‘Then go and find Daddy, or send Nay to find him, and he will bring you home to me straight away, no matter what time it is.’
‘What if...’ Naomi was clearly thinking on the spot. ‘What if we get kidnapped?’ She jumped up and down as if delighted by the prospect.
Rosie felt Leona’s fingers increase their pressure against her palm. ‘That’s not going to happen. No one is going to kidnap you, and trust me, if they did, they would bring you back very quickly.’ She winked at Leona, who gave a hesitant smile.
‘What if Gerri is really an alien and she has put Dad under a magic spell and she’s not really human?’
Rosie made out she hadn’t heard, obviating the need for a reply. The truth was, she thought this highly possible. She smiled to herself.
They spent Saturday deciding what to pack and what toys to leave behind. These were big decisions. Rosie and Naomi bartered over how many soft toys it was appropriate to take. She had to admit that her daughter was smart: when the starting point was fifteen stuffed furry things, they both had wiggle room. Six was declared the winning number and Naomi then set about the arduous task of choosing which six she liked best, crying theatrically, kissing and apologising to those she was being forced to abandon for a full eighteen hours. Both girls asked a multitude of questions that told Rosie they were still a little anxious.
‘Supposing Gerri hits us with a stick?’ Naomi asked as they ate the sandwiches she had prepared for lunch.
‘S’posing she makes me eat tomatoes?’ Leona scowled. This for her was evidently worse than being hit with a stick.
‘I think it highly unlikely that she will hit you with anything, let alone a stick, because Daddy wouldn’t let her. And he knows you don’t like tomatoes, Leo, and he will be there when you’re fed, so please don’t worry.’
‘What are you going to do when we’re gone?’ Naomi paused from chewing.
‘I’m going to have a lovely bath and watch some telly and have a glass of wine!’ She smiled, a warm, genuine smile that she didn’t have to rehearse.
By the time Phil arrived to pick them up, the girls were in danger of getting over-excited and this usually led to tears or a fight. Rosie answered the door and noted that he was still in his work clothes and looked tired. She didn’t waste time on pleasantries but launched straight into instructions.
‘I’ve told them that if they change their mind at any point, even if it’s the middle of the night, you’ll bring them home.’
‘Of course I will.’ He nodded on the doorstep.
‘And would it be okay if they dropped me a text before they go to sleep?’
‘Sure.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Got your swimming things, girls?’
They screeched ‘Yes!’ and bounded out of the hallway.
‘Phil, I don’t want to nag, but could you please brush their hair if they swim – just put a blob of conditioner on it, you know the drill.’
‘Sure.’ He nodded again. She wasn’t convinced by either his response or his intention. ‘We thought we’d have brunch tomorrow and bring them back about lunchtime?’
Rosie couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped her. She had never heard him use the word ‘brunch’ before, this man who could sniff out a steak pasty at fifty feet, who craved fish and chips in cold weather and who thought that having a dhal side dish with his chicken tikka masala made him a foodie.
She nodded. ‘After brunch would be fine.’
Having kissed the girls goodbye, she called Mel.
‘Two things. Firstly, can you inform your husband that Phil has just told me he will be dropping the girls back “after brunch”. Those were his words, yes, “brunch”!’ She paused to allow her friend a good giggle. ‘And secondly, I’ve got a bottle of wine in the fridge and Mamma Mia loaded up on the telly, are you in?’
‘Brunch!’ Mel squealed. ‘What next? Quinoa in his packed lunch and a Jack Wills hoodie?’ She roared her laughter, apparently incapacitated by the effort of imagining Phil using such a phrase.
*
Having sung their way through the movie and knocked back the wine, Mel yawned. ‘I better get home. I’m knackered. Will you be okay?’
‘Of course I will.’ Rosie hadn’t properly considered how she’d feel sleeping there alone until that point.
‘I’m proud of you, you know.’ Mel stood up and slipped her arms into the sleeves of her jacket.
‘I haven’t done anything!’ she scoffed, embarrassed by the compliment.
‘Yes, you have! You’ve pulled yourself out of that pit you were sitting in and you are moving on and that takes some balls.’
‘Thank you – I think! I’m not out of the woods yet, but I do feel a bit better, stronger.’
‘That’s my girl.’
‘I’ll see you in the week.’ She liked the feeling of positivity that flowed through her. It might have been wine- and Abba-induced, but she felt good nonetheless.
‘You bet.’ Mel pecked her friend on the cheek. ‘When’s Kev off?’
‘End of next week. He’s stayed on a bit longer – I think Mo’s pleased.’
‘And you must be pleased too.’ Mel avoided Rosie’s eye.
‘Well, yeah, he’s always been my mate and it’s nice to have him to talk to. He cheers me up.’
‘So I noticed.’
Rosie waved as her friend walked down the street towards home.
‘Bye, Rosie Shitstar!’ Mel turned and shouted from the end of the road.
Rosie slammed the door, giggling and hoping the neighbours hadn’t heard. Her phone buzzed on the sofa. It was a text from Phil. She realised it was nearly eleven, way past the girls’ bedtime. Sorry, forgot to get girls to text. They are asleep and are fine. Very excited – see photo attached. She scrolled to the attachment and opened up the picture. Her little girls were holding a white ball of fluff with two big black eyes looking up at the camera. They were beaming, delighted and clearly in love with the little puppy they cradled.
‘You have got to be bloody kidding me!’ Her words echoed in the silence as she sank down onto the sofa, feeling her spark of positivity fizzle away to nothing.
*
She woke with the vaguest hint of a hangover behind her eyes, which a large mug of coffee almost cured. It wasn’t quite brunch, but it would have to do. Jumping up to a knock on the door that came a little earlier than expected, she was happy to find Kev on the doorstep, wearing shorts, an oversized Killers T-shirt and muddy trainers. He was bent double and out of breath.
‘I’ve... run.’
‘And you have the nerve to laugh at my sports skills. I might not be able to throw, but I can run without collapsing! Do you want a coffee or should we just go straight to CPR?’
‘Very... funny.’ He breathed out loudly and straightened up to rest against the doorframe. ‘Water and then coffee.’
Rosie tutted and went to put the kettle on.
‘Where are the squids?’ he huffed, looking round the sitting room.
‘Not back from their great adventure, the first sleepover at their dad’s.’ She pulled a face at him over her shoulder as he took a seat at the table.
‘I’m glad that things aren’t weird between us because of you know...’ He gestured.
It was true. Things were certainly less weird than they had been. She suspected that her improved mental state made her split easier to address. ‘Me too. And anyway, we were friends first. In fact, if it wasn’t for you, I would never have met him, so in some ways this is all your fault.’ She smiled as she reached for the mugs.
‘Well, we’re even then.’ He tapped the tabletop.
‘How do you mean?’ She turned and gave him a quizzi-cal look.
‘Doesn’t matter.’ He shook his head. ‘So, have the girls had a good time?’
‘I would say so. Wait until you see this! You won’t believe what they’ve done – talk about trying to win favour.’ She grabbed her phone and opened the picture of the puppy.
‘Oh, so cu
te!’ He screwed his face up.
‘Don’t you start. Can you imagine how happy the kids are going to be?’
‘Yes, and we don’t want that, do we! In fact, that’s the last thing we want – happy kids!’ He laughed.
‘You know what I mean! It’s like the ultimate thing, a puppy.’ She shook her head. ‘Their mansion must seem like a funfair and a shopping mall and a leisure centre all rolled into one, and what can I offer them? A game of Junior Scrabble and some microwave popcorn! And now they’ve got a puppy! A puppy!’
‘Naomi and Leona are not as easily bought as you think. They’ll surprise you.’
‘Kev, if they ever picked spending time with me over a fluffball pup, I would be surprised!’
‘I’d love them to see some of the places I live and work. It changes you, you know. That whole desperate acquisition of material things, it fades away. I see kids playing for hours on the shoreline, just digging the sand, swimming, chasing a ball. It’s a good life, a simpler life.’
‘It sounds lovely, but, sadly, a simpler life isn’t one that will earn me money or put food on the table.’ She placed the mug in front of him.
‘I catch most of my food.’ He sat back in the chair and mimed reeling in a fish.
‘Do you ever catch chicken nuggets or potato waffles?’ She laughed.
‘No, but maybe I’m using the wrong bait.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘Do you ever think about what you might have done if you hadn’t got married and had kids?’
Rosie looked out at the garden. The Japanese maple swayed in the breeze and she pictured Moby and Jonathan in their little shoebox. ‘No. I can’t remember what it was like before I was a mum.’
‘You used to want to be a travel agent, remember? You were really keen, going on about how you’d book tickets and organise itineraries. You did that whole business plan at school once, didn’t you? For... what was it called now... Woolacombe Wanderers, wasn’t it? What a great name for a travel agent’s. And you got an A plus, you jammy cow. I’ve never forgotten that. And I got a C minus for my effort on how I wanted to be a beach bum when I grew up!’ He smirked. ‘Not much has changed on that score, anyway.’
She pictured her childhood bedroom; the wall covered in her pictures from all over the world. ‘God, you remember everything! I don’t think I really knew what being a travel agent was, but the idea of organising holidays, going on holiday, aeroplanes, it all sounded very glamorous to me. Still does, but then I’ve never been anywhere, have I? I think I’ll stick to cleaning caravans, which can be just as glamorous.’
There was the thump of tiny fists on the front door.
‘That’ll be the squids.’ She beamed.
Opening the door was like lifting the lid on a box full of noise. The girls shouted over each other to be heard.
‘Mum, you should see him!’
‘His name is Truffle.’
‘He has a soft little tongue and he licks my hand!’
‘I cuddled him under my chin and he kissed me.’
‘I love him!’
‘I love him so much!’
‘I love him more than she does.’
‘Okay!’ Rosie was firm, her arms in the air. ‘I know you’re excited and I do want to hear all about Trifle...’
‘Truffle!’ they both yelled.
‘...but you have to calm down and take it in turns to speak. Kev’s in the kitchen.’
They both ran along the hall to shower him with facts about the fabulous puppy.
Phil lifted their bags from the boot and carried them to the front door. ‘They’ve gone completely overboard.’ He looked up.
‘Yes. Who could have called that?’
Phil opened his mouth as if to speak but instead just stared at her. ‘I thought it would be a nice thing to do, try and give them something good out of all this.’ He kicked the floor. ‘Please don’t take the gloss off for them, that’s not fair.’
‘That’s me, Mrs Take The Gloss Off!’
‘For God’s sake, it’s a puppy that will stay at our house; it won’t affect you at all! You’re being petty.’
‘Is that right? You just don’t get it, do you? You have no idea how I have to deal with the fallout from all of your spontaneous decisions! It’s typical. You do it all the time—’
‘I do not!’
‘But you do. Things like saying you’ll be here at midday and then texting me to say it’ll actually be two and in those two hours the kids go nuts, having worked themselves up into a frenzy waiting for you. Or like when you tell them you might pop in – to them that’s an arrangement, and then, when you don’t show...’ She shook her head, deciding to let it rest. ‘And now a dog.’
‘I thought it was a good idea.’
‘It’s a great idea! You move out, effectively turn us into a single-parent family, teach them that men can’t be relied upon, even their dad, but hey, look on the upside, if you’re good enough, you might get a puppy!’
‘I can be relied upon.’ His eyebrows knitted together. ‘I’m not your mum!’
Rosie stepped back as if he had slapped her and shut the door.
‘Rosie?’ he called, knocking gently. ‘Rosie?’
She ignored him, walked down the hall and closed the kitchen door behind her.
Kev, unaware of the exchange, was laughing loudly as the girls took it in turns to regale him with Truffle’s exploits.
‘You have to come and hear this.’ He pulled out the chair to his right.
Rosie sat, digging deep to find her smile.
‘Okay, Nay, tell your mum exactly what you just told me.’
Naomi took a deep breath. ‘Well, Truffle was running around and we were chasing him and he stopped at the side of the swimming pool and did a poo and Gerri stood in it with no shoes on and she said the fuck word and Daddy shouted at her for saying the fuck word and then Leo did a wee on the side of the pool, it was running down her leg, and so she jumped in the pool and Gerri said it again. And then Daddy said it.’
Kev tried to suppress his hysterics.
‘Oh! It’s not funny!’ Rosie looked daggers at him. ‘Why did you wet yourself, Leo? That’s not like you. Did you just forget to go?’ She ran her hand over her daughter’s caramel-coloured hair.
‘The loo is far away and I didn’t want to walk there on my own and I didn’t want to leave Truffle and I started laughing because Gerri trod on his poo and I weed at the same time.’
‘Well, we’ve all done that.’ Kev nodded meaningfully in Rosie’s direction.
She glared at him, daring him to mention the night in her teens when, while they were sitting on the beach, he had literally reduced her to tears of laughter and as she’d stood up, the inevitable had happened, only there was no swimming pool for her to jump into and the sea hadn’t looked that inviting.
‘Yes, Uncle Kev’s right, we have all done that.’ She winked at her youngest. ‘And Nay, the F-word is a really horrible word and if you say it, it makes you ugly. There are so many other words you can use, but not that one.’
‘Or shitstar,’ Naomi reminded her. Kev couldn’t help but spray his mouthful of water. ‘We’re not allowed to say shitstar either.’
Rosie coughed. ‘Yes, that one too.’
‘Can we let Truffle come here for sleepovers, Mummy? I miss him so much.’ Leona’s eyes were wide and pleading.
‘We’ll see.’ She looked at Kev. And so it begins...
13
It had been weeks since Kevin left, flying off to his next stop on the world-paradise tour. Rosie missed him, as of course did Keith and Mo. He’d sent the girls a postcard of a deserted beach lapped by turquoise sea, which looked especially inviting now that the weather in North Devon was becoming grottier by the hour, all grey clouds and drizzly wind. The card was stuck to the front of the fridge. On the back it simply said: Been fishing for chicken nuggets, no luck yet! X
The girls came and went at weekends, and while Rosie didn’t like them being away, the more often it ha
ppened, the more used to it she became.
One Saturday she opened the door to her returning children to find Gerri, not Phil, at the door. She felt her face flush as she ran her fingers through the knots in her fringe and wiped her mouth. She felt inadequate, huge and clumsy in the company of this petite, blonde woman whose calves were so slim she could stuff the legs of her jeans into her high-heeled boots. Gerri looked glossy and bright in a way that Rosie knew she never could. She wished she wasn’t still in her pyjama bottoms and sweatshirt.
‘Sorry to just turn up – Phil’s got man flu.’ Gerri sighed, raised her hands and let them fall to her sides, as if this state of affairs was far from satisfactory and as if she and Rosie were old friends, mid chat.
‘Thanks for bringing them home.’ Rosie swallowed as her heart raced.
‘It’s no bother. Only five minutes.’ Gerri pointed up the road, as if Rosie didn’t know exactly where she’d come from.
Rosie remembered the last time they’d spoken, pictured herself sliding down the side of Gerri’s car, sad and broken and covered in goo. She felt the need to put her side of the story. ‘When I saw you before, at Mel and Andy’s...’
‘Yes.’ Geraldine nodded. As if she could have forgotten.
‘You thought I’d been sick, but as I told you... it was coleslaw.’ She wished she sounded more coherent, smarter.
Gerri furrowed her brow.
‘I dropped it, when I saw your car. The coleslaw.’ What are you going on about it for? Stop it, Rosie!
‘Right.’ Gerri nodded. ‘I was thinking...’ She paused. ‘As the kids come round to the house a lot, it would make sense if you knew where they were, wouldn’t it? And you could pick them up sometimes – I don’t expect Phil and I will be available as a taxi service every Saturday morning.’ She flashed a wide, social smile.
Rosie gawped at her jibe, temporarily lost for words.
‘And of course I’m sure you’d like to know where they are, and that they’re safe. Come for coffee, why don’t you? Shall we say Wednesday?’
Rosie stared at her, surprised and confused by the invitation. ‘I’ll, err, have a think about it.’
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