Take Mum Out (37 page)

‘Has he been seeing someone else?’ She nods, grabbing a tea towel to blot her face. ‘He must be insane,’ I exclaim. ‘Who is it?’

‘
Was
,’ Kirsty declares. ‘He says it’s definitely over. It was some consultant woman who’s left the company now – I only found out because I’d started to read his texts. I mean, how pathetic is that?’

‘You were obviously justified,’ I say firmly, ‘in the circumstances.’

She sniffs loudly, brushing back a strand of hair from her wet cheek. ‘It said, “Missing you so much”. I’d started to suspect something was going on, and in some ways he’s right – I
have
been completely engulfed in the children for years …’

‘But it’s Dan who insisted they shouldn’t go to school!’ I exclaim. ‘What did he expect?’

Kirsty laughs bitterly. ‘I know. Ironic, isn’t it, that that’s what drove him into the arms of someone else—’

‘He wasn’t
driven
,’ I cut in. ‘He’s an adult man. Dan made that decision himself and it’s totally unfair to blame you …’

We sit down at the table, the children’s excitable chatter drifting in through the open window. ‘You’re right. I think even he knows that.’

‘What are you going to do?’ I ask gently.

Before she can answer, Maya is up at the kitchen window, shouting, ‘When can we have our fire, Mummy?’

Kirsty smooths down her hair and goes to the back door. ‘Soon, sweetheart, when it’s a bit darker.’ With a flicker of a smile, she waits until Maya has scampered away and adds, ‘They’re so excited about our new fire bowl. I was so pissed off with Dan that I ordered it from the Toast catalogue just to spite him.’ Then the door flies open, and all the children surge in, with Alfie shouting, ‘C’mon, Mummy,
now
can we light the fire?’

Of course, it’s impossible to talk about Dan any more, or what Kirsty plans to do. She is heroic in her ability to put on a brave face, and as we head outside to where the fire has been built – I
do
hope that huge metal bowl cost an arm and a leg – she seems genuinely thrilled as it splutters into life. Although we have eaten, sausages are fetched and set over a wire grill, and as dusk starts to fall I keep glancing at Kirsty, who appears determined to throw herself into the proceedings. Finally, as the fire dies down, she ushers her children, all filthy and reeking of woodsmoke, into the house. ‘Call me later, when you get a chance,’ I say, hugging Kirsty goodbye.

‘I will.’ She, too, is speckled with flecks of ash from the fire. ‘I’ll be all right,’ she adds, her voice determined.

‘Yes, I know …’ Then her attention is diverted by Maya squabbling with Alfie, and we leave as she ushers them upstairs for a bath.

‘It’s so cool there,’ Fergus muses as I drive us home. ‘I love Kirsty’s place.’

‘Me too. She always makes it such fun.’

I sense him glancing at me, then he adds, ‘I’m really glad you don’t make us stay home with you all day, Mum. I mean, I
like
you but …’

‘I like you too,’ I say with a smile, thinking of Kirsty again, and how she’s been utterly tied to that beautiful, sprawling house for years, and wondering what on earth will happen now.

Back home, there is evidence of
lots
of revision having taken place, resulting in chemistry past papers strewn all over the kitchen table and dog-eared history textbooks dumped on the living room floor. It feels rather haphazard but, summoning my every ounce of willpower, I manage not to comment. Anyway, it’s too late now to muscle in with my timetable suggestions and offers of ‘help’.

‘Everything okay?’ I ask, finding Logan in his bedroom.

‘Yeah.’ He turns around from his desk and flashes a quick smile.

‘Did you heat up that bolognaise I left you?’

‘Yeah but I’m hungry again now.’

‘So am I,’ Fergus announces behind me.

I turn around and laugh. ‘But you had Kirsty’s burgers and sausages—’

‘The portions aren’t massive there, Mum,’ he points out.

‘Yes, because her kids are little and not the swarm of locusts that you two are. Give me a minute, okay? I’ll do you some cheese on toast.’

As I head to the kitchen I hear Fergus sniggering, ‘Logan – Mum thinks two locusts is a
swarm
.’

Supper is dispatched, and as soon as the boys have drifted back to their rooms I call Tom. It’s almost ten, and I can hear Jessica bellowing furiously in the background.

‘Just wondered how the barn’s coming along,’ I say lightly.

‘It, um … still needs a bit of TLC …’

‘Tom, have you actually started work on it at all?’

He clears his throat. ‘Jessica, stop that!
Stop
throwing your jigsaw around. Sorry, Alice. Things are a bit mad around here. We’ve had a rush of orders and Patsy’s away, sourcing new fabrics, and I haven’t had a chance …’

‘But …’ I frown, lowering myself on to a kitchen chair. ‘Logan’s supposed to be moving straight after his exams. D’you realise how soon that is? I know he’s not expecting luxury but that picture I saw on his phone, it looked as if it was about to fall down and that horse was still lurking in the corner …’ There’s a deafening howl in the background.

‘Jessie, stop that! Christ, it’s all over the coffee table … sorry, Alice, she’s sloshed her Ribena everywhere …’ Hmm, Patsy strongly disapproves of branded drinks. ‘Sorry,’ he says again.

‘Erm, the horse,’ I prompt him.

‘Oh, Pebbles went yesterday. It was only temporary. We were looking after him for a friend of Patsy’s.’

‘Yes, but what about the building? Will it actually be fit to live in when the exams are finished?’

‘Er …’ I wait for what feels like an age. ‘Probably not.’

‘So when will it be ready?’

He murmurs something conciliatory to Jessica, who’s obviously up well past her bedtime. ‘Once I get started it won’t take long.’

‘Tom,’ I cut in, ‘d’you realise how excited Logan is about this? You have enrolled him at the school, haven’t you? I mean, you’re not just floating about, assuming it’ll all be okay when he arrives—’

‘I don’t
float about
,’ he snaps. ‘And of course I’ve enrolled him. It’s all sorted, there’s no problem with that.’

A lump forms in my throat. Damn, I was hoping he hadn’t got around to that either. I still haven’t told his school here that he’s leaving. ‘So he’ll be sleeping in a horse’s house,’ I mutter.

‘I told you, the horse has gone.’

‘Okay, but I bet there are still piles of plop in there—’

‘Plop?’ Tom exclaims. ‘God, Alice, how old are you? Of course there’s no
plop
in there. It’s all cleaned out, at least it
will
be. But yes, you’re probably right – he’ll be better sleeping in the main house for the time being …’

‘And what will Patsy make of that?’

‘Please let’s not go through all that again.’

‘What?’ I counter. ‘The fact that your wife doesn’t actually want him living with you?’

‘She’ll be fine,’ he barks, then abruptly finishes the call.

And that’s when I turn around and see Logan standing right behind me.

I open my mouth to speak but he has flounced back to his room. Shit. It feels like my fault, although it isn’t really. The flat is eerily quiet; Fergus has sloped off for an early night, and there’s no sound from Logan’s room either. I perch on the edge of our saggy sofa, heart thumping against my ribs. Damn Tom and his grandiose plans. Our lives were blighted by them when we were together:
Of course I’ll get a job! I’ve met this guy and we’re going to sell this thing that purifies water without filters, it’s just a little thing you stick on your tap … who wouldn’t want that? Water that’s as pure as a mountain spring?
The only catch was, Tom would have to buy a ‘starter kit’ at an astronomical cost, and badger friends to do likewise, which sounded suspiciously like pyramid selling to me. Then the ‘friend’ disappeared, the company went under and Tom was once again free to ponder what he might want to do with his life.

I see it at school, too. There’s a little girl called Lucie who likes to pop into the office, usually with a flimsy question like, ‘Alice, I just wanted to know if it’s all right to bring my packed lunch in a carrier bag to Deep Sea World? Or does it have to be a lunchbox?’ Really, she just wants an excuse to chat. She’s nine years old and often tells me, ‘We’re going to Egypt for our holidays! Mum said we’re gonna see the actual pyramids …’ The trip never happens, but that’s okay – next thing it’s, ‘Mum says we’re moving to her new boyfriend’s massive house near London with a swimming pool.’ Lucie could be making all this up, but I suspect it’s more to do with promises that can’t be kept. Yet she still keeps trusting and believing and it’s quite heartbreaking. Oh, I know that at sixteen years old, Logan’s day isn’t made or broken by anything Tom or I say. But still, it seems grossly unfair.

I flinch, startled by a movement at the living room door. ‘Hi, love,’ I say as he ambles in, looking almost too big for the room now. All arms, legs and long bare feet.

‘Hi.’ He flops down beside me. It’s only ten thirty but he looks tired and pale. There’s a hint of dark fluff above the outer corners of his mouth.

‘Sorry you heard that,’ I murmur. ‘I was just a bit annoyed with Dad.’

A fleeting smile. ‘’S’all right. I kind of believed him when we were away in the camper van but then I realised he had no intention of actually doing anything about it.’

I put an arm around his shoulders and he snuggles closer. ‘I’m sure he wants you to live with him. I know he misses you.’

‘Yeah.’ He looks at me, his dark eyes intense. ‘The whole thing was a stupid idea anyway.’

I frown, not quite grasping what he means. ‘You still want to go, though?’

‘What, with Patsy not wanting me there?’ He makes a
pff
noise. ‘No thanks.’

‘Logan, she likes you, I know she’s very fond of you—’

He silences me with a fierce shake of the head. ‘I’m not moving, Mum.’

‘Why, because of Patsy-the—’

‘Nah,’ he sniggers, ‘it’s not that. If I really wanted to I would. It’s that place, the barn – I mean, Dad’s done nothing. Look …’

‘I’ve seen the picture with the horse in it, love.’

‘No, there’s another one.’ He pulls his phone from his jeans pocket and holds it so close to my face, I have to shrink back to bring the picture into focus. It’s the barn again, gloomy and filled with bits of wood and old buckets.

I peer at it, deciding that, at forty, I really need to book an eye test. This holding phones and menus at arm’s length is beyond a joke. ‘What’s that pile of stuff in the middle of the floor?’ I ask.

‘It’s crap,’ Logan says.

‘No, I know it’s not exactly luxury accommodation. I mean what’s that—’

‘Mum, I mean it’s
actual
crap. Or plop, as you so maturely called it.’ He barks with laughter.

I gawp at him. ‘But why is it there?’

‘Well, I imagine it fell out of Dobbin’s arse.’

We both splutter with laughter. ‘It’s Pebbles, actually. But d’you mean Dad actually sent you a new picture with the poo still there? He didn’t even shovel it up?’

‘Looks like it,’ he snorts, adding, ‘I want to stay here, Mum, with you.’

‘Really?’ My eyes fuzz with tears and I quickly blink them away.

‘Yeah. It’s not so bad here,’ he murmurs as Fergus wanders in, bleary-eyed, pyjama top askew.

‘What were you laughing at?’ he asks. We show him the barn picture, and he’s chuckling too – but also, I notice, looking relieved. Like he’s delighted not to be left alone, with me, despite no longer getting the biggest room.

‘Are you horribly disappointed?’ I ask Logan once Fergus has shuffled off back to bed.

‘No, not really.’

I try to read his expression. ‘I know you were looking forward to it, and I can see why it was appealing, having your own place like Blake does.’

‘Oh, he’s getting evicted,’ Logan says with a shrug.

‘Evicted? What d’you mean?’

He bunches a hand up at his face. ‘You know, because of the meringues.’

‘You mean they’re throwing him out? They can’t do that—’

‘Nah, not out of the house, I mean the
annexe
. He’s moving back into his old, poky room, packing up his stuff today. Clemmie’s gonna give up her office and use the top floor as her new work place.’

‘Oh.’ I take a moment to digest this. ‘That seems pretty harsh, doesn’t it?’

‘Yeah.’ He exhales through his nose. ‘Thank God you’re not like that.’

‘Well,’ I say briskly, ‘maybe that’s one benefit of me not having the money or space to give you a whole floor of your own.’ I flick a stray Pringle from the sofa.

‘You’d never do that anyway,’ he says.

‘You’re saying I’m a soft touch?’

‘Er, not exactly …’ He smiles crookedly, and there’s a flash of that boy, the one who watched
Peter Pan
daily for about two years straight. ‘You’re all right,’ he adds.

‘Thank you, sweetheart. You are too.’

‘Er …’ He fiddles with the back of his hair. ‘The other thing is, I’m kind of going out with Kayla.’

‘Are you? Oh, I’m really pleased for you. She seems like a lovely girl.’ He shrugs, cheeks flushing pink. ‘Does her mum know?’

‘Yeah, I think so.’

We sit in silence for a moment. ‘The thing is, Logan,’ I say eventually, ‘there’s one condition, if you’re definitely going to stay.’

He frowns. ‘Mum, I’m never gonna make hash meringues again, I told you that already. Please don’t go on about it any more …’

‘No, I mean your chest of drawers. You know how you deconstructed it ready for moving to Dad’s?’

‘Er … yeah.’ He looks a little sheepish.

‘It’ll need putting back together again tomorrow, okay?’

He moves closer again, dropping his head on to my shoulder, the way he used to when he was tired and wanted a story. ‘Oh, Mum,’ he says, ‘could you do it please? You’re far better at that kind of thing than I am.’

‘Nope,’ I say, laughing, ‘it’ll be good for you to learn, darling. There’s a screwdriver in the bottom kitchen drawer.’

On Thursday evening, Stephen calls in a panic. ‘It’s getting out of hand,’ he says. ‘Molly’s adamant that she wants a storytelling session in the garden.’