by K. L. Slater
Romy spent a lot of time with Maria and recently it had been more than usual because of him seeing Darcy. George had passed it off to Maria as a need to attend departmental meetings at work about the possible effect of Brexit on medical services and supplies. Everything else seemed to be being blamed on Brexit these days, why shouldn’t he join the doom-mongers?
Anyway, Maria had seemed to think it a worthy excuse and hadn’t batted an eyelid. He felt certain she believed that’s how he was spending his time without Romy. Now he’d introduced Darcy to her, however, she would probably realise why he’d been absent more than usual.
Maybe her comments to Romy were her way of showing her displeasure at having another woman around.
Tough luck on Maria if so because George was thoroughly enjoying Darcy’s company. She’d been a bit starry-eyed when she visited the house for the first time a couple of days ago, wanted to look around all the rooms. She’d oohed and ahhed in all the right places, it was quite sweet really.
George didn’t really see the house itself any more but he supposed it was quite a special home. He’d had such wonderful plans to settle down with his family there at one time…
Darcy told him she’d just found out the house she rented had been sold and, as yet, the management company hadn’t told her whether this would bring her tenancy to an end. She’d put on a brave face, maintained she wasn’t too worried about it but George saw the shadow that passed over her face. A big upheaval was always a worry when you had kids to consider.
Once she’d had a bit of a tour around the house, Darcy seemed to completely forget the grandness and, for all the interest she took, they could have been in a grubby little bedsit, holed up together. And George had loved that, appreciated her lack of materiality.
Lucy, for all she was a wonderfully caring wife and mother, was the opposite. She coveted new and beautiful possessions almost constantly.
If George bought her a beautiful bracelet as a gift, she immediately had her eye on the matching necklace. If they refurbished a room in the house – new carpets, the latest furnishings and colour scheme – before the paint was even dry, she’d be planning the next area of the house to needlessly improve.
George had taken it all in his stride. It wasn’t Lucy’s fault, she’d been brought up that way. Always given the best, taught that if something hadn’t got a designer label attached and cost the earth, it wasn’t worth having.
Worst of all, Martha and Colin had cursed their daughter as a child with the deeply held belief that material possessions brought happiness and the more of them you amassed, the happier you’d be.
Heartbreakingly, Lucy had found out far too late, at the end of her life, that this was a fallacy. When little Esther – Romy’s twin – died, Lucy was blind to every single item she’d worshipped before.
‘Can we get the boxes out then, Daddy?’ Romy brightened and stood up. ‘Can we look at the pictures of Mummy and Esther together?’
‘Of course, darling,’ he said, although there were no photographs of little Esther. He closed the case file he’d been working on and patted his knee. Romy skipped over and perched there for a moment.
George kissed the top of her head, sniffed in the scent of fruit shampoo.
Everything he wanted was just a hair’s breadth away from him.
He wouldn’t let anyone ruin it this time.
Twenty-Three
Over the coming weeks, George and I enjoy movie dates at the Broadway cinema, and I’m delighted to discover he loves independent films just as much as I do. We see The Mousetrap at the Theatre Royal, and George, who knows the manager, arranges for us to meet the cast afterwards as a surprise.
Our dates are a welcome distraction from the impending house move. If Daniela really has purchased our home – within even viewing it, it seems – then we’ll be moving out, simple as. Even if the lettings company tells me we can stay, I’ve no intention of giving her the chance to wield power over me and my sons.
I’ve been looking at Rightmove and set an alert up for suitable properties coming up to let in this and surrounding areas. There doesn’t seem to be much about at the moment, probably too near to Christmas. I’m sure I’ll have better luck in the new year though.
I’d be far more worried if I hadn’t met George and was sitting at home dwelling on the situation, worrying about our fate. As it is, we’ve been seeing each other every couple of days or so.
Sometimes meeting up means grabbing a quick coffee or a Pret sandwich in between dashing around during everyday life, just so we can continue to touch base. Occasionally we manage to spend a night together when our childcare synchronises.
We’ve been able to schedule in a couple of dinners while our respective families babysit, citing work reasons for being late home. I don’t feel bad for the little fibs, it’s better than the alternative. I will tell Joel’s family about George but it will be when I’m ready.
Before long, the inevitable subject is raised.
‘Let’s tell our kids at least,’ George says, his face open and hopeful. ‘We should be enjoying time together, not sneaking off when they’re out of the way.’
‘I agree, it does feel a bit like that,’ I say. ‘But people would say it’s still early days, wouldn’t they? I mean, we haven’t been seeing each other for long.’
‘Who cares what other people say or think?’ George frowns. ‘Look, it’s Christmas in a matter of weeks. Why don’t we spend it all together?’
My throat begins to ache. Without fail, the boys and I go to Brenda and Leonard’s every year, Christmas Eve through to Boxing Day. Steph and Dave are there too, and Brenda always places Joel’s photograph on the table. ‘So Daddy is here with us too,’ she tells the boys.
This year, she hasn’t even asked if we’re going over there for Christmas, she’s simply assumed that’s the case. She’s mentioned one or two things to me in passing, like her menu choices, and the presents she’s considering buying for the boys.
It’s gone way past mentioning that we’re thinking of doing something else this year.
To be fair, over the past few years we’ve had nowhere else to go and I’ve been very grateful that Joel’s family make a big effort to make Christmas a fun time for Kane and Harrison.
For me, it’s always an ordeal. Those three days seem to drag on and on. Joel’s name is centre stage, and Brenda gets out all the photographs and takes the kids through Daddy’s childhood once again, with every hint and trace of what he did to us neatly airbrushed out of the conversation.
George takes in my expression.
‘I suppose you and the boys usually go to your in-laws for Christmas?’
I nod. ‘I can’t imagine Brenda’s face if I just announce out of the blue that we won’t be there. She started planning it in early September.’
George laughs, but grows serious again when he sees my expression.
‘Look, I don’t want you to worry about it. Let’s not discuss it for now. I’ve flagged it up, so just have a think.’ He sighs. ‘We’re doing nothing wrong here, Darcy, don’t forget that. Your in-laws have been caring and kind, but now we have a chance to make a fresh start together. All five of us.’
‘And I do want that,’ I whisper. ‘More than anything.’
‘Then we have to make it a priority, even if people’s feelings may be hurt initially. Trust me, they’ll handle it.’ George speaks gently, and I know he’s right.
True to his word, he changes the subject, and after a quick discussion, we decide it’s definitely a good time to introduce our kids to each other. After a lengthy debate about what they might enjoy the most, Bounce, an indoor trampoline park attached to a local leisure centre, wins out.
‘Cool,’ Harrison says when I tell him. ‘Who did you say we’re going with?’
‘Just my friend George and his little girl, Romy. She’s the same age as Kane.’
Harrison looks up from organising his football stickers and wrinkles his nose. ‘A girl?’
I bite back a smile, amused that he’s immediately picked up on Romy but not batted an eyelid about my ‘friend’ George.
‘Is it Dr George who helped me at the park, Mum?’ Kane pipes up. ‘The one you took a thank-you card to?’
‘That’s right.’ I nod, impressed by his perception. ‘We’ve got to know each other a bit since then, and we thought it might be nice to all go out together. For our kids to meet each other.’
‘But how have you got to know him?’ Harrison asks distractedly, staring at the television. ‘You haven’t seen him since we were at the park.’
Kane looks at me, full of mischief. ‘He’s not your boyfriend, is he, Mum?’
Here it is, the moment I’ve been worrying about. Once I tell them, I can’t very well ask them to lie to their auntie and grandparents.
But do I come clean right away and tell the truth, or let them meet George first and see how nice he is before I break the news that we’re in a relationship? Kane was really young when his daddy died, but Harrison remembers Joel well and often asks me stuff about him plus Joel’s family talk about him non-stop whenever the boys go over there. It’s a sensitive subject.
‘We’re good friends and we think you guys will get along together really well too,’ I say lightly. ‘It’s just a nice day out for us all. That’s OK, isn’t it?’
‘Suppose so.’ Harrison shrugs, seemingly not quite as enthusiastic all of a sudden.
I chivvy the boys along into my little Fiat and we arrive at the leisure centre. As we park up, I spot George and Romy standing at the entrance. They’re deep in conversation, Romy looking up at her dad and George nodding and using his hands as he explains something to her. He’s mentioned many times that she is quite the chatterbox, naturally inquisitive about the world around her and bright as a button too, by all accounts.
It makes me wonder what her mother, Lucy, was like. He’s spoken about her a little, as I have about Joel. Our focus is on each other and our children for now, rather than our pasts, and although I know there will come a time for me to tell George about everything that happened after Joel’s death, I feel instinctively that we haven’t yet reached that moment.
‘There he is.’ Kane points at George. ‘There’s the doctor who helped me at the park.’
‘That’s right.’ I smile at him. ‘But he’s just our friend George now, so you don’t have to call him Doctor or anything like that.’
I glance at Harrison. He’s not looking over at George and Romy but staring down at the pavement in front of him, scraping at the ground with the toe of his new training shoe.
‘Don’t do that, Harry, you’ll ruin them.’
He ignores me and carries on.
George spots us and waves. He takes Romy’s hand and says something to her, and she presses shyly into his side as they walk towards us.
‘Here they are!’ He smiles at the boys. ‘Kane and Harrison… have I got that right?’
‘Yes, you helped me to breathe again at the park,’ Kane states simply.
‘Well, you did most of that yourself.’ George winks at him. ‘You were a tough little soldier.’
Kane grins up at me.
‘Your brother gave us quite a scare, didn’t he, Harry?’ I squeeze my elder son’s hand, and he nods but doesn’t look up.
George holds out his hand. ‘I’m George.’
Harrison reluctantly shakes hands, and his eyes dart quickly over George’s face before he studies the floor again.
‘And this is my daughter, Romy. Say hi, Romy.’
‘Hi,’ Romy says shyly. She smiles, and dimples spring up at the edges of her mouth. She is adorable, all dark blonde curls and big blue eyes with a peaches-and-cream complexion.
I haven’t yet seen a photograph of George’s late wife. It’s a bit strange he hasn’t got any photographs up in the house but I suppose everyone has their own way of dealing with things. As George is dark-haired with brown eyes, I’m betting that Romy has inherited her mother’s colouring. No doubt she was a very attractive woman, I think miserably.
Inside, we queue for our tickets and the children take off their shoes, as it’s socks only on the apparatus. They sit side by side, saying absolutely nothing to each other as they fiddle with buckles and laces. I feel the muscles in my neck start to pinch.
‘Hey, relax.’ George touches my cheek. ‘It’s bound to be a bit awkward at first, but you wait and see, we’ll all be best mates by the end of today.’
I nod and smile, wanting to believe him.
Romy is a little nervous when we reach our designated trampoline. ‘Don’t worry, princess,’ George tells her. ‘Harrison will take good care of you. I’m betting he’s going to be great at this, right, Harry?’
Harrison gives a curt nod and reluctantly takes Romy’s hand as she struggles to keep her balance on the trampoline. And then the most amazing thing happens. Within minutes, he transforms into the perfect big brother, patiently helping Kane and Romy with their bouncing technique while showing off his own fancy double somersaults that I had no idea he could do.
He shrugs off our compliments at the end of the session. ‘We have trampolines in the sports hall at school.’ But I can see he’s secretly pleased with the attention.
Afterwards, in the café, we have burgers and milkshakes, and George makes the kids laugh with stories from when he was an A&E doctor in the early part of his career.
‘He had a baby’s potty stuck on his head?’ Kane howls theatrically and mimes falling off his chair.
Harrison snorts and almost chokes on his milkshake.
‘It’s true!’ George insisted. ‘He’d had a few beers and was dancing around the living room trying to keep his kids entertained. The potty got stuck fast because of an unusual suction effect, and his wife had to drive him to the hospital.’
Afterwards, when we’re getting ready to leave, Kane and Romy are busy chatting about their favourite game on Nintendo Switch, and Harrison is deep in conversation with George about the best way to train for performing an advanced back flip.
I hang back a little and savour the sight. And I realise that for the first time since Joel died, I don’t feel quite so hollow inside.
The boys say goodbye to George and Romy and I give Kane the remote control to open the car while I have a few last words with him.
‘It’s been a lovely day, I couldn’t have wished for it to go any better.’
‘The kids get on just as well as we do,’ he agrees as Romy climbs into the Audi, waving to me.
‘I’ve decided something while we’ve been here, today.’ I take a breath. ‘I’m going to tell Joel’s family about us. Now the boys have met you and Romy, it’s probably only a matter of time before they say something that gets Steph or Brenda’s ears burning anyway.’
‘That’s great news.’ He beams.
I feel exhilarated, like we’ve reached a really important landmark in our relationship.
We both turn, the moment ruined by yells of outrage from the boys.
‘Ugh, look what someone’s done to our car, Mum!’ Kane rushes up, clamping his hand over his mouth.
George locks Romy in the car for safety and rushes past the seven or eight parked cars between our vehicles. When he reaches my Fiat, he stops dead.
‘What is it?’ I call, catching up with him. ‘Oh!’
‘What’s that stuff all over it, Mum?’ Harrison pulls a face and sticks out his tongue in disgust.
The car bonnet is covered in what looks like oozing, bloody bits of flesh. It looks like I’ve hit an animal. I’m too shocked to speak for a moment but George steps forward, bends down to scrutinise and, to shrieking outrage from the boys, wipes some up with his fingers and brings it up to his nose to sniff it.
‘Tomatoes,’ he murmurs. ‘Rotten, squashed tomatoes, that’s all it is.’
‘That’s all it is? It still shouldn’t be all over my car… who would do this?’ But I’m answering my own question before George can speculate.
>
I spin around and scour the car park and the leisure centre entrance for any sign of Daniela Frost. Who else could it be?
I turn to George, burning with fury rather than fear now. But mindful of the boys listening, I pull back the curses about to trip off my tongue.
‘What is it, George?’
He looks like he’s seen a ghost. His face is pale, his mouth a short, tight line.
‘Nothing.’ He seems to collect himself. ‘I… it’s just a shock that someone would do this.’
‘Too right. If I’d have caught them doing it I’d have rubbed their nasty little face in it.’ I think about Daniela’s perfect make-up and how satisfying it might be to carry out the threat.
‘It’s probably just local kids,’ George remarks.
‘Strange it’s completely isolated to my car though,’ I add, feeling another spike of heat inside. There’s not so much as a speck of tomato on the vehicles parked either side of mine. ‘You’re right though, whoever’s done this is immature and pathetic.’
George nods. Shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was something he’s keeping from me.
Twenty-Four
She doesn’t realise it, of course, but I’m actually trying to help. Trying to stop all this nonsense before it’s too late.
I follow them everywhere. I could show you spreadsheets with all the details: when, where, time and length of stay… I’m sure a small part of them would secretly be impressed if they knew.
You might wonder why I go to the trouble of logging their every movement? I shall tell you. The details might not mean much in themselves, but put them all together and you have a story. A narrative which clearly tells the tale of how and where they met, how their relationship grew so rapidly, how their children are being affected.
When I finally face her, I’ll have all the evidence I need to illustrate that my actions are justified.
