Over You (17 page)

Toby shook his head, mutinous. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t want a story. I don’t want you. I want my dad!’

Josie was starting to feel angrier and angrier with Pete. She’d been in a state all morning herself. She wanted to display an Ideal Home scenario to him when he arrived, and Ideal Wife to boot, to remind him what he was missing. The house was spotless – well, apart from the discarded cushions – and she had spent a stupidly long time dithering over what to wear. Nothing black – the dandruff was still pattering down from her scalp every time she moved her head. And half a ton of foundation was a given, seeing as her skin was still spotty and dry. Was the tight white T-shirt he’d always fancied her in too obvious? Should she wear a skirt, flash a bit of leg?

He’d blown it now, though. She was feeling as petulant as the boys, no longer cared what she looked like. Come
on
, Pete! What was he doing? Surely he hadn’t forgotten? Surely even
he
knew that you couldn’t be late for your own kids?

She put her hand on the phone, then snatched it off again. She wasn’t going to remind him to pick them up. Let him be really, really late. Then they’d hate him for it. Then they’d love
her
even more. And . . .

‘I want Da-a-ad,’ Toby whined again, punching the arm of the sofa. His bottom lip was curled out sullenly. His eyes were downcast.

Josie grabbed the phone at once. She couldn’t play games like that. She wasn’t going to get into the who-do-you-love-best? thing, it was out of order. She would phone Pete right now, and demand that he come round this minute!

Ding-dong!

‘Daddy!’ Toby cheered, his face alight once more as the doorbell pealed. It was like the sun coming out, seeing his expression change.

Sam thumped down the stairs, almost tripping in his haste. ‘Is it Dad?’ he asked, pushing past Josie without waiting for an answer.

Josie tucked her hair behind her ears self-consciously as she walked towards the door. She felt nervous, as if she were about to go on a first date. How ironic was that?

‘Have you got your shoes on? Well done. Here are your sun hats, OK?’ She was trying to keep her voice normal and light –
Hey, this is no big deal, kids!
– but there was a horrible wobbly sound to her words. Don’t cry, whatever you do, she ordered herself. Do not cry.

Her hand felt shaky on the doorhandle as she lowered the latch. A part of her wanted to fling open the door and drag him bodily into the house with her.
You
will
stay with me, you
will
! You’re not allowed to go again, do you understand?

And then there he was, Pete, on the wrong side of the doorstep, like a total stranger. She was about to speak when the boys charged past her, one either side, headlong into Pete’s arms. He crouched down and caught them, burying his face in their hair, and Josie had to turn away, unable to look.

It was going to break their little hearts. It was going to destroy them!

‘I’ll bring them back by five, yeah?’ he said, finally raising his eyes to hers.

He looked different. Not the man she’d married. He smelled different too. New aftershave. New T-shirt.

Josie folded her arms around herself, suddenly feeling cold, and nodded. ‘Have a nice time, Tobes, have fun, Sam,’ she said, bending down to kiss them. ‘Be good for your dad, won’t you?’

But they were already turning away from her, and Pete was hoisting a boy up on to each shoulder, and they were all laughing together. All except her.

At the last moment Sam turned his head to wave goodbye, his brown eyes anxious as he saw her tense expression.

With her last ounce of strength, Josie managed to plaster on a big smile and blow him a kiss. Then she shut the door, and there was silence.

‘Why doesn’t Daddy want to live with us any more?’

Josie stared at Sam, trying to get the right words together. Her mouth moved, but nothing came out. The very question she’d been dreading. ‘Well, it’s not that . . .’ she began, but Toby was too quick for her.

‘Cos he doesn’t love us no more, silly!’ he told his brother, scooping up an armful of foam with a practised sweep.

The boys were in the bath now, having returned (late) from their afternoon with Pete with grass clippings in their hair and cut knees after football in the park. Josie, meanwhile, had spent the three hours they’d been gone in a kind of trance, bereft, as if they’d been snatched away from her for ever.

‘That’s not true,’ she said quickly. ‘Toby? Are you listening? Your dad does love you, very much. Of course he does.’

Sam looked at her, his face tilted to one side. ‘Doesn’t he love
you
any more then, Mum?’

God! Out of the mouths of babes and all that. She took a deep breath. ‘Me and Dad will always love you two,’ she said. ‘Always. But now he . . .’ This was so difficult. They never taught you this bit at childbirth classes. ‘Now he wants to live with somebody else.’ She crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘For a while,’ she added in the hope of softening the truth.

‘Bean?’ Toby asked. He was swishing his arms through the bubbles with a fierce kind of concentration. ‘Oh yeah, Dad told us all about Bean.’

Did he now?

‘Her name’s Sabine,’ Josie said, through gritted teeth.

‘I don’t like that name,’ Sam said, loyal to the end. He was looking at her carefully, as if desperate to say the right thing and please her.

‘I don’t either,’ Toby said. ‘It’s stupid.’ He did a karate chop into the water, and Josie dodged away as it sprayed everywhere. ‘Meany beany Sabin-ee!’

‘Toby, don’t call her names,’ Josie said, tempting though it was to join in. ‘She might be very nice.’

‘
I
won’t like her,’ Toby said confidently.

Sam was reaching for her, his fingers wet and bubbly on her arm. ‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ he said. ‘We still love you best.’

Josie put her arms around him, and his little damp hand crept around her back. ‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ she said, trying not to choke on the words. How did children manage to do that anyway? Wrench at your heart just with a simple pronouncement? ‘Thanks, pumpkin. I love you two best, as well.’

The next day was Sunday, and there was actually something on the calendar that they could do, even if it was only lunch at her mum’s. It was the first time Josie could remember for months where she was actually pleased at the prospect, rather than it seeming like a chore, dragging the kids out to Guildford. She’d managed two mother–daughter phone calls during the week without telling her mum anything of what had been happening. Why put her through it? She’d tell her when she had to, and not before.

Never had the sight of her mum’s lace curtains twitching as she pulled into the drive brought such relief to Josie. Even better, Stu, her younger brother, was due to be there with his new girlfriend too, so the focus would be temporarily off her own life. There was no way Josie’s mum would pass on the chance for fully grilling any prospective daughter-in-law.

It was a close, sultry day, and the air inside the house seemed to be boiling with the heat of the oven and the stifling smell of roast chicken. No matter that it was almost June, Mrs Bell prided herself on serving up a full roast week in, week out.

‘Can I help, Mum?’ Josie asked as the boys charged straight out into the garden where their grandad had set up the sprinkler.

Mrs Bell fanned her flushed cheeks. She was standing in front of the cooker, lifting saucepan lids and releasing great jets of steam as she assessed the progress of each item. ‘Almost done,’ she said. ‘You could lay the table for me, love.’

The doorbell rang and Mrs Bell replaced the final lid and smoothed down her apron. ‘That’ll be Stuart and Melanie,’ she said, patting her iron-grey curls into place. ‘Coming!’ she carolled as she bustled out to the door.

Melanie was petite and slender with smoky grey eyes and olive skin. Her long dark hair was bundled back into a ponytail, with a couple of daisy hairclips wrestled into it for good measure. She had on a white crop top that showed a flat, tanned belly, and a pale floaty skirt. ‘Hi Josie, I’m Melanie,’ she said, walking into the dining room where Josie was laying out the knives and forks.

Stu came in and kissed Josie on the cheek. He looked like the cat who got the cream, Josie thought to herself in amusement. And he smelled different, too – had the aftershave been a present from Melanie? she wondered. Oh, to be back in those heady days of new love, she thought with a pang. Love tokens and presents and edging into one another’s lives, all shiny and new and sexy . . .

She took a deep breath. ‘Hi, Stu. Nice to meet you, Melanie. Pete’s playing golf today, some business thing.’

She’d given her mum the same line. There was no way she was going to talk about what had really happened over roast sodding chicken.

Mrs Bell arrived in the room then with a steaming dish of vegetables. ‘Go and wash your hands, you three,’ she ordered, as if they were children again. ‘Almost on the table.’

Melanie pressed her lips together as if she wanted to giggle but obediently went to the kitchen with Stu to scrub up at the sink. ‘Boys!’ Josie called into the garden. ‘Lunch!’

The roast chicken was succulent and tender, the roast potatoes just the right side of crunchy, the broccoli, carrots and peas all steamed to perfection. They had gravy in a gravy boat, plates on place mats, matching cutlery and a full set of wine glasses. If it wasn’t for the boys kicking each other under the table and flicking their peas at one another, Josie could almost have believed she was seventeen again, and living at home.

Josie ate and ate. She could see her mum raising her eyebrows as Josie piled on the chicken and gravy, helped herself to another slithering white dollop of bread sauce, another spoonful of potatoes. She could almost read her mum’s mind:
Eating for two, hmmm? Something to tell us, hmmm?

Hardly. Eating for a broken heart, more like. Eating for comfort, eating to carb out the permanent hangover she seemed to have had since Pete had broken the news to her. So much for heartbreak making you thin. At this rate, Josie was going to be busting out of everything in her wardrobe before the day was up.

‘So, Melanie,’ Josie’s dad said genially, pouring himself another glass of red wine, ‘what does your father do?’

‘He’s dead,’ Melanie replied, lifting a forkful of broccoli to her mouth.

‘Ahh,’ said Josie’s dad, clearing his throat uncomfortably. ‘Right. Well, I’m very sorry to . . .’

‘What was it?’ Mrs Bell wanted to know. ‘Heart trouble? Cancer?’

‘Mum!’ Josie hissed.

‘Mel’s
mum,
however, is a professor of genetics in Cambridge,’ Stu put in quickly.

‘A working mother, eh?’ Mrs Bell said, nodding as if she vaguely remembered once reading about such a phenomenon.

‘Interesting,’ Mr Bell said sagely. His knife clicked against a chicken bone as he attempted to lever a last shred of flesh away from it.

Silence fell. ‘More potatoes?’ Mrs Bell beamed around the table. ‘Anyone?’

‘My dad’s not living with us now,’ Toby announced, as if he’d only just remembered.

‘He doesn’t love Mum any more,’ Sam chimed in. ‘But we do. And we’ve decided that we won’t like old Meany Beanie, and—’

‘All right, love,’ Josie said, putting a calming hand on his arm. There was a sharp intake of breath from her parents’ end of the table, and now she could feel every pair of eyes burning into her. All except her boys’ eyes, of course – they’d gone back to flicking peas. Announcement over, job done. She took a deep breath and looked up at her mum. ‘It’s true,’ she said quietly. ‘But perhaps this isn’t the time to tell you about it.’

‘Well, what’s happened?’ her mum burst out, her eyes as round as marbles. Any second now they were going to drop out of her head, pop, pop and splash into the gravy. ‘So he’s not at golf, then?’

‘No,’ Josie said, through gritted teeth. ‘He’s not at golf. That was just . . . I wanted to pick the right time to tell you, that’s all.’

Her mum was still staring. ‘Well, where
has
he gone? Has he really left you, for good?’

‘Mu-um!’ Josie said, trying to rein her in. She cast a meaningful glance at her sons’ heads, but her mother was unstoppable, bristling with questions.

‘I mean, is he coming back? Is it like a trial separation? Or is it going to end in divorce?’ One liver-spotted hand flew up to her throat. ‘My daughter, a divorcee! Oh, I never thought this day would come!’

‘Mum, for heaven’s sake!’ Stu put in sharply.

Melanie, Josie noticed, was looking down at her plate as if she were casting a teleport spell and wishing herself at a different, saner dinner table. Me and you both, love, Josie thought fervently.

‘Always thought there was something shifty about him,’ her dad put in, his eyes dark. ‘Should have known we couldn’t trust him!’

‘Dad!’ Josie exploded. ‘Not in front of the boys!’

‘Shifty, shifty, very very wifty,’ Toby sang tunelessly, and the room seemed to freeze in silence.

‘The little boys!’ Josie’s mum said in an anguished sob. ‘The little lads!’

‘Mel’s been working on a research project lately,’ Stu said, with a concerned glance at Josie. He took Melanie’s hand, and she looked warily around the table. ‘Haven’t you, Mel? Egyptology. It’s for the British Museum, you know.’