by Fiona Gibson
‘Well,’ he says, ‘I’ll do my best. Maybe, um …’ He glances down at the garish orange floor. ‘Would it be awful of me to suggest doing it in exchange for a couple of piano lessons?’
‘Sure, but more than a couple. Say … five, does that sound okay? Would that cover your normal fee?’
‘Oh, more than. That’s very generous of you.’
‘That’s a deal then.’ She grins, feeling her spirits rise as she sees Harvey out. And, although it’s immensely tempting to text Rob to tell him she’s just booked a children’s entertainer, with steely willpower she manages to resist.
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘I can’t believe you still buy him an advent calendar,’ Nadine tells Mary, Rob’s mother. ‘That’s the cutest thing I ever heard.’
Rob watches in tight-jawed silence as his girlfriend fixes his mum with a beaming, red-lipped smile which has yet to be returned.
‘He’s always had one, hasn’t he, Eugene?’ Mary flicks her gaze towards Rob’s father, who merely nods and looks down at his plate. ‘I gave it to him last weekend,’ she adds, ‘in time for the first of December. But he left it here.’
‘That’s even better,’ Nadine goes on, ‘because today’s, what – the eighth? So you’ve got eight chocolates to eat, Rob, you lucky man!’
Rob darts a look at Nadine, trying to transmit the message that she must stop this immediately, that his parents’ rather stiff and formal dining room is no place to start wittering on about advent calendars and taking the piss out of him. Conversations here tend to orbit the same safe territories: the children, his job, his father’s pickle business and his mother’s latest triumphs at the WI.
‘Oh, I love advent calendars, don’t you?’ Nadine is addressing Mia and Freddie now, who are regarding her with astonishment, as if she’s just burst out of a cake. She picks up her glass of sparkling water and beams around the table. ‘They’re one of the best things about Christmas, aren’t they? Do you two get them?’
Mia nods wordlessly, and Freddie picks at a nostril. Rob glimpses his mother’s terse face and calculates how much he might possibly get away with drinking without making a complete arse of himself. Clearly, Nadine feels out of her depth here. Mia and Freddie are still gawping at her, now pushing green beans and sweetcorn around their plates. Rob knows he should try to take charge of the situation, but doesn’t want to make the atmosphere worse by telling them not to stare or demanding that they eat their vegetables.
Eugene is slicing his pork chop with such delicacy that he could be performing a delicate operation on a human kidney. Mary’s entire face looks as if it might crack, even though it was her who’d insisted, ‘Of course we want to meet this Nadine, seeing as you’re having a child with her.’ She’d pronounced it ‘Nay-deen’ in her strong Yorkshire accent, wincing slightly as if she’d meant to say, ‘tumour’. ‘We want to welcome her into our family, Roberto,’ she’d added stoically.
‘Oh, I’m in a pretty menial job at the moment,’ Nadine is explaining (one of his parents must have asked her a question, Rob isn’t sure which). ‘It’s not what I really want to do, though. What I’m really interested in is interior design, making spaces fun and inspiring, and after the baby’s born I hope to pursue that.’ She stabs a bean with her fork and pops it into her mouth.
‘So who’ll look after the baby?’ Mary asks while Freddie mutters that he’s ready for pudding now.
‘Sorry?’ Nadine frowns.
‘In a minute, Freddie,’ Eugene says kindly, refilling his grandson’s glass with orange juice.
‘I mean, who’ll take care of your child,’ Mary asks, ‘when you rush off back to work?’
‘Er, a nanny or childminder or nursery,’ Nadine says, in an isn’t-that-obvious? voice.
‘Oh, so you’re planning to do that, are you?’ Mary counters.
‘Mum,’ Rob cuts in, ‘we haven’t decided any of that yet.’
Nadine throws Rob a confused look, then focuses back on his mum. ‘Er … I will want to go back to work, Mary, so, yes. I can’t imagine being a full-time mother.’
‘Can’t you?’ Mary exclaims.
‘No, I imagine it’d drive me mad,’ Nadine replies with a small laugh.
Shut up, shut up, shut up, Rob wills her, glancing fretfully at his mum in her violently-patterned purple floral dress, with her lipstick applied a little too thickly today. He needs to talk to Nadine alone and explain that Mary is of the opinion that if you don’t willingly spend every moment of eighteen long, hard years tending to your children’s every need, then really, why did you bother having them? ‘I looked after Roberto and Domenico,’ Mary says carefully, ‘and I’d never have done it any differently. I’m their mum … isn’t that right, Eugene?’
‘Yes, Mary,’ he mutters.
‘Well, I’ll still be the baby’s mummy—’ Nadine starts.
‘And Kerry gave up everything to be a full-time mother to Mia and Freddie,’ Mary adds. ‘Devoted, she was, from day one …’
‘Mum, please,’ Rob barks. ‘We’re capable of figuring it all out, you know. There’s still plenty of time.’
‘Not that much, Roberto.’ Mary’s gaze drops to Nadine’s belly.
‘What did Mummy give up?’ Mia asks thoughtfully, the first words she’s spoken over lunch.
‘Nothing, sweetheart,’ Rob murmurs.
‘D’you mean her job at the university, Nanny?’
Mary’s face softens a little. ‘Er, yes, love.’
‘She still went to work,’ Mia adds helpfully, ‘but not every day. Some days we went to nursery and some days we did fun stuff like Play-Doh and drawing.’ She grins expectantly at Nadine.
‘My mummy’s a piano teacher,’ Freddie announces loudly.
‘Er, yes, so I’ve heard.’ Nadine clears her throat.
‘Can I have pudding now?’ he adds. ‘I want pie.’
‘Yes, of course you can, Freddie.’ Mary springs up from her chair, clearing mounds of plates without any offers of help, and beetles towards the kitchen.
Sorry, Rob mouths to Nadine, but her attention has been diverted by something Freddie appears to have done. ‘Er, did you just put sweetcorn in your ear?’ she asks lightly.
‘No?’ He phrases it as a question.
‘I’m sorry’ – she frowns at Rob – ‘I thought I just saw him. In fact, I’m sure he did …’
‘Well, I didn’t,’ Freddie snaps. ‘She’s lying.’
‘Freddie!’ Rob hisses, ‘that’s very rude. Apologise to Nadine right now.’
‘No!’
Rob takes a big gulp of wine, wondering how far to take this.
‘You wouldn’t do a silly thing like that, would you, Freddie, love?’ Mary calls through from the kitchen.
‘No, Nanny.’ Freddie folds his arms and smiles smugly. ‘Can I have toffee pie?’
Only now does Rob dare to reach for Nadine’s hand under the table and give it a small squeeze. Sorry, he wants to tell her again. Sorry for Freddie’s horrible behaviour and for not standing up for you about the going-back-to-work thing. It’s just Mum, just her way, she’s not that bad really … He can’t, though – not in front of his father and children who are sitting glumly at the table, as if awaiting trial.
Instead, he tries to pretend everything’s normal, and quizzes his dad about new additions to his pickle line, while marinating in his own shame.
*
Food and wine keep coming all afternoon, all the better for Rob to anaesthetise himself with. Thankfully, there is no further discussion over Nadine’s plans to abandon her firstborn in favour of a glittering career in interior design. Eugene has also perked up, and is waxing lyrical about onions – ‘Pearl pickles in balsamic, shortlisted for the small producer’s award’ – which doesn’t seem too controversial until Freddie pipes up, ‘Onions stink, Nonno.’
‘Freddie.’ Rob rolls his eyes at him. ‘I’m sure you’ll like Nonno’s onions when you’re older because they’re very special.’
‘D’you like onions?’ Freddie turns to Nadine.
‘Um, I used to,’ she says carefully, ‘but since I’ve been expecting the baby I haven’t liked them at all.’
‘Why?’
‘Um … your tastes change,’ she explains. ‘Things you used to like suddenly taste weird, and you start craving other foods instead.’
‘What’s “crave”?’ Freddie asks, glowering at her as if she might have made a terrible smell.
‘When you want something so, so much, that you have to have it.’ Nadine smiles at Rob, and he feels a rush of affection – or is it pity? – for her. Poor girl, trapped in his parents’ stuffy dining room with its dark wood panelling and his hostile kids, gamely trying her best. He wants to tell her she’s doing great and he’s proud of her, and for his mother to stay where she is, out of harm’s way in the kitchen. But here she comes, whipping away dessert plates, then reappearing with a cheeseboard bearing a pungent Camembert and a melting wedge of Brie.
‘What’s with the French stuff, Mum?’ Rob asks. ‘Why not the usuals?’ Taleggio and Gorgonzola, he means – his father’s favourites.
‘Domenico’s been managing a project in Lyon,’ Eugene says. ‘Didn’t he tell you?’
‘Oh yes, I think he mentioned it …’ Of course, despite life being a little full-on right now, it’s essential to keep up with my brother’s schedule …
‘Brought these back for us,’ Mary adds, eyes gleaming with pride. ‘So thoughtful, even though he was ever so busy with meetings.’
‘That’s nice, Mum.’ Rob looks dolefully at the wooden board. They’re only cheeses, but they seem to symbolise the gaping chasm between the high flier at the helm of some kind of global call centre operation, and him, the big brother, whose career has been reduced to pretending to be a woman who goes on about sex a lot.
‘I’m sorry, Mary,’ Nadine says, ‘but I can’t eat those.’
‘Why not?’ Mia asks.
‘Er, because they’re unpasteurised,’ Rob explains.
‘That means they might have germs in,’ Nadine adds, ‘that could harm the baby.’
‘Yeuch!’ Freddie recoils from the table.
‘No, they’re okay for you to eat,’ Rob explains. ‘Come on, you’ve always liked trying different cheeses …’
‘Don’t want germy cheese,’ Freddie announces, jumping down from his chair even though he has yet to be granted permission (Rob’s parents are extremely hot on table etiquette).
‘What is wrong with Freddie today?’ Mary turns, pale-faced, to Rob.
‘Sorry, Mum. Freddie, come and sit down this minute—’
‘DON’T WANT GERMY CHEESE!’ Freddie blasts out, stamping his foot.
‘But they’re not germy,’ Mary insists. ‘They’re fine, Freddie, love …’
‘She said it.’ Freddie jabs a finger at Nadine.
‘She’s not she,’ Rob says sharply, getting up from his seat, grabbing his son by the sleeve and marching him back to the table. ‘Her name’s Nadine and no one’s forcing you to eat cheese so stop making such a bloody great fuss.’
The room falls silent. Eugene clears his throat and Nadine pokes at something in her eye.
‘It’s just the pregnancy, Mum,’ Rob murmurs. ‘Nadine can’t be in the same postcode as Brie.’ All adult eyes swivel towards him as he adds, ‘Joke.’
Lunch is cleared away quickly then, with Mia and Freddie wisely deciding they’ll have more fun hanging out with Nanny and Nonno in the kitchen. Nadine excuses herself and slips off to the loo. Finding himself alone for a moment, Rob slips out to the back garden and extracts his cigarettes from his pocket.
‘Hey.’
He turns to see Nadine at the patio door. ‘Hi,’ he says wearily.
‘I thought you’d stopped.’ She steps out onto the lawn and sits beside him on the worn wooden bench. The garden looks dead now, bordered by a spindly fence and endless rolling Kent countryside beyond.
‘Just been having the occasional one,’ he says.
‘Oh, Rob. When the baby comes—’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll hang out of the window. You can hold onto me by my ankles while I dangle upside down.’
She shakes her head, exasperated.
‘It’s just a little lapse,’ he adds, inhaling so hard it makes his head spin. ‘I’ll stop way before that.’
‘Well, I hope so. Oh, and … I don’t think I’m going to stay here tonight, Rob. Would you mind calling me a taxi to the station?’
‘What – you mean you want to leave?’
‘Yes, I think it’d be best, and I know you’ve been drinking …’
‘Only a tiny glass,’ he fibs, studying her pale, flawless face that looks somehow illuminated, and the clear blue eyes fixed upon his. ‘Look – are you sure you want to go? I know it’s not easy but Mum’s okay when you get to know her. She’s just a bit prickly today. It’s been quite tough for her, the whole break-up and everything, and I think the kids are just a bit weirded out …’
‘It is real, you know, the thing about unpasteurised cheeses,’ Nadine interrupts. ‘I didn’t make it up.’
‘I know that, but Mum’s from a different generation. When she was expecting me and Dom, she probably ate nothing but pâté and soft cheeses and had the odd fag and glass of wine, and we’ve turned out okay …’
A smile tweaks her lips. ‘That’s debatable.’
‘Oh, come on.’ He crushes his cigarette butt with his shoe, then nudges it under a plant pot where his mum won’t see it. ‘Dom and his wife and the kids are coming over later. You’ll really like them. It’ll be more fun then …’
She shakes her head. ‘Maybe it’s just me, Rob. I’m not used to scenarios like this. I don’t manage family things very well.’ He takes her hands and wraps his fingers around hers. Nadine’s parents are a bit of a mystery to him. While her mother calls fairly regularly, sounding frightfully posh and nervy on the phone, her father seems to show zero interest in her, apart from providing a steady cash flow into her bank account.
‘I’ll ask Dad if I can take you on a factory tour if you like,’ Rob cajoles with a smile. ‘Not many people get one of those.’ Nadine looks down at her shiny black shoes. ‘Honestly,’ he adds, ‘the weekend’s going to get better, I promise.’ But there’s no persuading her and, half an hour later, having explained to his parents that she doesn’t feel well, Rob and Nadine are in a taxi on their way to the station.
‘You needn’t have come with me,’ she says, staring gloomily out of the window. I’m not an invalid, Rob.’
‘I know, Nadine. I just wanted to keep you company.’ He takes her hand, relieved that she hasn’t bad-mouthed his mother in the cab. The driver knows his parents (Eugene Tambini is something of a minor celebrity around here) and has already spent ten minutes enthusing about ‘that apple chutney with the raisins and nuts – and I’m not even a pickle man’.
Rob murmured his agreement, his mind more on his mother’s vinegary treatment of Nadine and how he might go about making amends. Maybe it was a bad idea to invite her down this weekend. He should have coaxed his parents to London instead, and treated them to dinner and a hotel stay; that would have impressed Mary so much, she wouldn’t have had it in her to be rude.
Something else is worrying him too. Did Nadine mean it about going back to work pretty much straightaway? And what’s all this about a career change? Full-time childcare will cost a fortune, and Rob is already dispatching a hefty chunk of his salary to Kerry, not just because he knows he should, but also in an attempt to cancel out his guilt (a big fail on that score).
‘So,’ the jovial grey-haired driver says, pulling up outside the station, ‘I guess when it’s time for you and your brother to take over the business, there’ll be one of those almighty family feuds over who’s boss …’
‘Erm, I don’t think so,’ Rob replies with a tight smile. ‘They’re not really my thing, pickles.’
‘Ah, you’re the high-flying journalist one.’
‘Uh, that’s right.’ He pays the driver and grabs Nadine’s bag, making a mental note to never move to the countryside, even by accident, where everyone knows everybody else’s bloody business. At least the driver has dispersed the tension between him and Nadine. She’s sniggering now, and mutters, ‘High-flyer, eh?’ as they reach the platform.
‘Ha. Yes, he obviously doesn’t know as much about my family as he thinks he does.’ An icy wind whips against his cheek.
‘Oh, don’t be fed up, Rob.’
‘Well, it’s just been a pretty duff weekend so far.’
Nadine sighs. ‘Look, I had to meet them sometime and it was never going to be easy, was it? I’m sure we’ll get to know each other. I just … wasn’t really up for it today.’
He nods and kisses her red lips as the train approaches. Minutes later, his girlfriend and unborn baby really are in a different postcode from Brie.
Chapter Thirty-Three
After Harvey’s lesson, followed by an eager nine-year-old girl whose mother constantly texted from the armchair, Kerry heads out into the breezy afternoon. She has arranged to meet Brigid, who is delighted that she has started to accompany her for dog walks. With Joe despatched to a friend’s house, they have just Buddy and Roxy for company as they stride along the wide, flat sweep of Shorling beach.
‘Buddy’s making great progress,’ Brigid observes.
Kerry smiles. ‘Thanks. Sometimes I dare to think, I’m not too bad at this. Being a dog owner, I mean.’
‘He seems so much happier and more settled …’
‘Well, it’s been at least two weeks since he peed indoors,’ Kerry adds, ‘and now he only barks when a really huge, loud vehicle goes by. He’s usually fine with anything on four wheels. God, I hope I don’t sound like one of those awful boasting parents. You know – “Oh, Juliette’s doing so well with the oboe, she’s going to skip through the exams and go straight to grade eight …”’
