Rosie stared at him sadly. ‘I think I’ve already made it. I’m sorry, Winston. You’re asking too much of us.’
‘Then forget it,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ll turn down the offer.’
‘You don’t want to.’ She shook her head. ‘I can see it in your eyes.’
She was right. He did want to go to the States, but he was also prepared to give it up for her. At least, he thought he was …
Then, before either of them could say anything, Jack came running up. That was parenthood for you, Winston realised. Constant interruptions just when you needed to say something important.
‘You will come and visit, won’t you, Dad?’ the boy said as he hugged him goodbye.
Winston remembered the advice Pam had given him about leaving all options open. ‘Of course I will. Or you might want to come here, if you prefer.’ He glanced at Rosie. ‘Both of you.’
Awkwardly, he made to hug her. As he did so, he caught sight of Jack’s face, watching. Was that approval or not? It was hard to tell.
‘Look,’ he whispered, helping her with her case to check-in. ‘I’m sorry about what I said about boarding schools. I get it completely. I have no right to interfere with the way you bring up Jack – you’ve done a great job. I just want you to know that I’m always here if you want me, wherever either of us end up.’
She looked at him as though working out if he meant it or not. ‘OK.’ Then, as an afterthought, she added, ‘Thanks.’
Jack flung his arms around him again. ‘Thanks for Grandad’s watch, Dad. I’ll always look after it.’
He nodded, unable to say anything. ‘It was good of you,’ added Rosie quietly. ‘I know how much your father meant to you.’
Then they were off: Jack waving until Winston couldn’t see him any more. Moist-eyed, he turned to see the girl at the information desk eyeing him sympathetically. ‘That’s my son,’ he said, with a huge lump in his throat.
‘I thought he might be,’ she replied. ‘I could see the likeness.’
Yes! Winston took the underground back, feeling a curious buoyancy despite the emptiness in his chest. Other people recognised them as father and son too. It lent an air of authenticity to something that wouldn’t have seemed real this time last year. The first thing he would do on getting home, he decided, was email Jack. Not a sentimental I’m missing you email but a chirpy one with some jokes. The type they used to tell in the Royal Marines, just before going into action.
He’d need to email Rosie, too. But what would he say? Did he love her or not? Maybe Pam had been right when she’d said he’d allowed his Christmas emotions to get the better of him. Otherwise, why had he felt that gap between him and Rosie just now at the airport?
Life could be so confusing at times.
The flat seemed empty when he let himself in. It would be odd not having Jack here at weekends any more. After switching on Classic FM, Winston turned to his computer.
INVITATION.
Intrigued, Winston read on. It was a call for a reunion with his old batch. They were meeting up later in the spring. Did he want to go?
Do it! said Nick in his head. You’ve hidden away from your old friends for too long.
Automatically, he RSVP’d yes. As he did so, another email came up. This was from someone else in his old batch. The subject heading was Urgent.
DESPERATELY SEEKING A HOME
Barney is a retired sniffer dog who was going to be rehomed this week. Unfortunately, his intended new owner has had to go into hospital and is likely to be in for some time. Barney needs someone to look after him. Can you help?
There was another email too. From Karl at the American television station.
Had any more thoughts about our latest offer, Winston? We’ve hung on for as long as we can but we need an answer. Now.
TRUE POST-HONEYMOON STORY
‘I was seventeen and six months pregnant when we got married. Now, after thirty years, my husband’s still my best friend.’
Amanda, mother of three
Chapter Forty
EMMA
The January back-to-school panic helped to distract Emma from the confused thoughts that woke her up at five every morning, even earlier than Willow, who had finally learned to sleep through the night.
Every time she opened her eyes, she reached across for Tom and – for a split second – wondered where he was. Then it would all come flooding back. His absence felt like a gaping hole in her chest, made worse by the fact that she had caused it in the first place. How horribly ironic that it had taken her husband’s absence for her to understand that they’d been much better suited than she’d realised.
They might not have had the passion she’d experienced with Yannis on the island, but she and Tom had been comfortable together. They knew each other’s little ways – silly things like her not driving on motorways or him always putting his left sock on first. There was a lot to be said for that.
And – this was the deal breaker – they had two children together. No one else could ever be a substitute.
As she lay there, steeling herself to lumber out of bed and get the children ready for their first day after the Christmas holidays, she felt the baby launch an even bigger kick than usual. It’s not my fault, it seemed to say.
Poor little mite. Emma placed both hands on her swollen stomach, remembering how Tom had loved to do the same when she’d been pregnant with Gawain and Willow.
But this one was going to grow up without a father. Emma felt gripped with apprehension. She’d have to make sure, as Rosie had done, that she did a good job. After all, Jack, on the whole, was a credit to her.
‘Mummy, Mummy!’ called out Gawain, bouncing onto her bed, dressed as usual in his Spider-Man costume. ‘Is it my birthday yet?’
He’d been asking that ever since Christmas. ‘No, love.’ She shoved up a bit in the bed to give him room. ‘Not till next month.’
‘Next month?’ His little face crumpled with disappointment. ‘But Gawain can’t wait that long.’
Despite herself, Emma laughed. She could remember saying the same to Dad. He’d promised her a red bike for her eighth birthday and it had seemed like an age until the day had finally come. ‘You’ll have to wait, love.’ She glanced down at the bump. ‘All good things take time.’
‘But Gawain wants Daddy to be here now.’ Her son’s eyes were brimming. ‘It was on my Christmas list but Santa didn’t get it right, naughty man.’
Emma’s heart contracted. At the same time, the bump lurched. Luckily, it diverted Gawain. ‘How does the baby do that?’ he demanded.
She needed to think about that one. Tom had told them they were going to have another brother or sister right at the beginning, before Bernie had spilled the beans. She’d thought Gawain had accepted it. Willow was too young to have taken it in.
Still, at least his question had got them off the Where’s Dad? subject.
‘My tummy’s like a swimming pool inside,’ she said, smiling encouragingly. ‘The baby swims around until it’s ready to come out.’
His face cleared. ‘Like Gawain and Dad? He’s taking us to the pool on Saturday. He said so.’
Really? Tom hadn’t told her that. Welcome to the world of shared custody. During the last few weeks, Tom had been coming over every Saturday morning at ten o’clock on the dot to take the kids out for the day, always telling her where they were going ‘in case of emergency’.
What he did in between those Saturdays was anyone’s guess, although she had an uncomfortable feeling that it might have something to do with that surprise kiss he had given her on Christmas Day. A kiss that hadn’t been repeated. A practised kiss.
‘Come on now,’ she said, finally getting out of bed. Mum’s spare wasn’t as wide as her old bed at home and it was quite creaky too, especially with her extra weight. ‘Let’s get you out of your Spider-Man costume and into your school uniform.’
Gawain ducked out of her grasp. ‘Want to wear this. And want Daddy to come home.
Now.’
‘What’s all that noise?’ called Mum up the stairs. Since Christmas, she’d got increasingly shirty about them all being here, making constant remarks about fingerprints on the wall and the kitchen being too small for everyone.
Mum was right. It would make more sense if they moved back to the family home and Tom found somewhere else to live. That was something she’d have to talk to him about. To be honest, she’d been putting it off, preferring to be with Mum for some company.
But now that was wearing thin. Mum had got really secretive, often putting down her mobile suddenly when Emma came into the room. The other Saturday, she had gone out for the day saying she was ‘seeing a friend’, leaving Emma to kick her heels without anyone else around. It had felt really weird.
‘Sorry,’ Emma called down. ‘I’m just trying to get Gawain dressed for school. You couldn’t give me a hand with Willow, could you?’
There was a grumbling noise and the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. ‘When I was your age, I didn’t have any help, not even when I was pregnant …’
She stopped suddenly, as if knowing she’d said too much.
‘But when you were expecting me,’ said Emma slowly, ‘your mum was alive. You said she was always around.’
Mum turned her back, heading towards Willow’s cot in the corner. She was getting too big for it now, but there wasn’t enough space here for a toddler bed. ‘Not always,’ came the reply. ‘By the way, is there any chance you three can make yourself scarce next Sunday? Only I’ve got some guests coming round.’
If she was still talking to Bernie, Emma would have confided in her. But the longer she held out against it, the more difficult it was to accept her friend’s original apology. Instead, they spoke as little as possible at school, restricting it to ‘One plate with no beans’ or ‘Smaller portion, if you please.’
Then, a few days after her strange conversation with Mum about the mystery guests (‘none of your business whom I ask round’), she was putting out lunch for the large table at the end when there was a terrific noise behind her, followed by a shocked silence and then a scream.
‘Bloomin’ heck!’ yelled Bernie. ‘Quick, someone!’
Horrified, Emma took in the little girl lying on the ground next to a chair on its side. ‘Abigail pushed her,’ spluttered a small boy indignantly, his mouth full of baked beans. ‘I saw her. It’s cos Sophie kicked her. I saw that too.’
‘Who’s got their first aid certificate?’ called out one of the other dinner ladies frantically.
Emma gulped. ‘I have.’ She’d taken it when she’d been pregnant with Gawain: the supermarket had sent all its employees on a course and they’d seen it, she was ashamed to say, as a chance to have a day away from the tills.
Bending down over the little girl, whose eyes were closed, she tried to remember. Tilt the chin back to check the airway was clear. Seemed to be. Check the pulse. Yes. Place in recovery position. Whoops. She was being sick but at least her eyes were opening now.
‘It’s all right, love,’ she said soothingly. ‘You’ve just had a nasty fall.’
There was the sound of running feet. Gemma Balls! Thank goodness for that. ‘We’ve called an ambulance.’ She knelt down next to Emma and the child. ‘Hello, Sophie. Had a bit of a bump, have we?’ Then she turned to one side, whispering, ‘Someone needs to ask reception to ring Sophie’s parents.’
‘I’ll do it.’ Emma jumped to her feet.
By the time she was back, Sophie was sitting up and chatting, although she was very pale. The ambulance men were there too. After she’d gone, there was a hushed silence in the canteen. ‘Better try and distract the kids,’ said Emma to Bernie.
Her old friend nodded. ‘How about ice cream faces?’
‘Brilliant.’ It was something they usually did at the end of term. Bernie would place jelly beans onto slices of Arctic roll to make faces; the kids loved it. Within a few minutes, there were ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ and then the usual squabbling as though nothing had happened.
‘That’s better,’ said Bernie, leaning over the counter. ‘Phew. I’m exhausted from the shock.’
Emma handed her some empty platters. ‘Still, it looks as though she’s going to be all right, doesn’t it?’
Bernie’s expression was rueful. ‘Do you mean the kid or us?’
‘Both, hopefully,’ said Emma quickly. It had been a relief, she realised, to talk normally to her friend during the crisis. Life was short: that little girl’s accident could so easily have been something worse.
‘I’ve missed you,’ said Bernie, reaching for her hand. ‘And I’m really sorry about telling Phil. I shouldn’t have done.’
‘No.’ Emma began to scrub down the tables as the children lined up for the duty teacher. ‘It’s me who should have told Tom.’ She moistened her lips. ‘Do you … I mean, has Phil said … It’s just that I wondered if Tom was seeing …’
‘Anyone else?’ Bernie said.
Emma nodded, her mouth dry with apprehension.
Bernie’s face was sombre. ‘Tell you the truth, Em, Phil did say that one of the girls behind the bar took a shine to your Tom the other week. Passed her number to him, she did. But I don’t know if he did anything about it.’
So that explained the kiss. Well, if he could get over her as easily as that, Emma told herself, Tom obviously hadn’t cared for her much in the first place.
What were they going to do all day on Sunday? It was raining, so the park was out. ‘I want to go roller skating,’ insisted Gawain.
That wouldn’t work. They’d done it a couple of times when Tom had been home, but who would hold Willow while she was with Gawain? It needed two people to be there.
She was still trying to make up her mind when her mobile went. It was a number she didn’t recognise. ‘Hello?’
‘Emma?’
Her pulse began to race. There was only one man apart from her husband who could make her do that, and he was also the only other one who had broken her heart.
‘Hello, Dad.’
‘Look, I know this is short notice but I … we … wondered if you would like to come to Sunday lunch today. Bring the kids, of course. And Tom too.’
‘He’s not here,’ she said flatly.
‘I see.’ There was a short pause. ‘Well, can you and the children still come?’
‘OK.’ The acceptance was out of her mouth before she could take it back or even justify it to herself.
‘We’re going to see Grandad,’ she told Gawain as she dressed Willow, giving up on her son, who was still glued into his Spider-Man ensemble. ‘But don’t tell Granny.’
‘Why?’ Gawain’s face shone with indignation. ‘It’s wrong to tell lies.’
‘It’s not exactly a lie; it’s just keeping a secret.’ Oh dear, it was so hard teaching right from wrong.
Gawain nodded seriously, putting a finger to his mouth. ‘Spider-Man does that too.’
The only reason she was doing this, Emma told herself as they stood on her father’s doorstep, was for the children. Her separation from Tom had taught her how important it was to maintain family ties.
‘Emma!’ Dad scooped her into a big, warm hug. ‘And this must be Gawain and Willow.’ His eyes looked suspiciously bright. ‘At last! Come on in. We’ve got ice cream for pudding; it was your mum’s favourite when she was your age.’
It wasn’t until she went into the sitting room and saw the cards on the mantelpiece that she realised. It was Dad’s birthday. A special birthday.
‘I wasn’t expecting you to remember,’ said Dad, slightly embarrassed. ‘It was more that I didn’t want to reach fifty and still not be in touch with my grandkids. Milestones like that make you think.’
Emma could see that. The second thing she noticed was that she was there. Trisha, the woman who had broken up her parents, if Mum’s story was to be believed.
‘I’m so glad you came.’ The tall, elegant woman with grey hair smiled and held out her hand. Ignorin
g it, Emma scooped Willow up and sat on the sofa. Seeing Dad was one thing but being friendly to this woman was another. ‘Ted’s been like a cat on hot bricks since he saw you last. All he does is talk about you.’
Was she jealous? Or just being welcoming? It was hard to know.
Lunch was a bit tense, with Trisha trying to make conversation and Emma ignoring her. Luckily, the kids provided a distraction.
‘I only eat food that’s red and black,’ declared Gawain.
‘Since when?’ retorted Emma.
‘That’s what Spider-Man does,’ he replied, ignoring the question.
‘What a bright little boy,’ declared Trisha.
If she thought she could endear herself by being obsequious, the woman was mistaken.
‘Emma,’ said Dad quietly when they’d all finished. ‘Can I have a quick word in the kitchen?’
Furiously she followed, taking in the square room with its huge range down one side.
‘If this is to tell me I’ve got to be nice to your wife,’ she began crossly, putting Willow down, ‘then—’
‘It’s not.’ Dad pulled out a chair for her to sit on. ‘It’s about Tom. I’d hoped you two might have made it up by now.’
Dad knew?
‘Tom came to see me the other week after I wrote to him.’
‘You wrote to him?’ gasped Emma. ‘Why?’
Dad looked wistful for a second. ‘Because I didn’t want him to make the same mistake that I did. So I talked to him about forgiveness.’
‘Hah! You’re a fine one to talk.’
‘Poured out his heart, he did,’ continued Dad, as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘Thought I’d understand as I’d been divorced myself. He loves you, you know.’ Then he glanced at the bump. ‘But there are some things that a man’s pride won’t let him accept. It was the same for me when your mum fell …’
He stopped suddenly. Emma’s blood ran cold as she remembered something that her mother had started to say the other day. ‘Mum got pregnant?’ she whispered. ‘After me?’
Dad nodded.
‘No!’ Emma leaped up. ‘Then where is …’
Her voice tailed off as Dad shook his head.
After the Honeymoon Page 39
