeping along behind her putting things away and sorting her laundry.

  ‘My office must horrify you then,’ Matt remarked, ‘the overflowing bin and all the paperwork. It’s not usually that bad, but without Sadie it’s got a bit out of control.’

  ‘Yep,’ she quipped, ‘stepping into your office traumatises me, which is why I don’t come in that often. I also don’t want to encounter the grumpy troll who lives in there sometimes.’

  Throwing back his head he unloosed a husky laugh that made her smile and set a flock of butterflies free in her tummy. ‘Sorry about that,’ he replied, ‘I know I can be a bit of a grump at times. I don’t mean to be, I just get caught up in what I’m doing. But I’m getting better, right?’

  ‘A little. But you could spend a bit less time down in your man cave, Matt. It would be nice for us to see you more often.’

  ‘It’s not a man cave,’ he said with a straight face but a twinkle in his eye, ‘it’s a studio, and very important work goes on there, I’ll have you know.’

  Waving a hand, ‘It’s in the basement, it’s dark, you have a mini-fridge in there full of drinks and snacks, and no-one else is allowed in. It’s a man cave.’ She studied his lean face, the chiselled cheekbones and slash of dark eyebrows. ‘Was it always music for you? Did you ever want to do anything else?’

  ‘No, it was always music. That was always the dream,’ he spoke with absolute certainty. ‘It was the only thing that really made me happy when I was young. I couldn’t stand the stilted atmosphere at home during the holidays. My parents are good people—both retired senior government officials and currently travelling the world on Mum’s family money—but they’re both very reserved. There wasn’t much warmth or fun growing up. Stephen and I were sent to boarding school when we were old enough, because our parents travelled a lot for work or sometimes had overseas postings. I used to escape to my room to listen to music when I came home between term times.’ One side of his mouth quirked up. ‘And when all the other boys at boarding school were playing tennis or learning the violin, I was up in my dorm listening to techno and teaching myself to play the guitar and electric keyboard.’

  Her laughter pealed out into the evening air. ‘Techno? You don’t strike me as that kind of guy. Most of your acts are Pop, or R ‘n’ B, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, they are. But I listened, and still do, to all sorts of music. Dance, Pop, Jazz, Blues, Rap, R ‘n’ B, Opera. Every type of music is inspiring in a different way. Every type of music means something to the person listening.’

  ‘And every piece of music tells a story.’

  ‘Yes,’ he grinned so widely she was almost blinded by his straight white teeth, ‘exactly.’

  ‘You play instruments, that’s so cool. I’d love to be talented in that way. I always wanted to learn something but never got round to it.’

  ‘Actually, I play on some of the tracks I produce but don’t put my name to them.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t want to be known for being a musician, or have the focus on me. I want to help other people tell their stories. I love working with artists or bands, helping the finished song emerge from the raw ideas and melodies. Mixing the sound until the magic comes out.’

  ‘But what about telling your own story?’ she shifted around on her side to face him, propping her right arm along the back of the lounger, glass clutched in her left hand.

  ‘Nah, that would be boring,’ he said dismissively. ‘No one would be interested.’

  ‘I am,’ she blurted before she could think better of it, the wine making her feel mellow and a teensy bit reckless. ‘Go on.’

  ‘There’s not much to tell.’ Taking a contemplative gulp of beer, he wiped some white froth off his top lip. ‘There’s not that much to add about my childhood and teens.’

  ‘Oh, come on. There has to be. At least about your teens. What about girls, and parties, and hanging out with mates? And if your parents were posted overseas you must have got the opportunity to travel when you visited them?’

  ‘Not really.’ He looked uncomfortable, rubbing his lip scar. ‘I guess there’s no harm in telling you. After all, you are subject to that confidentiality clause.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ she murmured, thinking of the article she’d started about him on her laptop. A squirming sensation wriggled along her spine and she prayed her face wouldn’t go red.

  ‘Well, to be honest,’ Matt explained, ‘they didn’t send for us that often. I remember a few airports and an embassy, but really I stayed at boarding school most of the time. To be honest, I was happier alone with my music. Of course I went to parties—I even DJ’d occasionally—and there were girlfriends, but again that was hard because of being at an all-boys school and not going home much. I was part of a crowd of boys, but I preferred to have a few quality friends rather than being Mr Popular. Nowadays I’ve always got one eye over my shoulder about my privacy, so it’s simpler to keep a few people close, which is why there’s only really Noel and Stephen. I met Noel when I was eighteen. We were in a house-share together in Wembley.’

  ‘Wembley?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He chuckled. ‘The roughest part. I was still on my just because I’m a rich kid it doesn’t mean I can’t live a normal life kick. My parents were horrified and would never come visit me there, but it was what I wanted. I had a pretty great time during those three years.’

  ‘Good.’ It was fascinating, this peek into the real Matt Reilly. She could understand why he was the insular, passionate, single-minded guy who spent hours alone in his studio, shut away from the real world. After all, he’d spent numerous, lonely years at a boarding school because the people who were supposed to love him the most—his parents—had sent him away for the sake of convenience. Unless that was unfair; maybe they’d wanted to give their sons the stability they couldn’t because of their jobs. She realised Matt was looking at her expectantly. ‘As for friends, there’s nothing wrong with being selective about who you spend your time with,’ she added. ‘I’m the same.’

  ‘Really?’ he looked bemused.

  ‘Yes.’ She paused in the act of lifting her glass to her mouth. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

  Putting his pint down, he turned on his seat, mirroring her pose so he could talk to her face on. ‘It’s just that you’re so confident,
and warm. I imagined you with a wide circle of friends, the person in the centre of the crowd.’

  Her cheeks heated. Although his comment had been delivered in a matter of fact tone, it sounded like a compliment and she felt like a flustered schoolgirl. ‘Thanks, but not really. I was friends with a lot of the American nannies in the neighbourhood I lived in for my last job, but it was a loose kind of friendship created by geographic proximity and our jobs more than anything. I have two best friends,’ three when you included Melody, who didn’t seem to be her biggest fan at the moment, ‘who live here in London. Frankie is lovely, just a really nice, considerate person. She works in retail and has her own freelance photography business, and is madly in love with her boyfriend Zack, who apparently is very different to her last boyfriend. Not that I’ve met Zack yet,’ she said with regret. ‘Then there’s Rayne.’

  ‘Rayne? That’s an unusual name.’

  ‘Her parents were new-age. She’s a real character. Independent, feisty, outspoken, not afraid to be different.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘At uni she was the girl with the piercings and the skimpy, colourful clothes who did what she wanted and didn’t care what people thought. She still is, to a degree. She has that amazing effortless sense of style that makes me feel boring in comparison, and says what she thinks. I love her individuality.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think you’re too shabby,’ he mused, before straightening up and clearing his throat. ‘I mean she uh, sounds like some of my artists. You said her parents were new-age?’

  She kept her face blank but smiled inwardly at his awkwardness. There was something kind of endearing about his lack of smoothness when it came to women. ‘They died in a motorway smash a year before she joined us at Loughborough University. It was something we had in common, losing both parents. Rayne, Frankie and I got on really well straight away, although I’m a couple of years older than them because I worked for a few years before taking my degree. Rayne’s just got back together with her uni boyfriend after they bumped into each other at Wimbledon last month. He, Adam, used to call the three of us the Dark Trinity because we all have dark hair. There’s also Lily,’ she thought of the petite blonde who looked like the American actress Amanda Seyfried, ‘but she’s more reserved and was closer to Rayne.’