by Fiona Gibson
‘Poor love. I’ll run him a bath right now. Come up with me, Toby – a quick soak and you’ll be good as new.’
‘And we forgot his spare clothes,’ I add, managing not to look at Finn.
‘Could he wear something of Grace’s?’
‘I’m sure he could.’ Why didn’t I think of that? Mum takes his hand, and even though he’s muttering about not wanting to wear girls’ clothes, by the time he’s been coaxed into Grace’s shark T-shirt, and a perfectly acceptable pair of her khaki shorts, normal service has resumed.
We all kiss and hug Mum goodbye, with Grace being unable to decide which pictures of her Granddad to borrow, and therefore deciding to take all of them. My spirits rise, and even our car starts to smell more fragrant as we head north into the darkening sky.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The moment we step into Kate’s house, I remember how much I love being here, and wonder why we don’t come up to see her more often. ‘Yeah,’ she laughs, looking fresh-faced and outdoorsy in her pale blue sweater and faded jeans. ‘Aren’t I always nagging you to come up more often? We’re practic ally neighbours these days.’
‘I know,’ I say, smiling, gratefully taking the tea which Will, my gangly and amiable brother-in-law, hands to me. ‘I think I still have my London head on, after all this time. Or my baby head maybe.’
‘Your baby head?’ Finn asks.
‘Yes. I mean, when we lived in London, Scotland seemed so far away, and the prospect of such a long drive with you as a baby, then with you as a toddler and Grace as a baby . . . well, it just seemed quite . . .’
‘Challenging?’ Kate asks.
‘Yes, that’s a good way of putting it.’
‘Why was it challenging?’ Finn asks.
‘Oh, nothing really,’ I snigger. ‘Just the feeding stops and then, when you were older, the stuff you used to get up to, like spraying juice on each other or even on the back of my head, while I was driving up the M1 . . .’
Finn breaks into a smile. ‘C’mon, Mum. We never did that.’
‘Oh, you did, hon. Then one time, for some mad reason, I decided it would be a genius idea to keep you both occupied with a full-sized box of cereal to munch on in the back, and of course we ended up with this hailstorm of Shreddies . . .’ We’re all laughing now in Kate’s homely living room with its rough stone walls painted white, and faded sofas and armchairs all worn into comfortable softness. Toby is already in bed; I decanted him, still sleeping soundly from the car journey, into Kate’s box room. Finn and Grace, looking a little pale and sleepy now, sip from mugs of hot chocolate. When the time comes, they’re too tired to protest about going to bed, or even having to share Kate’s small twin-bedded room in the attic.
‘Why don’t we have an attic?’ Grace murmurs as I tuck her in.
‘We do,’ I remind her, ‘but it’s not a proper room like this one and anyway, it’s stuffed with junk.’
She blinks in the dark. Finn has already dozed off and is muttering softly in his sleep. ‘I like it here, Mummy,’ she whispers.
‘Yes, me too. Auntie Kate’s right – we should come more often. Right now, though, it’s half-ten and you really should go to sleep if you’re going to have a fun day tomorrow.’ She nods, and her warm, slender arms emerge from the duvet and slide around my neck. ‘We didn’t show Auntie Kate the Granddad pictures.’
‘We can do that tomorrow, darling. Night-night.’
I’d planned for an early night too, after the drive, but it’s so warm and comfortable downstairs that Kate, Will and I catch up on how their B&B business is going, and how Will’s job as a plumber, and Kate’s bread which she supplies to local shops, all work together to keep everything afloat. ‘The two of you seem to manage everything so well,’ I remark with a hint of envy.
‘Oh,’ Will teases, his glasses glinting in the candlelight, ‘I do all the real work around here. Kate just gets to do the fun stuff like making her famous plaited loaves and driving around all over the countryside. I mean, who’s got the grey hairs?’
‘Yeah, the fun stuff like stripping beds and getting up at six to do breakfast,’ she quips, slapping his thigh good-naturedly. I glance at Will, who’s just turned fifty; still a handsome man, his cropped, silvery curls thinning just a little, his eyes piercingly blue behind steel-rimmed spectacles. It seems incredible that they met twenty-five years ago, when Kate was just twenty-one, yet still inhabit a sofa all curled up and sort of moulded together, so natural and at ease.
‘Anyway, it’s easier, in some ways,’ Will adds, turning serious now, ‘with the boys away and doing their own thing. I mean, it was full-on back then, when we had our baby-heads on . . .’
Kate smiles and gives Will a fond look. ‘Was it sad when they left?’ I ask.
‘Well, I had to stop Kate enrolling on Rory’s archaeology course at uni,’ Will sniggers.
‘Oh, right,’ she shoots back, uncorking a second bottle of red, ‘and you only insisted on driving all the way up to Aberdeen to check that Nat’s washing machine had been plumbed in properly . . .’
‘Well, I just wanted to make sure.’
‘They do have plumbers in Aberdeen, Will . . .’ We chat on and sip wine, and by the time I slip into bed between the crisp, cool sheets, I’ve decided it doesn’t matter if Finn’s offish with me, as one day pretty soon he’ll be a huge man-person too, and I’ll give anything to have him still hanging around, grumbling about wet ham in his sandwiches.
Yes, that’s what’ll happen, I think, lulled by the red wine and the soft, rhythmic swaying of the beech trees outside. They’ll all grow up and we’ll let them go. No one will want to read Dirty Bertie any more. I’ll look back at this Celeste episode and realise that, in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t mean anything at all.
*
The next morning, as Will and the kids lounge over breakfast, Kate and I run in the hills. Real hills, I mean – not like the tiddly incline in Lyedale Park. ‘So what’s with the new Laura?’ Kate asks.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Well, you’ve brought your running gear, for a start. Didn’t even know you’d got into this.’
‘I started a couple of months ago,’ I tell her, ‘and it feels such a part of my life now, I can’t remember why I fell into it. I do feel better, though. More in control, I suppose, and it’s a great stress reliever, just being out in the fresh air.’
‘And you’ve lost so much weight,’ she adds. ‘Not that you were huge or anything. You were lovely. But you seem . . .’
‘It’s a great fat reliever too,’ I add, laughing.
‘Well, Jed must be impressed. Bet he can’t keep his hands off you.’ She throws me a quick glance as we veer off the narrow lane and down a rocky path towards the bottom of the valley.
‘Um, I wouldn’t say that exactly.’ I picture Kate and Will snuggled up on the sofa last night, sipping wine, teasing each other in their familiar, affectionate way, and feel a pang of longing.
‘Are you and Jed okay now?’ Kate asks. ‘Or are you still mad about him missing Grace’s party?’
‘I, er . . . it hasn’t been great lately,’ I explain, deciding not to spoil our run by mentioning Beth spotting him and Celeste at the pub. ‘He’s still infatuated with that woman from school and we’re both being a bit . . .’
‘Distant?’ she suggests.
‘Oh, yeah. Definitely.’
‘You know that’s completely normal, don’t you? Both me and Will had our cases packed loads of times when the boys were little . . .’
‘Not you two!’ I exclaim. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Well,’ she adds, ‘we never felt strongly enough to actually go through with it, to walk out. I guess, when it came down to it, even when we were stomping around, grabbing toothbrushes and throwing things into the car, neither of us could actually ever imagine being without the other. Not really.’
I fall silent, taking this in as we run side by side, surrounded by sculpted lilac h
ills and a huge, open sky. And later, as I cut Kate’s hair, and help to cook and clear up after dinner, I find that I’m keenly aware of the easy closeness between her and Will. ‘Hey,’ I say as Jed calls on my mobile. ‘Are you missing us madly?’
‘Absolutely,’ he says. ‘It’s so quiet around here. It’s weird. I lay in the bath for nearly an hour and couldn’t work out why it didn’t feel right, then I realised no one was hammering to get in and Toby wasn’t poking his sword under the door.’ I laugh, picturing Jed drifting from room to room in his dressing gown, not quite sure what to do with himself. ‘So, what have you been up to?’ he asks.
‘We took the kids for a huge walk this afternoon,’ I tell him, ‘and you know what was amazing? No one moaned! Even though there was nowhere to stop for sweets or ice creams or anything . . .’
‘Oh, come on. You must have bribed them.’
‘Nope, not even that.’ There’s a beat of silence. ‘Oh, and I went running with Kate, up in the hills. That was lovely. And, just in case you’re worrying that I’m fading away, she’s been plying us with so much home cooking I can hardly move.’
Jed chuckles. ‘Sounds like you’re having a great time.’
‘We are, love. Want to speak to the kids?’
‘Sure, put them on.’ While Finn merely confirms that, yes, he’s having a perfectly nice time, Grace and Toby are, thankfully, a little more communicative.
‘I was sick in the car,’ Toby enthuses, ‘’cause Mummy drove too fast. And then she made me wear ’orrible jumper trousers.’ Laughing, I take the phone from him.
‘Jumper trousers?’ Jed enquires. ‘Are they some kind of new hybrid garment or what?’
‘Well, they’re the height of fashion in Gulley Bottom, apparently.’ As I describe them in detail, it occurs to me that Jed and I used to talk like this all the time – about silly, everyday things that would make us crease up with laughter. Perhaps, I think later as I head up to bed, some of Kate and Will’s cosy normality will rub off on us. Yet the thought of going home tomorrow makes me feel tense all over, and I can’t drift off to sleep. Clicking on the light, I sit against propped-up pillows with a pen and paper from my bag, poised to write a list. Lists are good. They make you feel like you’re in control, like my clipboard at Grace’s party. ‘If you’re wavering over having a cookie,’ Belinda told us at Tub Club, ‘grab a pen and list all the reasons why you shouldn’t have it.’ I was no good at that. In fact, the effort of thinking about what to write about cookies made me crave the real thing even more.
Anyway, this list’s not about cookies. I write:
REASONS TO STAY WITH JED
Not wanting children to have broken home
What would we do? Sell house, get lawyers etc? Court and hideous amounts of paperwork. Easier to stay married??
His mother would be delighted if we split up (‘See? I told you so . . .’)
Who apart from Jed would cut me out of a stomach holder-inner?
Racking my brains, I add:
Because we are married.
On the right-hand side of the paper I write:
REASONS TO SPLIT
His obsession with fancy-pants
He wouldn’t go to a hotel with me
He hates my cooking
No sex since Jurassic era
I study my list, and the reasons seem to float away like party balloons as I drift off to sleep with the bedside light still on. In what seems like a heartbeat, it’s Sunday morning and my tiny bedroom is filled with sunshine.
*
The drive home is, thankfully, devoid of vomit or emergency detours for scratchy knitwear. At a pleasingly old-fashioned tea shop, I treat us all to huge slabs of chocolate cake. By the time we set off again, the afternoon sun has broken through thin, gauzy clouds. There are no arguments about in-car listening. Our brief stay at Kate’s, or perhaps the cake, seems to have had an anaesthetising effect.
In fact, I feel quite renewed as we head down the motorway. I have eaten well without denying myself anything, and been buffeted by the sharp, Scottish air. Apart from the grumbling at Gulley Bottom, the children haven’t even bickered once. Pulling in at a service station, I usher them loo-wards and glimpse myself in the ladies’ mirror. My cheeks are glowing healthily and I look brighter somehow, like that day I ran into Danny in York.
In the service station shop, while the children browse the comics, I pull out my phone. I’ve missed Danny, and it’s not just our runs. It’s that easiness we have together. Not like Kate and Will, obviously, but a sense that I can just be myself, and don’t have to be on guard or worried about a secret agenda. Stepping towards the shop’s exit, and positioning myself so I can still see the kids, I call his number. ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Missing you, stranger. Where are you?’
‘Halfway home,’ I tell him.
‘How was Scotland?’
‘Great. I took my running gear and I even used it. Me and Kate did some fell running and, you know, it made me think that maybe I’m fit enough now to do a 10k. What d’you think? Would you run the Scarborough race with me?’
‘Listen to you, all fired up,’ he chuckles. ‘Yes, I’m in if you are, as long as you promise not to leave me in a dying heap at the roadside.’
I smile, watching the children select their in-car reading matter: a music magazine for Finn and Simpsons comics for Grace and Toby to share. The three of them drift towards the sweet display. ‘You know what?’ I add, fuelled by a sudden burst of bravery. ‘I’ve also been thinking about those photos you mentioned. I’m happy to do it, if you still want to.’
‘Really? You didn’t seem sure at all . . .’
‘Well, I’ve just started to feel better about myself. I think I’ve been far too cowardly lately.’
‘That’s fantastic,’ he enthuses. ‘It’ll be painless, I promise. One evening next week okay for you?’
‘Can we have sweets, Mum?’ Grace yells over, and I nod, striding towards them.
‘Tomorrow night would be fine,’ I add. ‘Great. You know how to get here?’ My heart quickens as he gives me directions, and I am uncharacteristically generous as the children choose their sweets.
‘Do I need to bring anything?’ I ask.
‘Nothing at all,’ Danny says. ‘Just you.’
*
We come home to a beaming Jed, a shiny house and our be leaguered window boxes freshly planted with geraniums. ‘These look lovely,’ I enthuse, kissing him as we tumble into the house in a flurry of sweet wrappers and chocolate-smeared faces.
‘Well, I had to fill my time somehow,’ he laughs. I catch his eye, and he adds, ‘You look great, Laura. The country air obviously suits you.’
‘Thanks. I feel good. It was great to be away.’
‘Was it? Well, that’s nice to hear,’ he says, pulling a mock-hurt expression.
‘I don’t mean away from you,’ I add quickly. ‘It was just lovely to be around Kate. You know.’ I think he does know, because the atmosphere is easier around us. Later, when the kids are in bed, he doesn’t even laugh, or make comments about me ‘not being built for speed’ when he catches me on the laptop at the kitchen table, perusing the Scarborough 10k website.
‘You could do it, you know,’ he says, peering over my shoulder. ‘Duncan managed it last year, and two months before it he couldn’t have run for a bus.’
‘I think I’ll manage it,’ I murmur, filling in my details on the online form. ‘What d’you think I should put for my predicted finishing time?’
Jed shrugs. ‘An hour ten?’
‘Naomi said she’d managed it in forty-five minutes . . .’
‘Girl racer,’ Jed groans.
‘I’ll put an hour,’ I say, excitement fluttering in my stomach.
‘Sounds reasonable. And that reminds me,’ he adds. ‘Naomi phoned while you were away. Something about the school athletics club you’re getting involved in?’
He crooks an eyebrow and we burst out laughing. ‘Who’d have thought,’ I say
, logging off from the website, ‘that your old carthorse of a wife would be entering a race and helping the young people of Britain to get fit.’
Jed smiles and plants a soft kiss on my lips. ‘You’re full of surprises, Laura Swan,’ he says.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Phoebe is poking morosely at some kind of unidentifiable bake at the table when I arrive at Naomi’s the following evening. ‘Remember that athletics club we were talking about?’ she asks her daughter. ‘Well, Laura’s going to help to raise funds for it. Make some cookies or something.’
‘Actually,’ I say, ‘I was thinking I’d rather be involved in the more, um . . . active side. I’ve just entered that 10k you were talking about . . .’
‘Really?’ Her eyebrows shoot up. ‘Well, if you think . . .’
‘And I wondered, maybe I could help to plot courses, if we’re thinking of including some cross-country running . . .’
‘Cross-country?’ she splutters. ‘D’you know anything about that?’
‘Well,’ I say airily, ‘I’ve just been to stay with my sister in Scotland and we did a bit of fell and mountain running.’
‘You ran up a mountain?’ Naomi blinks as she hands me a mug of puddle-tea.
‘Well, just a small mountain really . . .’ I don’t mention that, technically, it was a hill. It felt like a mountain, and that’s what matters.
‘God, that’s impressive. And yes, I think some cross-country would be great for the kids. We should get Beth and the others together, form a sort of committee.’
‘That’s a great idea,’ I enthuse, mulling this over as Naomi chastises Phoebe for rejecting her bake, and whisks her upstairs for a bath. I glance at a picture of Naomi, Phoebe and the motivational trainer husband Jasper or Casper or whatever he’s called, stuck to the fridge with a frog magnet. They’re in some sun-drenched location and are all wearing summery shades like mint and pistachio. How will I keep our kids entertained all summer long, if we don’t go away? There’s no getting away from the fact that the summer break is looming in just a few weeks. Belinda spoke of summer holidays as something to be feared and prepared for, like a military attack. This year I could, feasibly, wear a bikini in public without the police being alerted. I make a mental note to have a look online for any last-minute deals.
