Pedigree Mum

by Fiona Gibson

  Pinching a strawberry from the huge bowlful, despite their blatant unseasonality and air miles accrued, Lara smiles patronisingly at Kerry. ‘You two are very modern, aren’t you?’ she observes.

  ‘What, being able to be in the same room for a few hours?’ Kerry shrugs. ‘We’re both Mia’s parents and she’s delighted that he’s here.’ She smiles broadly, then busies herself by filling cups of juice, and calls the children through from the living room for cake-cutting.

  ‘Well done,’ she mouths to Harvey as he appears in the kitchen, flanked by excitable children. His act was even better received than she’d hoped for; instead of some feeble balloon-modelling routine, he brought along an array of battered old instruments – from xylophones to trumpets – and the whole thing had descended into a chaotic, yet hugely enjoyable improvisation session involving every child at the party.

  ‘With everything she’s got on her plate,’ Kerry overhears a gazelle-limbed woman remarking, ‘it’s no wonder she doesn’t have time to bake.’

  Brigid sidles up to her, brash gold earrings jangling. ‘There’s a time for oat biscuits,’ she whispers, ‘and a birthday party isn’t it.’

  ‘Quite right,’ Anita says, mouth full of Jaffa Cake. ‘You’ve done a brilliant job, Kerry, and Harvey was great. Cute, too. You kept that a secret …’

  Kerry laughs, casting him a fond look across the kitchen. ‘Well, yes, he scrubs up nicely when the wig’s off. I’m just relieved everyone’s come, to be honest, and so is Mia.’

  In fact, relieved is an understatement. Mia is obviously overjoyed that it’s going so well, and beams delightedly as Tabitha announces, ‘This is the best party I’ve ever been to. I’m never allowed food like this – or a clown …’

  ‘Poor, deprived darling,’ Emily mutters.

  ‘Yeah – you’re so lucky, Mia,’ Audrey-Jane exclaims, while the birthday girl glows with happiness. And so the cake is cut, its unashamed syntheticness greeted with delight by the children, if not their mothers. And soon, festooned with party bags filled with tacky plastic jewellery and toys – ‘We gave everyone a miniature cactus at Tabitha’s party,’ Kerry hears Emily remark – parents and children are beginning to leave. Anita is hugging Kerry, her children and Buddy (although not Rob, Kerry notes) before herding her exhausted offspring out to their car.

  Soon only Brigid and Joe, plus Rob and Harvey – who are having a rather stilted conversation – are left in the trashed living room.

  ‘How did you get into this, then?’ Rob asks him half-heartedly.

  ‘Oh, you know.’ Harvey shrugs. ‘Acting went a bit quiet.’

  ‘What kind of things have you been in? Any films? TV?’

  Kerry exchanges a look with Brigid as Harvey shrugs and says, ‘Nothing you’d know. A few TV dramas ages ago, the odd play …’

  Rob nods. ‘Well, I hope things pick up for you.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’ As Harvey shifts position on the sofa and sips his beer, Kerry goes to the kitchen to fetch more drinks. While she’d quite like Rob to go home now, she doesn’t relish the idea of Harvey and Brigid leaving just yet. Freddie, Mia and Joe have flopped in a tired but happy clump in front of a DVD, and Kerry isn’t looking forward to an eerily quiet, adult-free Saturday night after such a fun day.

  ‘Well, I’d better be off, I suppose.’ Rob drains his mug of tea and hugs the children goodbye.

  ‘You smell of bonfires,’ Freddie announces, detecting a just-smoked cigarette on Rob’s breath. ‘You’ve got dragon-mouth, Dad!’

  ‘Er, do I?’ Rob pulls a comically innocent face. ‘I don’t know what that could be.’

  ‘Hmmm, me neither,’ Kerry says with a smirk.

  ‘Daddy smoked a cigarette in the garden,’ Mia crows triumphantly, causing Rob to look aghast and speedily make for the front door.

  ‘Bloody hell, I’ve got to give up,’ he tells Kerry outside. ‘That’s so crap, being spotted having a sly fag by your own daughter on her birthday.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll cope,’ Kerry says. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you came. It meant a lot to Mia.’

  He smiles. ‘It was really fun and I have to say, you really pulled out the stops with that cake. It was even better than usual. More professional …’

  ‘Er, I didn’t make it, Rob.’

  ‘Oh, God, didn’t you? Sorry …’

  She shrugs. ‘Don’t be. It was a relief, actually, not to be up till two in the morning sticking jewels onto a sarcophagus, although by the eye bags I’ve got, you’d still think I had.’

  ‘Rubbish, you look great.’ He stops suddenly as if realising it’s no longer his place to compliment her.

  ‘Erm, thank you, Rob.’ She glances down at her red dress, the one she’d worn with those ankle-slicing shoes for the surprise visit on his birthday. Today, though, she has wisely chosen more practical flat boots.

  ‘And your hair’s nice, up like that,’ he offers hesitantly.

  ‘Glad you like it.’ There’s a pause as they both stand outside the house, in the dark, with the odd car going by and the steady swoosh of the waves crashing onto the sand.

  ‘’S’pose I’d really better get back,’ Rob murmurs. ‘It’ll be gone ten by the time I’m there.’

  Kerry studies him. ‘You mean home, Rob. Not “there”.’

  He nods glumly.

  ‘Doesn’t her place feel like home, then?’

  ‘Um … I don’t know, Kerry. I don’t really know what anything feels like anymore.’

  She frowns. ‘Is it this Eddy thing?’

  ‘Among other things, yes. We had an awful row the other night and are only just about back on speaking terms.’

  ‘You don’t think …’ She stops herself, wondering whether to go on.

  ‘D’you mean …’ he frowns ‘… that the baby could be Eddy’s?’

  Kerry nods. ‘Well … is it possible?’

  He shakes his head and opens the car door. ‘I have no bloody idea. I’ve asked her, of course, and she’s adamant that it’s mine, but who knows? I think she’s trying to convince herself as much as me.’ He pauses. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this …’

  ‘I don’t either, really.’

  ‘I, um … I suppose you’re still the one I want to talk to …’

  She exhales, glancing over her shoulder to see that Brigid and Harvey have migrated to the kitchen.

  ‘I’d better go back in,’ she says quickly, relieved that she’s the one returning to a party-mangled house, and not a child-free Baker Street flat.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Kerry isn’t sure why she hadn’t fully appreciated Harvey’s handsomeness before today. Maybe, she concedes, sipping her first glass of wine of the evening, all clowns appear startlingly eye-pleasing once they’ve changed out of their terrible red and yellow diamond-patterned trousers, into a nice pair of Levi’s and a black lambswool crew-necked sweater. Is that what’s happening here? Having limited experience of party entertainers, she has no idea. But now, she decides as he chats to Brigid, he’s sort of appealingly boyish and manly all at once. Something to do with the dark, wavy hair which has a bit of a mind of its own, that lovely, sexy mouth, and those blue eyes which are almost E number blue, as zingy as Mia’s cake. As for the manly bit, well, she almost can’t allow herself to dwell on how nicely put together he is – tall, strong-looking, exceptionally nice compact little bum, she happens to have noticed.

  ‘You were brilliant today,’ Brigid is enthusing, taking a big swig of white wine. ‘I thought it was all going to fall apart at one point, but you were so clever, keeping it all together like that.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ he laughs. ‘They just wanted me to shut up so they could get on with that Egyptian mummy game.’

  ‘Don’t be bashful, Harvey,’ she retorts. ‘You’re a very talented man. I didn’t realise you were a musician too.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve just dabbled about, it’s nothing really …’

  ‘Well, I must book you for Joe
’s party.’ Brigid is drinking at an impressive speed, Kerry happens to note, as her friend drains her glass and refills it immediately from the bottle. The table is laden with leftover sausage rolls, pizza and sliced baguette, which they are all picking at absent-mindedly.

  ‘I’m actually going to stop doing parties,’ Harvey says, sipping a Coke, ‘but sure, I’d be glad to do Joe’s, if you let me know when it is …’

  ‘Oh, really? That would be fantastic, Harvey, thank you.’ Brigid scoops up a handful of chocolate raisins and crams them into her mouth, then wrinkles her nose. ‘Ew. Has Buddy farted?’

  ‘He does that sometimes,’ Kerry sniggers. ‘God knows what the kids have been feeding him today.’

  Brigid swivels to face Harvey. ‘As long as you don’t think it’s me, haha! That’s the great thing about dogs, though, isn’t it? You can blame them for all sorts of things.’

  ‘Oh, I have a flatmate for that,’ Harvey says with a grin.

  ‘You have a flatmate?’ she squeals. ‘That’s so sweet, so kind of … nostalgic.’ As Brigid casts him a soppy look, Kerry wonders whether he minds her hand attaching itself to his arm like that, as if glued there.

  ‘How d’you mean, nostalgic?’ Harvey asks.

  ‘You know, like those things you haven’t thought of for years but remember fondly like, uh … Viennetta ice cream or Arctic roll …’

  Harvey laughs, and Kerry tries to join in. Yet it feels stiff and forced, and the more the two of them banter about nostalgic desserts and the joys and annoyances of flat sharing, the more she feels herself melting further and further into Aunt Maisie’s pale green speckled wallpaper.

  From the living room comes the babble from the TV and the odd murmur of sleepy chatter.

  ‘Oh, I’d better get Joe home,’ Brigid says, checking her watch. ‘It’s half nine. I can’t believe it’s so late.’ She tips the dregs from the wine bottle into her glass and knocks it back.

  ‘Joe can stay here if you like,’ Kerry offers. ‘I can easily put a futon in Freddie’s room.’

  ‘Really? Are you sure you could bear it, after all the mayhem today?’

  ‘Of course I can. It won’t really make any difference, and anyway, Freddie will be delighted to have a sleepover. I’ll go up now and get the room ready. My two should be heading up to bed now anyway.’

  ‘I’ll help,’ Brigid starts, making no move to get up.

  ‘Don’t worry, it won’t take a minute. Help yourselves to more drinks if you like – there are Cokes and wine in the fridge …’ She heads upstairs, glad for a few minutes’ respite from that scene in the kitchen. It’s disturbing how easily Brigid and Harvey have slipped into cosy camaraderie. Kerry knows she’s being ridiculous; so what if they become friends, or even end up having a fling, or getting together properly and making babies? Brigid is loud and lovely with her cheap jangly jewellery, and she’s only thirty-one. Occasionally, Kerry has wondered if Harvey is vaguely attracted to her. But if she were him, who would she choose – the statuesque blonde who clearly fancies him, or the slightly hung-up piano teacher with a lurking ex-husband (who really is crap at small talk) and a flatulent dog?

  Buddy has followed her upstairs. She crouches down to ruffle the extra-soft fur behind his ears while staring into Freddie’s room. The carpet is faded – more grey than its original blue – and strewn with Lego and plastic railway track. So much for the wall unit with basket drawers (‘The ultimate storage solution!’) which she’d bought in a fit of optimism, and had to build from flat-pack, a project which had brought her close to mental collapse. Prior to the break-up, Rob had done all the flat-pack, grudgingly but methodically, with minimal swearing and no losing of vital nuts and bolts.

  Under Buddy’s watchful gaze, Kerry drags out the futon from the airing cupboard and flings it onto the floor. As she makes up the bed she can hear Brigid and Harvey sniggering away in the kitchen together, no doubt planning how to break it to her that they’re off back to her place for hot sex.

  Kerry looks down at the futon, wondering if anyone would notice if she had a little lie down.

  ‘Sure you don’t want me to help, Kerry?’ Brigid calls from downstairs.

  ‘No, it’s all done, thanks.’ She smooths back the strands of hair which have snuck out of her messy up-do, then gives up and pulls out the clip.

  ‘Oh, you’ve taken your hair down.’ Brigid is standing in the hallway, eyes slightly squiffy as Kerry heads downstairs.

  ‘Yes, it was starting to look a bit floppy, like the balloons.’ She smiles resignedly and glimpses Harvey still sitting at the kitchen table, sipping his Coke. In the living room, the three children are still bunched up as one on the sofa.

  ‘Okay,’ Kerry announces, ‘PJs on – it’s nearly ten. If you go to bed now and settle down, I’ll take you all swimming in the morning.’

  ‘What, me as well?’ Joe asks hopefully, face daubed with blue icing.

  ‘Yes, if it’s okay with Mummy.’ She turns to Brigid who is lurking a little unsteadily behind her.

  ‘Well, yes, if you’re sure. But you’ve had a houseful of kids all afternoon, so if anyone takes them it should be me—’

  ‘I’d actually like to,’ Kerry says firmly. Because if I don’t, you see, it’ll just be me, Freddie and Mia and an achingly empty, post-party day …

  Brigid grins. ‘You’re a star, you know that?’

  ‘Hey, come on.’ She squeezes her hand.

  ‘I’m going to have a big lie-in tomorrow,’ Brigid adds, slurring slightly. ‘I never have that. Joe won’t let me. He comes in and starts jumping all over my head …’

  ‘You’re long overdue it then,’ Kerry says warmly as Brigid cuddles Joe goodnight, and the three children troop upstairs, debating who got the prime piece of birthday cake with the icing balloons on. In pursuit, and to avoid witnessing any more of Brigid virtually drooling over Harvey, Kerry supervises teeth cleaning, pretending her barely-used toothbrush is a brand new one she’s managed to magic up for Joe. Over the sound of mass brushing she can hear Brigid and Harvey chatting in the hallway. Children are swiftly tucked in, lights turned off, and as Kerry goes back downstairs, she hears Harvey saying, ‘No, of course I don’t mind. It’s on my way …’

  Brigid tosses back dishevelled fair hair. ‘I could get a cab if it’s easier, or walk …’

  ‘Don’t be silly, I’ll drop you off.’

  ‘Isn’t he sweet?’ Brigid announces.

  ‘Yes, anyway, safe home.’ Kerry hugs Brigid and Harvey in turn, willing them to leave so she can drop the forced smile and be normal.

  Harvey picks up several canvas bags containing his costume and a plethora of musical instruments. ‘It’s been a lovely evening, Kerry. Great party, too. I’ve really enjoyed myself.’

  ‘Well, thanks to you, the kids loved it too. Are you sure you really want to give this up? You’re really good at it …’

  ‘This was different.’ He shrugs. ‘They’re not usually this much fun.’

  ‘And you, Kerry, are a marvel,’ Brigid blares out as they leave. ‘Thanks for tomorrow, too. I’ll drop off Joe’s swimming things in the morning.’

  ‘No need. There’ll be something of Freddie’s that fits him.’

  ‘Hey, come on, Brigid, let’s go.’ Harvey touches Brigid’s arm, a small, caring gesture that causes a lump to form in Kerry’s throat.

  When they’ve gone, she looks around the eerily silent kitchen. Buddy is asleep under the table, and every surface is littered with dented plastic cups and crumb-strewn paper plates. What did I expect anyway, she reflects, overcome by a crushing wave of loneliness as she pours another glass of wine, when I’ve already told him I prefer dogs to men?

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The weird thing is, when she calls, James doesn’t have a clue who she is.

  ‘Hi,’ she says, ‘it’s me.’

  Jesus, he thinks, it’s pie-crust-nightie woman with the scary cherub bed. ‘It’s Amy,’ she says, sounding put out. ‘Don’t
you recognise my voice?’

  ‘Oh, of course I do,’ he blusters. ‘It’s just a bit of a surprise, that’s all.’

  It’s almost 11 p.m. and he and Luke have been spending a companionable Saturday evening discussing ludicrous sandwich fillings over a few beers. It’s off again with Charlotte, and James is somewhat relieved; he’d lasted four hours at Charlotte’s parents’ place in Norfolk, just long enough to ingest a terrible Christmas lunch – some smoked gammon thing, not even a turkey – while her parents had bickered and sniped. He’d had no option but to feign a stomach bug and, luckily, Luke had been happy to leave with him.

  ‘How are you?’ Amy wants to know. ‘And how’s Luke?’

  ‘We’re fine. We’re pretty good.’ Why are you calling? he wants to ask, but can’t bring himself to say it. The phone is in the hall on a small table beside the piano, and James absent-mindedly nudges dust off the keys with a finger.

  ‘Well, I’ve got a bit of news,’ Amy says. ‘I’m moving back to Shorling.’

  He scowls. ‘Are you? Why?’

  ‘To see our son, of course.’

  ‘But you haven’t seen him in two years,’ he exclaims, relieved that the TV is on so Luke is unlikely to overhear. ‘Why d’you want to make contact now?’

  ‘It was Luke who didn’t want to see me,’ Amy murmurs.

  ‘Are you surprised?’

  ‘No, no, I don’t blame him at all …’

  The silence stretches uncomfortably. ‘I’ve left Brian,’ Amy adds.

  Ah, the colourist. James had almost forgotten his name.

  ‘So you’re moving back on your own?’

  ‘Yes. How about you – are you seeing anyone?’

  ‘Sort of,’ he blurts out without thinking, his finger slipping off a black piano key and striking the white one beside it.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Nothing. I just knocked against the piano.’

  ‘Hmmm. So you’ve kept it, then.’

  ‘Er, yes, of course.’ Don’t read too much into that, James thinks darkly.

  ‘So …’ Amy starts, ‘who are you seeing? Sorry, I know it’s none of my business, I just …’