by Fiona Gibson
He breathes deeply, sensing what he managed to eat of the risotto shifting uneasily in his stomach.
‘I just can’t be bothered with stuff like that.’
‘No. Fine, then don’t. No one’s forcing you.’
He lies there, overcome by a wave of desolation as he looks up at the ornate ceiling rose.
‘So when did it finish with Eddy?’ he asks.
She sighs loudly and sits up. ‘There was nothing to finish. I told you – it wasn’t a big deal.’
‘Yes,’ he says tersely, ‘I understand that. I realise you weren’t on the verge of announcing your engagement and popping into John Lewis to choose your dinner service.’ He falls silent as they sit in a fug of ill-feeling.
‘Er … it wasn’t that long ago,’ Nadine says finally.
‘When was the last time, then?’
She turns to him and pulls in her lips as if faced with a tough calculation. ‘It was … three or four days before the night with you.’
‘Three or four days? Like, in the same week as me?’
‘Yeah?’ she says with a shrug. ‘I was single, Rob. I told you, it was just—’
‘Fun. Yes, you said.’ He jumps out of bed and marches to the window where he stares at the skyline blurred by her white gauzy curtains. ‘Can you be honest about something at least? Did we definitely do it that first night – you and me, I mean? Because it seems to me that this might not even be my child …’
‘Of course we did,’ she exclaims. ‘D’you think I’d lie about that?’
He whirls round to face her. ‘I’ve no idea, Nadine. I don’t know what to think any more. Why didn’t you mention you and Eddy before?’ He feels sick now at the dawning realisation that he might have thrown his life down the toilet for something that never even happened. His marriage, his children, his new life by the sea … all as good as lost, for something he didn’t even do.
‘I told you, Rob, it was nothing.’ She is hunched miserably on the huge white bed, picking at a fingernail.
He regards her dispassionately. ‘Did you and Eddy have unprotected sex in the same week that we slept together?’
‘Christ, you’re like … like a scary policeman, interviewing me.’ She laughs witheringly as he starts pulling on his clothes. ‘You’ll be shining a bright light in my eyes next and asking me to take a lie-detector test.’
‘For fuck’s sake, this is serious. Did you?’
She shakes her head, the silence stretching a beat too long before she replies, ‘Listen, Rob … I’m sure the baby’s yours.’
‘Great. Fine. We’ll be having a paternity test then, all right?’
‘Okay! Go ahead,’ she yells as he marches out of the room.
‘I’m calling a cab,’ he shouts back, ‘and going back to Bethnal Green. I can’t stay here tonight.’
Nadine doesn’t reply or try to follow him. Rob calls a taxi, smoking a cigarette as he paces up and down in her living room – just let her dare come through and complain about the smell – until the driver toots outside. In what he knows is a rather pathetic gesture, he snatches the fairy lights from around her horrible abstract print and flings them onto the pink rug, crushing one of the plastic stars with his foot. Then he stomps downstairs and out into the chilly night, wondering what he’ll do when his house keys are finally handed over to the new owners. Then he’ll be screwed, not that he isn’t already.
Rob climbs into the grotty cab with its ripped back seat, wishing with all his heart that he could say, ‘Please take me to Shorling-on-Sea.’
Chapter Forty-Four
There are numerous ‘firsts’ after a break-up. That first online grocery shop, for instance, when Kerry realised she could now delete ‘dark almond deluxe’ from her favourites because, actually, she’s secretly always preferred cheap milk chocolate. Or the first time she glanced down into the washbasin, noting that it was entirely free of those beardy speckles, and knowing it would remain so until either: a) Freddie sprouts into a hairy teenager or b) she invites an adult male to stay the night, whichever comes sooner (her money is on her son reaching adolescence). Other firsts are more difficult: for instance, that first conversation with Rob’s parents post break-up, when Mary had cried even more than she had. And the first time (shamefully, not the only time) Kerry found herself obsessively Googling Nadine Heffelfinger at 2 a.m., and pored over her breathless book reviews on the Mr Jones website. (Heffelfinger. What kind of name is that? Sounds like a long-handled back scratcher. ‘Ooh, got a bit of an itch below my shoulder blade. Luckily I can reach it with my Heffelfinger.’)
This, though – the first Christmas without Rob – is a big one, and Kerry has laid down some firm rules for herself:
Do not get drunk.
Do not get maudlin.
No public crying under any circumstances. After all, this is Anita and Ian’s Christmas, and six children will be present, not to mention Ian’s and Anita’s parents whom Kerry hasn’t seen for years. And the last thing all these people want to see – apart from a suddenly traumatised Buddy, who appears to have added the premature bang of a Christmas cracker to his phobia list – is a weeping woman.
No reminiscing about blissful Christmases past because, in fact, plenty always went wrong. For instance, Rob commenting that perhaps the sprouts needn’t have been boiling away since September, and murmuring to a put out Kerry, ‘But I thought we weren’t going to bother buying each other presents this year?’ Yes, but we didn’t actually mean it, tightwad …
In fact, it doesn’t turn out that way at all. Christmas morning is a delight, with Mia exclaiming, ‘Audrey-Jane was wrong. Santa has been!’ as she and Freddie tear open their presents. More parcels, plus Mary and Eugene’s hamper, are loaded into the car. The children pile in with Buddy, who only vomits once behind his metal grille during the forty minute journey.
At Anita’s, the combined gifts form an impressive mountain range in the living room. As Ian shouts, ‘Go!’ the unwrapping begins, the room filled with so much fun and joy that no one would guess that the Tambinis’ world had fallen apart just a few months earlier. Anita’s pleasingly rowdy parents are getting stuck into the wine, and Ian’s mother – immaculate in a pale mint twinset and pearls – is attempting to gather up mounds of ripped paper. Kerry unwraps a beautiful silk camisole and knickers from Anita (‘Well, you never know,’ she says with a wink), and Ian’s dad helps Freddie to construct a robot (another ‘first’ for Kerry: realising that Rob was always the one to build things). While Buddy shows zero interest in his new red leather collar, his bag of chocolate-flavoured bones proves a huge hit.
Lunch is a pleasingly chaotic affair, after which the adults spill into armchairs and sofas, apart from Anita’s mother-in-law who demands a floor brush – why are some people so compelled to clean other people’s houses? – despite Anita saying, ‘It’s fine, Helen, please just leave it, I’ll sort everything later.’
‘D’you have a duster, then?’ Helen asks.
‘Mum, sit down,’ Ian teases. ‘You’re forbidden to dust, it’s Christmas Day. Look at them.’ He indicates Buddy and Bess who are gently dozing together like a sweet elderly couple. ‘They’ve got the right idea.’
‘She’ll be trying to groom them next,’ Anita’s dad chuckles.
‘I just like to make myself useful,’ Helen says, sounding hurt.
‘You can,’ Ian says, handing her a glass, ‘by drinking this. You too, Kerry, Come on – your glass is empty.’
More drinks are poured, the delicious contents of Eugene and Mary’s hamper delved into and later, when Rob arrives to collect the children, he is clearly taken aback by the bubbling good humour in Anita’s rowdy living room.
‘Why can’t you stay, Daddy?’ Mia asks, clasping his hands in hers. ‘I want us to all be together!’
He shrugs, pulling her in for a hug. ‘That would be great, but listen – Nanny and Nonno are waiting to see you. We’ll have fun there, I promise.’
Her
brief disappointment soon fades as presents are gathered together and packed.
‘So how was your dinner last night?’ Kerry asks as they make for the door.
Rob pulls a mock-terrified face. ‘Pretty dreadful but, you know – I coped.’
‘Hmmm. I guess it wasn’t going to be easy.’ Having come out into the porch ahead of the children, Kerry opens the front door and inhales the crisp, cold air.
‘Yes, well, there was something else too. Seems that Nadine was having a thing with Eddy until fairly recently.’
‘Really?’ Kerry glances back to where the children are exchanging reluctant goodbyes in the hallway. ‘D’you think it’s still going on?’
‘No, not now, but …’ He tails off.
Kerry studies him, not feeling sorry for him exactly, but realising that perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, he’s ended up with by far the worst deal.
‘Daddy!’ Mia cries, charging into the porch to join them. ‘Freddie says he won’t come to Nanny and Nonno’s!’
‘Oh, he’ll want to when he sees the huge present that’s waiting for him there,’ Rob says quickly. The bikes are amazing, he mouths at Kerry.
She turns back to coax Freddie outside, gathering up the carrier bags containing their gifts, and hugs her children in turn before they climb into Rob’s car.
‘Well, enjoy the rest of your evening,’ Rob says.
‘You too.’ He smiles stoically and opens the driver’s door. But instead of climbing in, he stops for a moment and, without warning, throws his arms around Kerry. Although she doesn’t welcome the hug – it’s too desperately sad, too out of the blue – she realises with a start that she no longer despises the very air he breathes. And that really is a first …
Anita appears at Kerry’s side as she waves the children goodbye. ‘You okay?’ she asks hesitantly.
Kerry nods, remembering the rules: no public crying … ‘I’ll be fine,’ she says. ‘Just give me a moment.’
Squeezing her hand, Anita darts back inside as her name is called, followed by the announcement that a charades game is starting. Hanging back for a moment, Kerry pulls out her phone from her pocket. Happy Christmas Harvey, she taps out. See u at Mia’s party. I asked Rob to come! Grown-up & mature huh? But Dog still beats Man.
Chapter Forty-Five
Although he’s enjoyed the huge family gathering at his sister Melissa’s, Harvey is more than slightly relieved to be saying goodbye. Spending time with his nephew Sam was great, and he gamely did a few balloon tricks for him (he’d brought a pared-down selection of his usual party paraphernalia). Yet he’d felt more comfortable when he and Sam had volunteered to walk Honey, Melissa’s ageing Labrador, Sam regaling him with tales from the nursery frontline during their stroll through the woods.
‘Will you do my next party, Uncle Harvey?’ he asked as they headed back home.
‘Yeah, sure. I’d love to.’ They stopped to examine some paw prints in the light snow which had fallen that morning.
‘Was it a fox?’ Sam’s eyes gleamed excitedly.
Harvey wiped snow from a tree stump so they could both sit down. ‘Yep, it could have been.’ More likely a dog, he surmised, but what was the harm in pretending if it made life more exciting? Like the whole Santa thing. As Melissa had cajoled him into planting floury footprints throughout the house on Christmas Eve, it had struck Harvey – not for the first time – that this was what he was missing: a purpose in life. And right then, it seemed to be about making another person happy, not because you’d been hired and paid to do so, but just because, well … what else was life about?
And now Harvey is leaving his family – it’s just after lunch on a cold, wet Friday – realising he’s looking forward to making a few changes when he gets home to Shorling. He must find a proper, grown-up job; what was he thinking, imagining he could make a living from prancing about in a yellow wig? ‘Just a stop-gap,’ he’d told Ethan at first, and when his flatmate had sneered at the ridiculousness of his idea, Harvey had become even more determined to make it work.
He has been thinking about Kerry over Christmas, too. With Mia’s birthday party happening tomorrow he’d have had the perfect excuse to send her the odd chatty text. He’d left his phone in the flat, though, so that’s been an opportunity wasted.
What does he like about Kerry exactly, he muses as he drives south. Well, she is gorgeous, though clearly doesn’t know it – but it’s her unusualness, mostly. The slightly shambolic house, the way she is with her kids – bit haphazard but obviously loves them to bits – and the fact that she launched herself into dog ownership with an open mind, despite clearly not having a clue what she was doing. He hears the crazy barking every time he arrives for a lesson – pretty normal behaviour, of course – and he sees how devoted Buddy is to her, curled up in the corner while she’s teaching.
At Melissa’s, he grabbed any opportunity to sneak off to play the piano in her grand, mosaic-tiled hallway – his sister’s house feels like a small country hotel – feeling self-conscious at first, but then forgetting about his extended family listening in, and thinking only of impressing Kerry at his next lesson. And now he pictures her mesmerising green eyes, those eyes that hint that she’s also capable of being fierce, if she needs to be, and that honey-coloured, infinitely touchable skin that he can’t help glancing at whenever she’s demonstrating how to play a simple piece.
I’d love to meet a woman like Kerry … but younger. What had possessed Ethan to say something so insulting with her sitting just a few feet away in the living room? Had she heard? There’d been music playing, so maybe not …
Even so, the thought of that moment still makes Harvey sweat.
*
By the time he pulls up outside his neat 1930s block, it’s gone midnight and the rain is torrential. Although it’s only a few strides to the entrance, those few moments are enough to soak him and plaster his dark hair to his scalp. He’s in the flat now, surveying what some might assume was the aftermath of a teenager’s party, or even a burglary. Ethan appears to be out, which is unusual, even for a Friday night. Empty beer bottles are clustered on the floor by the sofa, and the coffee table is strewn with newspapers, dirty mugs, a foil carton containing a few noodles lying in an oily puddle, plus a red and white tub bearing the jaunty image of Colonel Saunders in his chef hat.
Ah, the famous Family Bucket: twenty-one pieces intended, Harvey supposes, for at least four people. An empty two litre plastic Coke bottle sits beside it. While Ethan isn’t what you’d call tidy, it’s not usually as bad as this. The difference is, Harvey has never left him alone in the flat for nearly a week. Kids’ mess doesn’t bother him; Melissa’s vast living room is permanently strewn with plastic toys and plates bearing leftover snacks. No, there’s something more sordid about the chaos adults leave in their wake, and Harvey can’t live with it a second longer.
His irritation soon abates as he starts to clear away the detritus, slinging cartons and bottles into a plastic sack. It’s doing him good, tearing into practical tasks after hours spent peering through a rain-lashed windscreen. Forty-five minutes later, the living room is not only tidy but also smelling of Mr Sheen and hard graft, and beneath an empty Doritos packet he’s unearthed a scrap of paper on which Ethan has written: VICTORIA CALLED. Victoria? The only Victoria he knows is his agent, but Harvey hasn’t heard a peep from her since November. In fact, he’d begun to fear he’d been dropped without having it spelt out to him. Weird. Well, he won’t be able to call her until Monday.
With a shrug, Harvey tackles the vast pile of newspapers and magazines which Ethan insists he’s ‘not ready’ to throw away, and by the time he’s moved on to the kitchen – the sink piled with dirty dishes, unsurprisingly – he has decided to go ahead with what he was planning in the car. All he needs is courage, in the way that his timid mum hugged him before he left Melissa’s, and said, ‘Harvey, me and your Dad have been thinking. Next time you come up, we’ll be happy for you to bring Ethan.’
Yet if his sixty-three-year-old mum can manage to do that – to come to terms with the fact that her only son might be in love with a short, podgy man who consumes fried chicken by the bucketload – then surely he can muster the courage to ask Kerry Tambini out.
Chapter Forty-Six
‘Oh, a bought cake. Goodness.’ Lara’s eyes light upon the circular blue slab as Kerry sets it onto the table.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘It’s not really my style but Mia wanted one like this. She said everyone has bought cakes.’
Lara winces. ‘Well, yes, we tend to go to Dilly’s Bakery, not the supermarket … but I suppose it’s very … bright.’
Kerry suppresses a smirk as she glances down at the garish confection with its clearly factory-made decorations of fondant icing balloons. ‘Sure is. I’d imagine it’s stuffed with E numbers too. But what’s the point of a party if they can’t get all manically over-excited?’
‘Hmmm,’ Lara says, wincing visibly as Joe, his hair covered in fluorescent spray, careers into her as he charges past. Kerry had expected parents to drop off their kids and run, as they used to in London. However, most have stayed for the duration, casting amused looks over the birthday tea as if they have never encountered a Wagon Wheel before.
Beside her, looking as if she’d dearly love to cram a fistful of milk chocolate fingers into her mouth, Emily squints at the assembled gathering at the far end of the kitchen. ‘Who’s he?’ she asks, meaning the striking, dark-haired man who’s giving the distinct impression of being a million miles from his normal habitat.
Kerry crunches a cheese and onion crisp. ‘Oh, that’s just Rob, Mia and Freddie’s dad.’
‘Really?’ Emily exclaims. ‘He’s very, er …’
‘Good-looking?’ Kerry offers.
‘Well, er … yes!’ She gives Kerry an inscrutable look as if to say, you snared him?
