Mummy Said the F-Word (37 page)

By morning, Jacqui had decided that it was over with Kyle and that she wouldn’t let him come back. She even hinted that maybe she and I might get back together. I don’t think she was thinking straight. By the afternoon, all the resentment and bitterness had resurfaced and we were soon bickering again.

Of course, Billy interpreted me being at Jacqui’s as a sign that Mum and Dad were back together again and everything was going to be rosy. Every time I tried to leave, he became distraught, so I hung around all weekend. It’s been pretty horrendous and it’s a relief to be able to share all of this with you.

To be honest, Cait, I don’t talk to anyone else in this way. Anyway, the long and short of it is, I’m so sorry about Friday and hope we can arrange to meet soon, if you’re still speaking to me.

R x

I study the readers’ letter mountain, as if it might inspire me. After all, don’t these people trust me to say the right thing? It doesn’t work. After stuffing them back into the cupboard – I have to press my entire body weight on the door in order to shut it – I sit down at my desk and reply:

Dear R,

I’m so sorry to hear what you’ve been through. Don’t worry about Friday night – I had a rollicking time at the old folks’ home. Of course I’m still speaking to you.

C x

Cast-iron willpower, me.

Saturday, 7.45 p.m. This time, I don’t even try to de-mother myself. I just pull on a sweater and jeans, and tie back my hair into a ponytail. The kids are at Martin’s. If I so desired, I could have all the time in the world in which to pamper and preen. The truth is, I just want to be me.

It feels different this time, as if all my nervousness was used up while I waited at Batters Corner. Tonight, I’m almost serene. It doesn’t matter what R thinks of me, because whatever happens I’ll be home later tonight, and I’ll call Martin to check that the kids have settled OK, as I always do when they’re staying with him.

Then I’ll have a bath and go to bed. That’s my usual child-free Saturday night. It hardly sets the world on fire, but it’s fine. I’m feeling pretty buoyant, despite Sam letting slip that Amelia has asked him to dinner tonight, and could he have our babysitter Holly’s number?

La Rose. That’s where they’re going. ‘It’s a quaint little French place,’ Sam told me. ‘We went there years ago. It was kind of special to us. I’m not sure why she’s so intent on going back.’ He sounded blasé – dismissive, almost – but I could tell he was only trying to make me feel better. He must know how I feel, how I
felt
, about him. Anyway, that’s all over now.

For a moment, I yearned to tell him about my meeting with the divorce lawyer, so he’d realise that I’m capable of being a proper grown-up; yet it didn’t seem right, talking about maintenance payments, not with him and Amelia going out to plan their wedding. I gave him Holly’s number and rang off.

Millie calls as I’m trying to find my purse and mobile among the debris from the kids’ supper.

‘Martin asked me if I wanted to spend this weekend at his flat,’ I tell her. ‘He said, “We could hang out together if you have nothing else on.’”

‘My God,’ she splutters. ‘I hope you told him to fuck off.’

‘Well … no,’ I tease her. ‘Not exactly …’

‘Please, Cait, don’t say you’re—’

‘Don’t worry,’ I say, laughing. ‘I told him I’d had a meeting with a lawyer and we need to meet up to go through the legal stuff.’ A few months ago, I’d have derived twisted pleasure from seeing him looking so pained. Now, I felt almost sorry for him. He looked tired and drawn, and his Sardinian tan was long gone.

‘And will he go for that?’ Millie asks.

‘I think so. He said he won’t make things difficult, anyway. The kids and I will stay in the house, and he’ll carry on renting the place he had with Daisy.’

There’s a small pause. ‘Well, that’s good. So what are you up to tonight? I wondered if I could drag you out for a drink …’

‘I thought you were seeing Mr Advertising?’

She sighs. ‘It’s kind of … dwindled away. Actually,’ she snorts, ‘he’s dwindled back to his ex, so I could do with a bit of cheering up.’

‘Oh, hon, I’m sorry. It’s just …’

‘Don’t tell me. You’re getting all smoochy with Sam.’

‘Actually,’ I say, unable to resist, ‘I’m finally meeting R.’

‘You’re joking,’ she gasps.

‘Well,’ I say, ‘that’s the intention. If he stands me up again, first thing I’ll do is call you.’

A small snigger. ‘Where are you meeting?’

‘Just a local pub. The Inn on the Park. Thought it’d be safer than dinner, so if it’s awful and I’ve made a hideous mistake, I can always—’

‘Cut and run,’ she laughs.

‘Millie?’ I say hesitantly. ‘I thought you’d give me a lecture …’

‘Honey,’ she says, ‘you’re a grown-up. Compared to my life, yours is pretty sorted. Christ, I don’t understand half the
features
we put in the magazine. All the child-rearing stuff. What the hell am I doing, Cait?’

‘But I thought you loved it,’ I insist. ‘You were so confident at the reader do, the way you held it all together …’

‘Just an act, sweetie. Anyway, I’ve been thinking …’

‘What kind of thinking?’

She laughs softly. ‘Maybe it’s time I found myself a proper job.’

I spot R as I approach the pub. I just know it’s him. He’s sitting at an outside table with a beer and a lovely, handsome face: vivid blue eyes, full mouth, a finely sculpted face I feel as if I know already.

The man with the olives in Leoni’s Larder. It
was
him. I grin stupidly as I approach, and he stands up and puts out his arms and hugs me. It seems so natural I don’t feel a shred of awkwardness.

‘Cait, hi,’ he says.

‘Hi,’ I say, pulling back to study his face. ‘So … are you going to tell me your name, or shall I carry on calling you “R”?’

‘It’s Richard,’ he says incredulously. ‘Doesn’t it come up automatically on my email?’

‘Um, no,’ I say, laughing. ‘I kind of liked it, though – the mysterious stranger aspect.’

‘Well,’ he grins, ‘I hope the reality isn’t a big disappointment.’

‘Of course it’s not.’ My cheeks colour.

‘That’s a relief. I was scared you might run screaming. Anyway, in case you’re planning to scarper, let me get you a drink. What would you like?’

‘Glass of wine, please.’

I am grateful for the few minutes on my own to bask in my good fortune. Richard. I turn the name over in my head. It fits him. A sexy, handsome man, late thirties at a guess. Not a weirdo with pallid, mushroomy skin that would suggest he spends 90 per cent of his time hunched over a PC with the curtains shut. No obvious pubic-hair-snipping tendencies either.

My heart quickens with anticipation. It’s Saturday night, and he’s lovely – not too dissimilar to the picture I’d painted in my head. Who cares about Sam and Amelia? Or Martin having the audacity to think that after one ill-advised shag, I’d be pelting over to keep him company in his oh-so-empty king-sized bed?

Give me a break.

Richard returns with my drink.

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ I venture as he sits down. ‘In Leoni’s Larder. And you recognised me, but you didn’t say anything.’

He chuckles, and his laughter lines crinkle fetchingly. ‘You seemed to have your hands full with the children asking for this and that. I thought I’d wait outside and introduce myself as you came out – I was dying to – but one of the children was having a tantrum …’

‘Oh, yes.’ I snigger. ‘Travis wanted the giant salami they have hanging over the meat counter.’

‘Billy’s got a thing about that too! I usually avoid that shop because of that damn salami, but he’d begged me to go in that day because he loves those fancy crisps they do there. Billy’s such a
ponce
about crisps.’

‘What, no Walkers?’

‘God, no. It’s rosemary and roasted shallot or whatever the hell it is they do in there.’

We laugh, but I sense a snag of unease. There’s no shyness between us, no stress of not being allowed to mention the kids. Yet … it’s almost
too
easy. Like chatting to any of the dozens of mothers whom I’ve sat next to at toddler groups over the years. It’s almost like … being at Three Bears, yacking to Rachel.

Something wilts inside me.

‘Are your kids fussy eaters?’ Richard asks.

‘Um, yes, they can be.’

He sips his beer and grins ruefully. ‘God, here I am, rambling on about children. I vowed that I wouldn’t do that tonight.’

‘No, it’s OK.’ I manage a broad smile, but disappointment pools in my stomach. ‘What happened with Jacqui? Has she got rid of the boyfriend?’

‘For the moment,’ he says. ‘She’s agreed that he won’t be there when Billy’s staying. If she goes back on that, it’ll all have to be formalised through our solicitors.’

I touch his arm and he smiles. ‘Not easy, is it?’

His gaze fixes on mine. ‘It’s been good having you to talk to. That’s made it easier. I have to tell you, though,’ he adds, blushing, ‘how nervous I was about this – meeting you properly at last—’

‘Richard,’ I cut in, ‘what made you email me in the first place?’

He smiles. ‘I was intrigued. You came across as so caring, so sweet, and I couldn’t quite believe you were for real.’

I blink at him. ‘I mean, what
really
made you email me?’

Another sip. His eyes are hesitant. ‘Remember I told you that Jacqui had a subscription to
Bambino
?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘That other agony aunt, Harriet somebody—’

‘Pike.’

‘Jacqui lived by her every word. Nothing I did with Billy was right, wasn’t what Harriet had recommended. You know, one of our biggest rows was sparked off by a letter in that magazine.’

‘Really?’ I flick my gaze over the customers at the other tables. There are a few couples, a single guy in a tracksuit and a woman sitting on her own. She is facing away from us; I can see only her ear and cheek. I find myself wondering who she’s waiting for.

‘There was this letter on her page,’ Richard continues. ‘Someone had written in about their child waking up in the night and crawling into his parents’ bed. Billy does that if he’s had a nightmare, but that agony aunt was having none of it. She flew into a rage about setting firm boundaries and never backing down, and that a child should be shown who’s in charge …’

I chuckle. ‘That sounds like Pike. So what happened?’

‘That became our regime. Billy would run in and I’d have to carry him back, crying and screaming. Sometimes he was so distraught he’d wet himself.’

‘That sounds awful.’

‘Or I’d refuse and Jacqui would try to take him back and we’d have a horrendous row in the middle of the night.’

‘And agony aunts are supposed to help people. The thing is, though, I’m not Harriet, and you still sent that aggressive email …’

Richard shrugs. ‘I thought, Here’s another one – some perfect parent who reckons she knows it all.’

‘It’s just a job, Richard. It’s what I do. That’s all.’

He frowns. ‘You really view it like that?’

I shuffle uncomfortably. It’s as if he knows that I’ve ignored Millie’s warnings and reply to as many letters as I can manage. Sitting at my desk, at some ungodly hour, chewing over problems from Frazzled of Doncaster or Crap Mother from Leeds … as if I can possibly make a difference. ‘No, I don’t,’ I murmur. ‘I suppose I take it far too seriously. I’m thinking of asking my brother to design me a website so I can answer the problems more easily – a kind of message board – and I’ll be able to post my replies.’

‘Sounds like a great idea. You’re really cut out for this job, aren’t you? It seems to come so naturally.’

I smile and glimpse that woman at the table again. The curve of her cheek looks so familiar. ‘Well, at least the work part of my life’s going OK,’ I tell him.

‘And the love life?’

My splutter says it all.

‘How are things going on with Sam?’ he asks.

The woman turns slightly towards us and—Oh, God, it’s Millie, keeping a watchful eye to ensure that I’m not lured down an alley by an emailing maniac.

‘Sam’s just a friend,’ I say firmly. ‘Didn’t I tell you that he and Amelia are getting remarried?’

‘Are you sure?’ Richard arches an eyebrow.

I shift in my chair. ‘Actually, I know for certain that they’re out having dinner right now and she’s going to ask him to marry her again.’ It splurges out, and I’m mortified to realise that my eyes have misted. Desperately, I try to blink the moisture back in.

‘But Cait,’ he persists, ‘are you really prepared to sit back and let that happen?’

I laugh mirthlessly. ‘It’s not as if I can do anything about it.’

He studies my face. This doesn’t make sense. An attractive man whom I regard as my friend and can offload to about anything – even Pac-a-Mac night and my tussle with Martin – a man who has always been there for me these past few months, and all I feel is …

Millie catches my eye. I jump up from my chair. ‘Richard,’ I blurt out, ‘I’ve just spotted a friend. Would you mind if she joins us?’

‘Not at all,’ he says, leaning over and touching my arm, ‘but can I just ask, why do you pretend you don’t care about Sam?’

‘Because he’s a dad and it’s only right that he should be back with his child’s mother.’

His eyes are teasing. ‘You really believe that? That’s how you’d advise someone in your situation?’

I shake my head, exasperated now. ‘Millie!’ I call out, waving to her.

‘Did you think,’ Richard charges on, ‘that if they were back together, it would force you to get over him?’

Millie is heading towards us, thank God, looking gorgeous in a slinky spaghetti-strapped dress.

‘What makes you think that?’ I growl at him.

Richard smirks, and his eyes glint knowingly. ‘Just a theory.’

‘I don’t need theories, thanks.’

‘And however you try to pretend you don’t care, you’ve got to face up to it, Caitlin.’

‘Millie,’ I gush, ‘this is Richard.’ She beams at him, and I can read her thoughts: Well,
hello
. ‘Hi, Richard. Lovely to meet you. I’ve heard lots about you.’

‘Good to meet you, Millie.’ He shakes her hand. ‘Can I get you anything?’