Pedigree Mum (6 page)

She laughs, showing perfect white teeth. ‘Yeah, it was lovely.’

‘Oh.’ He senses a vein pulsating in his neck.

Nadine widens her eyes. ‘You don’t remember, do you?’

He shakes his head. ‘Er … I’m really sorry, Nadine, but it’s all a blur. I remember us talking, and me telling you I felt weird about leaving London and all that …’

‘And then you went on to talk about your kids who sound adorable …’

A tidal wave of relief crashes over him until he remembers the kiss again, which definitely
did
happen.

‘But, er …’ He frowns. ‘Are you saying … nothing else happened?’

She chuckles softly. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about, Rob.’

‘But we did both, um … spend the night on here …’ His neck reddens as he prods the sofa.

Nadine nods. ‘My fault really. You were
so
sweet, and
it was so late by then, I just wanted a cuddle and you said
it was okay …’

‘So …’ Rob’s breath catches in his throat. ‘That was
it
?’

She nods. ‘We just had a little cuddle as friends.’

‘Oh.’ Rob isn’t entirely sure what that means, and is even less certain that it would go down well if Kerry were to find out – but, hell, things could be a lot worse. He just cuddled (as friends) this cute, ditsy girl who’s turned out to be nothing like the frosty little princess he had her down for at work. And now … ‘God, I’d better go,’ he says quickly, checking his watch.

‘Got to be somewhere?’

‘Yes, I’m showing some people round the house and need to get it ready …’ His new-found decisiveness is helping to shift the terrible gloom. After all, he is forty today: he must act his age and seize control of the day.

‘You’ve got to clean the place?’ she asks.

‘Well, I just like to freshen it up when people are coming.’ He swallows, hoping that doesn’t sound too OCD. Secretly, though, he’s itching to get home and polish the taps.

‘Why don’t I come along and help you?’ she asks brightly.

‘Oh, you don’t want to waste your Saturday doing that.’

‘I do, honestly!’ She laughs huskily. ‘It might sound weird but I
love
cleaning. I like all the products – the squirty stuff for the bath, all the little wipes and dimply sponges …’ Rob smiles, unsure of whether she’s having him on or not. ‘And you can’t spend your birthday all by yourself,’ she adds. ‘That would just be
too
sad.’

‘Oh, I don’t mind, and anyway, I’m off down to Shorling later …’

‘You live in Bethnal Green, don’t you?’ Nadine cuts in.

‘Yes, but—’

‘Well, I was planning on heading over that way anyway. My friend Jade lives in Hackney. She’s a hypnotist. She’s helping me deal with anxieties.’

‘Oh …’

‘Come on, Rob, I’ll keep you company and we can whip round your house with a J cloth. It’ll be so much quicker if there’s two of us.’

Rob nods, his hangover abating slightly as he thinks:
Why not? She only wants to help, and she’ll probably get bored and head off after twenty minutes.

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘D’you think you could get ready quickly, though? I really need to make a start.’

‘Sure,’ she says with a grin. ‘You know what, Rob? I really think you’ll sell it today. I’ve a feeling I’ll be your lucky charm.’

A few streets away from her old London home, Kerry pulls in and stops off for provisions. She is excited now, the way she used to be on her way to meet Rob, when she’d barely be able to eat for the delicious anticipation swirling inside her. Yet a seed of doubt is niggling too. Why wasn’t he at home when she and the kids called him this morning to wish him happy birthday? They’d all been poised, ready to burst into raucous song – yet the answerphone had clicked on. Although they’d sung anyway, it had felt faintly pathetic, singing to a machine. And why hadn’t he answered his mobile either? He was probably busy showing people the house, she reflects, loading her wire basket with smoked salmon, bagels and a bottle of champagne. Rob takes his house-selling duties terribly seriously, having clued himself up on the type of electrical wiring system they have – stuff which Kerry feels she
should
know about, but which overcomes her with ennui. As far as she’s concerned, these things only warrant attention when they stop working. She finds Rob’s earnestness endearing, though. It makes her want to hold him close and reassure him that everything will be okay.

At the thought of him opening the door to her, surprised and perhaps even gasping in delight, Kerry’s heart does a little flip. This weekend is just what they need to prove they still fancy each other. With his film-star looks, Rob is hard to resist … but does he still fancy
her
, now she’s just a pusher of chocolate breakfast cereal and songwriter for grown adults who wear rubbery bird feet?

‘Special occasion?’ The middle-aged man at the checkout smiles flirtatiously.

She chuckles. ‘Yes, it’s my husband’s fortieth. I’m buying a few treats to surprise him.’

He waggles a bushy eyebrow. ‘Very romantic. He’s a lucky man, love.’

‘Well,’ she replies with a smile, ‘I hope so.’

This small exchange has buoyed up Kerry to the point of simmering excitement as she bags up her purchases. Why doesn’t she do this more often? Their weekends in Shorling are filled up with practical talk about estate agents and the myriad of eccentricities of their new home. Is it any wonder they’re feeling a little adrift, when all they seem to do is talk about radiators and stinky drains?

Kerry carries her shopping to the car, stashes it on the back seat and sets off, passing Freddie and Mia’s old primary school. Although Freddie seemed fine – he’d only been there a year – Mia had been targeted by a mini thugette who, despite being called Peace Matthews, had a fondness for hitting, kicking and pushing other children off their chairs. And when Kerry had marched into school to discuss the issue, the teachers – known as ‘Lucy’ and ‘Jane’ and seemingly incapable of raising their voices above a timid whisper – had suggested ‘all getting together and having a little chat’. Which had never materialised because, apparently, Peace was ‘a little stressed at the moment’. So she bloody should be, Kerry thought furiously, when she’d picked up Mia with a ripped sweater and a graze on her cheek. (By then, she had added ‘great schools’ to her mental list of Reasons to Say Yes to Aunt Maisie’s Unmissable Offer).

Their old terraced house is in sight now, pretty enough with its wooden external shutters and glossy black door, freshly painted by Rob to create a good first impression. The living room light is on, as it usually is, even during the day – without it, it’s cave-like in there. This is her first visit back since the move, and Kerry is relieved to notice an absence of longing. Remembering Peace Matthews has made her absolutely certain they’ve done the right thing.

As luck would have it, there’s a parking space outside the house. Kerry unloads her bags and stands at the front door. Would bounding straight in be more dramatic (the
ta-daaaa!
moment she’s hoped for)? Or would it be better to knock instead, so Rob thinks it’s just a delivery or one of those Jehovah’s Witnesses who patrol this street from time to time? Unable to suppress the smile twitching at her lips, she gives the polished brass knocker a firm rap.

At first, there’s nothing. Maybe Rob’s upstairs, Kerry muses, showing people the bedrooms. Or perhaps he’s on the loo.

‘Come on, Rob,’ she mutters under her breath, rapping the knocker again.

This time, she hears a voice inside. It’s a girl – an undeniably young and rather posh-sounding girl whose voice Kerry doesn’t recognise.

‘Someone at the door!’ the voice trills. ‘Shall I get it?’

Something tightens in Kerry’s chest, and she frowns at a lump of gloss paint on the door. No, she must have misheard. Perhaps it had come from next door …

‘Robbie, want me to get that, babe?’

Robbie?
Babe
? Kerry has barely processed these words as the door opens. And she’s no longer aware of her pinchy shoes or the carrier bag handles digging into her fingers because a girl
is there – a girl with short dark hair and red lips, tipping her head to one side.

‘Can I help you?’ she says in a breathy voice as a wild thought courses through Kerry’s brain:
I’ve come to the wrong bloody house. Jesus. Writing those
Cuckoo Clock
songs has sent me mad …

The girl is still looking expectantly at her when Rob appears – sorry,
Robbie, babe
– babbling, ‘Kerry, hi! This is, um, Nadine …’ His eyebrows shoot up, and he and Nadine step back into the house as Kerry follows them wordlessly in. ‘A friend from work …’ Rob is explaining, raking his hair with his fingers. ‘Came over to help me spruce the place up …’ Kerry sees him glance down at her flesh-pinching shoes.

‘Really?’ She frowns and places her bags carefully on the floor. This girl, this
Nadine
, is wearing a figure-hugging vest top and the tiniest denim cut-offs Kerry has ever seen – they’d barely fit one of Mia’s Barbies – and looks about nineteen. ‘What’s going on, Rob?’ she asks coolly, trying to cut out the girl from her vision.

‘Nothing, I told you, she’s just helping.’ Rob clamps his mouth shut, and Nadine shoots him an alarmed look, as if expecting instructions on what to do now.

‘You make it sound as if you’ve been living in squalor,’ Kerry remarks. He’s lying, she knows it; Rob cleans the cooker hob daily and replaces his toothbrush if so much as one bristle flares out.

‘The place was looking a bit unloved,’ he mutters. ‘People are coming round, I’ve already missed the first lot—’

‘Why?’

‘Uh?’

‘How come you missed them?’

‘Er, I was just out … just popped out for a few minutes …’

‘Really? Where did you pop out
to
?’

His dark eyes meet hers imploringly. ‘Okay,’ he says, exhaling forcefully. ‘It was a big night last night. The guys at work had put on a bit of a party for me and I had too much to drink. Crashed out at Nadine’s place because it was handy …’ His bottom lip twitches as he tails off.

Kerry glances at Nadine, then back at Rob. ‘So why didn’t you just say that?’

‘I knew what you’d think,’ he mutters.

‘We were just chatting, Kerry,’ Nadine offers, her voice rising to even breathier heights. ‘There was a whole gang of us from the office. It was just an impromptu get-together, a bit of a laugh, you should have been there …’ She smiles nervously, then glances at the living room window as if considering launching herself through it.

‘And then,’ Rob cuts in, clearly getting into his stride now, ‘Nadine said she’d come over and help me do some, uh, scrubbing … didn’t you?’ He turns to her and she nods over-enthusiastically.

‘Yeah! Er, anyway, I think I’d better go. Really nice to meet you, Kerry.’ Nadine flashes a wide, fake smile and hurriedly lets herself out.

‘Um … bye,’ Rob mutters to the floor.

‘So,’ Kerry says flatly when she’s gone. ‘What the fuck was all that about?’

Rob reddens. ‘Nothing. I told you, she was just
helping
.’

Feeling ridiculous now in her dress and shoes, with her make-up carefully applied and that black lacy bra and French knickers underneath, Kerry wills herself not to cry.

‘Don’t insult me,’ she gulps. ‘It’s absolutely obvious what’s going on …’

‘Oh, so I can’t have female friends, is that it?’ Rob barks. ‘D’you know how hard it’s been for me at work since Eddy and the new lot arrived, how stressed I’ve been about the move and the possibility of losing my job and—’

‘Poor darling,’ she snaps.

‘Stop being like this!’

‘Being like what, Rob? Do you
know
what I was, just ten minutes ago when I was buying champagne? Excited, that’s what …’ She gives the carrier bag containing the bottle a fierce kick. ‘And I was excited putting on my red dress and heels—’

‘You look lovely,’ he blurts out. ‘Very, er … done up.’

‘Done up? What does
that
mean?’

‘No, no … I mean nice. You look, er … sexy.’

‘Really?’ she barks. ‘You know what
you
look? Post-bloody-coital …’

He shakes his head and rubs his hands across his face. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Is it?’ she rages. ‘Just tell me, Rob. Did you sleep with her?’

‘Of course not!’ he cries. ‘God, Kerry, I can’t believe you’d think—’

‘Oh,’ she cuts in, ‘and I made you
this
…’ She bends down to snatch the cake tin from its bag and whips off the lid.

‘Er, that’s … lovely. You’re great at, um, icing …’ He winces involuntarily.

‘Don’t bloody patronise me, Rob, after you’ve spent the entire night with a girl who must be half your age. Don’t think you can make it all right by telling me what a great
icer
I am …’

‘Kerry, please—’

‘Happy birthday,’ she snaps, accompanied by a gulping sob, the words ROBERTO TAMBINI THIS IS YOUR CAKE! mocking her now as she finds herself lifting the sponge from its tin. The tin falls to the wooden floor with a clang, and now Kerry is gripping the huge, squishy confection with both hands, registering her neatly-applied red nail polish for a second before the cake starts to fly, almost gracefully, in a strange sort of slow motion, hitting Rob squarely in the chest.

‘For God’s sake!’ He looks down in horror.

She eyes him coldly. ‘Oh, is that your Paul Smith T-shirt?’

‘I don’t care about the sodding T-shirt.’ He stares at her, open-mouthed. The collapsed mound of sponge lies at his feet like a scene from a child’s birthday party gone horribly wrong.

‘Bye, Rob,’ Kerry says, feeling eerily calm now. ‘Enjoy the rest of your birthday.’

‘You’re not going, are you? This is mad, you’ve gone
insane
…’ Kerry is aware of Rob saying her name over and over as she marches out to the street and climbs into her car.

‘Kerry,’ he mouths through the window as she turns on the ignition. Fixing her gaze determinedly ahead, she indicates and pulls away, revving violently and ignoring the angry toot from a black cab behind her. Glancing back just once, she sees her husband – deputy editor of the
Thinking Man’s Monthly
– distraught on the pavement with chocolate ganache icing splattered across his chest.