Before Amber has a chance to object, Felicity is waving as if she’s trying to flag down a taxi on New Year’s Eve. ‘Oh, Vicar! Vicar, do come and join us!’
‘Hey, guys.’ The Reverend Paul smiles as he approaches us. ‘How are you all?’
‘We’re great,’ says Trudie, ‘although we didn’t expect to see you here. Aren’t you meant to spend Saturday nights at home praying?’
He laughs. ‘I’m here meeting an old friend from out of town so I think God might forgive me. Just this once.’
‘Let me get you a drink, Reverend,’ says Ritchie, taking his arm away from Trudie’s waist to dig out some cash.
‘Oh, thanks,’ replies Paul. ‘I’ll have an orange juice.’
‘Nothing stronger?’ asks Ritchie.
‘Oh, why not? You’ve twisted my arm.’
Trudie nudges Amber. ‘This is looking even more promising,’ she whispers, as Amber’s cheeks turn a ferocious red. ‘You might be able to get him drunk and seduce him.’
Chapter 44
Ryan was once so secretive about his love life that I’d almost become convinced he was dating a member of the secret service. And, to be honest, that suits me fine. I’m not sure I want to hear the gory details of his relationships.
So, as I stand in the hallway, having been collared while I’m still in my dressing-gown, I can’t help feeling uneasy about the conversation we’re having.
‘The thing is,’ he tells me, ‘I’ve been seeing this woman.’
‘O-kay,’ I say, twirling my dressing-gown belt round my finger.
‘She’s called Kristie, and she was the one who was meant to be coming to the black-tie dinner instead of you the other week.’
I try not to resent her.
‘I won’t go into details,’ he continues, ‘but the reason she stood me up was that she was a little pissed at me because . . . well, because she wanted to meet my kids.’
He pauses.
‘Oh, right,’ I mutter, still twirling.
‘And I didn’t want her to.’
‘Um, right.’
My dressing-gown belt is now wound so tightly round my finger that it has turned the shade of a raw Cumberland sausage.
‘But I’ve decided maybe I should give it a go,’ he continues. ‘I mean, it’s not that Kristie and I are particularly serious. It’s just that it’s been three years since . . . Well, maybe I need to introduce the kids to the idea.’ He pauses.
‘Right.’ I can’t help hoping this is the end of the matter. But Ryan is expecting some sort of feedback. He obviously doesn’t realize I’m about as qualified to give romantic advice as a celibate cactus.
‘Well, I think you’re probably right,’ I declare. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because I’m going to introduce them today,’ he replies.
‘Oh . . . oh, well, good,’ I say.
I feel my mood lift: if Ryan’s taking the kids out for the day I can see if Trudie’s available for that shopping trip to Filene’s Basement – a spectacular Boston discount store selling designer goodies you can pass off as something you picked up in Selfridges.
‘Yes, that really is good news,’ I continue. ‘It’ll be nice for you to spend some quality time together as a family and—’
‘You’re coming with us,’ he interrupts.
‘Me?’ I exclaim. ‘I mean, sorry, but why do you need me?’
‘I’m sure everything will be okay,’ he carries on, ignoring me, ‘but I just think there’s a remote chance they might find it a little unsettling. I hope they won’t, but they might. And if they do I need you there.’
‘To do the settling.’
‘You got it,’ he replies cheerfully, heading up the stairs.
Chapter 45
Kristie is a Cindy Crawford lookalike, with cheekbones like window-ledges and a body so toned she must spend seven hours a day doing Buns of Steel . She’s stunning. And it’s not hard to see why Ryan might find her appealing. The kids, on the other hand, despise her the second they set eyes on her.
‘What are your favourite subjects at school?’ she asks, sounding so awkward you can almost hear her voice creaking with the strain.
‘Samuel’s too little to go to school,’ Ruby informs her sulkily. ‘He’s only three.’
‘Oh.’ Kristie purses her lips.
We’re sitting on a blanket at Boston Common, having been for a trip on a swan boat and had an enormous picnic.
Kristie only ate two rocket leaves and a piece of cracker that looked like something you’d feed a rabbit on appetite suppressants. I can’t help reflecting on this guiltily as half a cold pizza and several helpings of Doritos sit heavily in my own stomach, whose bulges I’ve been trying unsuccessfully to mask by keeping my arms crossed for most of the afternoon.
It strikes me that if Jason and I were to meet now for the first time he’d never be attracted to me. He isn’t one of those men who appreciate women’s curves. Although he never said anything when I put on a few pounds, it was obvious he preferred me on the skinny side. God knows what he’d think if he could see how bad my cellulite is, these days.
‘Well, how about you?’ Kristie continues, trying to engage Ruby in something approaching a conversation.
She shrugs and doesn’t answer.
‘Go on, Ruby,’ I coax. ‘Tell Kristie how much you love art.’
‘Art, huh?’ says Kristie, trying again. ‘I used to like art at school too. That was a long time ago, though.’
Ruby doesn’t say anything.
‘I bet you can’t guess how long?’ asks Kristie.
‘Two hundred years?’ Ruby shrugs impishly. I flash her a disapproving look, Ryan suppresses a smile and Kristie clearly wants to strangle her.
‘No,’ she replies, smiling with gritted teeth. ‘Not that long ago, as I’m sure you know, really.’
‘Kristie brought a Frisbee with her,’ announces Ryan, as he stands up and brushes the grass off his jeans. ‘How about a game? Come on, Ruby.’
‘Frisbee’s dumb,’ she replies. Fortunately, Samuel isn’t quite so contemptuous. He jumps up to join in. ‘I play, Daddy, I play!’
‘You’re not being mean to Kristie, are you?’ I ask Ruby, when they’re all out of earshot.
‘No!’ she protests.
‘Okay, that’s fine,’ I say. ‘But you should give her a chance.’
‘Why?’ She pouts.
‘Because your daddy has to have friends,’ I reply, as she climbs over and sits on my knee. ‘And you should be nice to them.’
‘She’s not his friend,’ she tells me, turning up her nose. ‘She’s his girlfriend. There’s a difference.’
‘You’re right.’ I nod. ‘Sorry if I underestimated your powers of observation. But, Ruby, it would help your dad to be happy if he had some company like Kristie. And him having a girlfriend isn’t that bad, is it?’
‘It is if it’s her.’
‘Well,’ I say, ‘I think she’s perfectly nice, really I do. And if your daddy likes her, then—’
‘I wouldn’t mind him having a girlfriend if it was you.’
My heart skips a beat. ‘Ruby, sweetheart, that isn’t going to happen. Your daddy and I are just friends.’
‘But you’re much prettier than she is,’ she says.
‘Oh, well, I don’t know about that . . .’ I smile modestly, choosing not to see this comment as a blatant fib designed to bring me round to the idea.
‘And Daddy’s never grumpy when you’re around.’
Yeah, right.
‘At least, he’s not quite so grumpy now you’re around. Really,’ Ruby insists, eyes wide.
The others come bounding over and Samuel dives on top of me, determined to find a place on my knee. ‘I played Frisbee, Zoe!’ He couldn’t look more pleased with himself if he’d just passed his driving test.
‘I know – I saw you! You’re such a big grown-up boy, aren’t you?’
‘Not a little boy,’ he reiterates seriousl
y.
‘No, definitely a big boy,’ I confirm.
‘Very big boy,’ he repeats.
‘Very, very, very big boy,’ I say, kissing him as he collapses into giggles.
When I look up, Kristie’s staring at me as if I’m chief policy adviser to the Antichrist.
‘Um, wasn’t that clever of Kristie to buy you two a Frisbee?’ I say, in a flimsy attempt at distracting everyone and getting Kristie on-side. But Ruby doesn’t rise to the bait. And, unfortunately, another hour’s worth of my encouragement seems to do nothing for Kristie’s popularity.
The only let-up is when Samuel is eventually persuaded by Ryan to go with Kristie to feed the ducks while Ruby stays behind to ride her bike. Ryan and I start to tidy up the leftover picnic, which is such a mess you’d think it’d been consumed by a herd of wildebeest at a teenage house-party.
‘What do you think?’ Ryan asks. ‘Of Kristie, I mean.’
‘Oh . . . well, she’s fine,’ I say, putting some part-regurgitated fairy cake from Samuel’s plate into a bag. I can’t help feeling a twinge of something approaching jealousy at this line of questioning. ‘Nice, I mean.’
Ryan sniffs. ‘Anything else?’
‘She’s very attractive,’ I tell him truthfully.
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘She’s okay.’
He abandons the picnic, sits down, picks up a small branch and starts to scrape the bark off it with his Swiss Army knife. The muscles in his forearms ripple. I try to look unmoved.
‘What I meant was, how do you think it’s gone – with the kids?’ he asks.
I try to think of a way to put this diplomatically. ‘I’m sure they’ll warm to her. Sooner or later.’
Ryan snorts. ‘You Brits really are masters of the put-down, aren’t you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘“I’m sure they’ll warm to her,”’ he mimics. ‘That’s your way of saying she’s shit with the kids and they hate her.’
‘I didn’t say that.’ Heat rises to my neck.
‘You didn’t need to.’
This isn’t the worst thing Ryan has said all week or, indeed, since I got here. Maybe it’s just one comment too far. Whatever, there’s something about it that makes me want to dump the plateful of now soggy brownies on his head and garnish them with a cherry.
‘Ryan,’ I say, ignoring my heart, which is doing championship-standard flick-flacks. ‘What’s with you?’
‘Hmm?’
‘I said, what’s with you?’
I’m hoping I sound tough, but my hands are shaking so much I feel about as tough as Jemima Puddleduck.
‘I’ve come here today, although I’ve not had a day off in Christ knows how long,’ I splutter, ‘and I’ve played the perfect chaperone, the perfect diplomat. I’ve tried my best to get Ruby to like your girlfriend. And despite all this, you’re still having a go at me.’
If Ryan is shocked by this outburst, he doesn’t show it.
‘Can I remind you that I employ you, Zoe?’ he points out.
‘If only you treated me like an employee,’ I grumble, ‘and not like a slave.’
‘I pay you, I give you a roof over your head, and in return you’re expected to work for it,’ he replies. ‘What’s wrong with any of that?’
‘Nothing,’ I mutter, reminding myself that I need this job. ‘Really, nothing. I just . . . just . . .’
‘Just what?’ he says.
My lip starts to wobble uncontrollably. I take a deep breath and pull myself together. ‘Ryan, I work my arse off in this job. And I don’t mind that. It’s just . . . well, I can’t help finding it infuriating that you don’t – ever – say, “Gee, thanks, Zoe.”’
‘So you want me to start sending you flowers now or something?’
‘No!’ I cry in frustration.
‘So what do you want?’ he yells.
‘I just want you to stop being such a bloody tosser!’ I scream.
As soon as I’ve said it I’m torn between thinking I’ve lost my mind and that I’m doing the right thing.
Because while I feel sorry for Ryan – I feel desperately sorry for him – nobody seems prepared to tell him that he can’t go around treating people as he does.
He stands up and I know immediately that I’ve riled him. ‘I have no idea what a tosser is,’ he replies, ‘but if I am one, I don’t give a shit.’
‘Well, you should.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’ve got two gorgeous kids who love you and they don’t deserve a tosser as a father,’ I tell him. ‘They deserve someone who’s a good role model and a—’
‘A good role model?’ he interrupts.
‘Yes, a good role model who—’
‘You’re saying I’m not a good role model?’
‘Stop putting words into my mouth!’
Suddenly, I realize Ryan isn’t listening.
Instead, he’s looking towards the lake, his face filled with confusion and anxiety. Then Kristie’s running towards us. And she’s screaming.
‘What the fuck . . .’ Ryan begins.
‘It’s the kid!’ shrieks Kristie, hysterical. ‘He’s drowning!’
Chapter 46
As Ryan drags Samuel’s limp little body out of the lake, there’s so much adrenalin running through my veins I feel sick. ‘I don’t know CPR,’ he mutters frantically.
I swallow. I’ve never done this before. Not on a real child. The training I got during my studies involved mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on a doll that could trace its parentage to a large jelly mould. Not a real child. Not Samuel.
‘I do.’ I move Ryan out of the way.
Everything seems to be happening in slow motion as, robotically, I put Samuel into the right position, hoping desperately I’m remembering this correctly. Kristie is still screaming hysterically about how she only turned her back to take a phone call. Ruby is standing behind me, sobbing, her bike abandoned by the picnic blanket. Ryan is the only one not making any noise. He’s kneeling beside me, his face so drained of colour he looks supernatural.
‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ His voice is so terror-stricken I barely recognize it.
‘I – I think so,’ I reply.
But I don’t know.
All I know is that I’m probably Samuel’s best hope.
Please, God, make that good enough.
I put a shaking hand on Samuel’s forehead and the other under his chin to lift it. Then I bend down and listen to his breathing. But even with the wailing in the background, I can tell there isn’t anything to hear. His chest is still.
Panicking, I look inside his mouth, then close my lips over his, telling myself to keep a grip on the situation, not to lose it, to stay calm.
Except I can’t focus and my whole body is shaking and sweating like that of a recovering heroin addict.
I count to five as I begin the mouth-to-mouth, forcing any thoughts, other than those concerned with my task, out of my head. I pull away and check his pulse, praying I’ll feel something. But there’s still nothing.
Please, God, help me. Please, God, help Samuel.
I’m trying to stay on auto-pilot, trying my best to keep cool. But it’s no good: panic is taking over and my shaking has become so bad I can barely steady myself enough to do the mouth-to-mouth.
‘Don’t let him die, Zoe,’ whispers Ryan. ‘Please don’t let him die.’
My head swirls with Ryan’s words, Ruby’s crying, Kristie’s wailing. And Samuel’s grim, agonizing silence.
God Almighty, give me the strength to do this. Please, God. Please.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
I can do this, can’t I?
I can do this.
ZOE, YOU CAN DO THIS!
I don’t know why or how but suddenly the noise around me fades into nowhere.
ZOE, YOU CAN DO THIS!
I lean down and start the mouth-to-mouth again. After five breaths, I pull back and check Samuel’s pulse. My fing
ers are on his windpipe but I still can’t feel anything. I try lower down – maybe I haven’t got them in the right place.
ZOE, YOU ARE NOT GOING TO LET HIM DIE!
I take another deep breath, then lean down to put my mouth to Samuel’s again.
One breath.
Two breaths.
Three breaths—
Suddenly, Samuel’s chest rises. I lean back, shocked, stunned, amazed, as his little face splutters back to life.
Water is gushing from his mouth. He’s coughing wildly.
Then he’s crying. He’s crying and crying and crying.
It’s the best sound I’ve ever heard in my life.
Chapter 47
I’ve never liked hospitals. Since the death of Grandma Bonnie six years ago, they’ve held few positive connotations for me, no matter how devoted or friendly the staff. I even hated driving Jason to A and E when he broke his arm playing badminton at the end of last year. Admittedly, this was partly because its unfeasibly contorted angle made me wince, but the lengthy wait in a room that resembled a prison cell – with two dodgy blokes exuding suspicious smells – didn’t help.
Although Jason was the injured party, he seemed far more cheerful than I was. I teased him afterwards that he saw his breakages – there were three in the left arm – as a badge of honour.
‘Well, I wouldn’t be much of a sportsman if I never ended up in hospital.’ He grinned.
‘I don’t know whether you’re immensely brave or completely daft.’ I smirked as I kissed him on the way out. Just thinking about it makes me feel an overwhelming pang of longing for him.
If I was hoping that American hospitals would be any more appealing than British ones, that idea was quashed the moment I walked through the door and was assaulted by a distinctive medicinal whiff. Then there is the fact that we’re here because of what happened to Samuel. Frankly, there’s nothing positive you can say about that. Except, of course, that he’s alive.
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