Over You (30 page)

And as she poured a yellow spoonful – the yellow spoonful he should have had before his
lunch
– and watched Toby swallow it obediently down, she could feel the horrible anxious feeling closing in on her, even tighter and heavier now. She’d let the boys go, after all her worries – she’d let them go out with Pete for the day, and the stupid cretin had just confirmed what she’d suspected all along: that he wasn’t fit to look after them.

Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-HA!

She put the bottle back in the fridge, rinsed the plastic medicine spoon, dried it and put it away. That was when she noticed the forgotten Father’s Day mugs sitting on the work counter where she’d left them, meaning to get the boys to give them to him.

It was only the fact that Toby and Sam had painted the mugs themselves that stopped her from smashing them into little bits.

‘So please ring me, won’t you, if you think there’s anything unusual about them . . .’ Josie bit her lip as she watched her sons scamper into the home corner at playgroup a few days later. She’d agonized over whether or not to bring them – it was relinquishing the control, that was the hardest thing – but eventually she’d been so worn down by their clamouring to go that she’d held up her hands in defeat, and agreed.

Now that they were here, in the noisy, hectic playgroup environment, she couldn’t help wondering if she’d just made a terrible mistake.

‘Of course we’ll ring,’ Maddie said reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll keep my beadies on them, Josie.’

Josie tried to smile, but her insides were churning. Maddie and the other three staff had twenty children to look after. They couldn’t possibly pay the same attention to her sons as she, Josie, would have been able to give. And really, when you thought about it, there was so much that could go wrong here. Another child could pass on a virus or infection – something really nasty that could hospitalize them. They could trip over, fall, bump their heads. They wouldn’t wash their hands properly, nails and all, before they had a snack . . .

‘Um . . .’ said Josie hesitantly. She wished she hadn’t just thought about all of that. Because now she really, really wanted them back home with her. Safe.

Maddie was watching her. ‘You don’t have to leave straight away, you know,’ she said. ‘Stay for a while if you want, if that’ll make it easier for you.’ Maddie knew the full story of Toby’s convulsion, of course. The hospital had sent the playgroup details of what had happened, and for a few frightened days Josie had been afraid she’d get a call: ‘Regret to inform you . . . playgroup policy . . . no children liable to fits allowed on site . . .’

No such line had been issued, of course. In fact, Maddie and Sheryl had both assured her they’d seen it all before, had known lots of children come to playgroup who’d suffered from febrile convulsions, and it hadn’t been an issue. Sheryl’s daughter had had them as a tot too, so she fully sympathized, and knew what to look out for.

‘Could I really stay?’ Josie asked. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Maddie, did you know, my daddy doesn’t live with us now,’ Toby said just then, bounding up to them. ‘Mum said he was an incorent moron,’ he added, in an airy manner. ‘Can I do some painting?’

‘Incompelent, not incorent,’ Sam told him.

‘Incompetent,’ Josie corrected weakly. She forced a smile, knowing the colour was rising in her cheeks. ‘Why don’t you do some paintings to put on your bedroom wall?’ she managed to get out through gritted teeth.

Maddie waited until the boys had rushed off to the easels. ‘I’m sorry to hear . . . if things have been difficult,’ she said. ‘And do stay, as long as you like today. Sheryl’s going to make clay pots with some of the children in a while, and I’ll be making jungle collages once everybody’s here.’ She put a hand on Josie’s arm, and suddenly Josie wished she was four and had Maddie to look after her all morning. ‘Just join in, do whatever you want.’

‘Thanks,’ Josie replied. ‘I appreciate this.’

‘Not half as much as we do,’ Maddie said with a laugh. ‘Always glad of an extra pair of hands, we are! Now – coffee? Tea? What can I get you?’

Josie ended up staying the whole morning. She helped a group make animal masks, read countless stories aloud, and went into the garden with everyone at outside time. How simply children saw things! No mind games, or second-guessing, it was all black and white. When they liked something, they laughed or smiled. When they were hurt, they cried and wanted cuddling. And of course, when they were cross, they hurled things around, or lay on the floor shouting and kicking things. If only it was so simple for adults.

She found herself thinking about the bare flowerbeds in the playgroup garden as she helped tidy all the toys away at the end of the morning session. It was a small space, granted, but it was a shame to leave them empty like that. It wouldn’t take much effort to put in a few rows of beans, maybe buy a couple of strawberry plants, get some sunflowers going . . .

‘You look very cheerful,’ Emma said just then, interrupting Josie’s plans.

Josie started at the sight of her friend in the doorway, sunglasses perched on her dark hair, a string of aquamarine beads around her throat. Of course, it was pick-up time for all the morning children. This was where she herself usually came in, waving to the boys, weaving her way across to the art table to collect their work, trying to listen to both their accounts of the morning at once . . .

She smiled at Emma. ‘I am, actually,’ she said, feeling surprised. She laughed. ‘God. I’m actually cheerful! It’s been a while since I’ve said that.’

Normal order was restored that night. The boys in their room, Josie back in hers. The double bed felt luxuriously enormous after all those nights on the camp-bed. They all slept soundly until morning.

Josie took the boys to playgroup and found herself staying again – and again. In fact, she stayed every morning that week. Not just to be with Toby and Sam, although that was still part of it. By the end of the week, she was more confident that they weren’t going to get hurt or fall ill suddenly, but now she was staying to help out purely because she was enjoying being there. Besides, the house was already clean enough, and she didn’t have anything else planned. So why not?

The other children were getting to know her now. She’d dug over the flowerbeds in the garden and they’d watched with interest as she’d pulled out the weeds and turned the soil, mixing in compost. A few of them had wanted to help as she’d made the trenches for the beans – and they’d all been keen to plant the seeds where she showed them. She’d had to draw up a watering rota to prevent the ground being flooded where they’d all wanted to wield the watering can, too.

It was fun. It was nice, having those expectant, wide-eyed little faces all crowding around her, hanging on her every word, as if she were performing magic for them. She had to tear herself away when it was time to go home that Friday.

‘Bye, Harry, bye, Lola, bye, Mia,’ she said as other people’s children ran up and hugged her. It was touching, really. It was ever so sweet.

‘Ever thought about doing this as a job?’ Maddie asked as Josie collected up Sam and Toby’s artwork and tracked down their sunhats. ‘I’m serious! You’re a natural!’

‘Well . . .’ Josie laughed. It was a far cry from her last job, the London design department she’d worked in where everyone was a chain-smoking fashionista with a degree in clubbing and takeaways. ‘Well, I hadn’t before, no,’ she said slowly, ‘but . . . I do kind of like it here.’

‘That’s her, Mum! That’s Josie!’

A voice piped up before any more could be said on the subject, and there was Oliver, Sam’s friend, dragging his mum over to her.

‘Hello,’ Josie said, smiling at the woman. ‘I’m Josie. Nice to meet you.’

‘Annette,’ the woman replied. ‘Are you new here? My son is certainly very taken with you.’

‘Oh, is he? That’s sweet.’ She winked at Oliver. ‘I’m taken with him too, but I’m not . . . Well, I’m not actually working here. I’ve just been helping out because . . .’ She flapped her hands awkwardly, suddenly self-conscious.
Because I’m completely neurotic and can’t bear to be away from my children for a single morning.
She shrugged. ‘Well, just because,’ she finished lamely. ‘I’m Sam and Toby’s mum.’

‘Oh! I’ve heard about Sam. Oliver talks about him a lot,’ Annette said. She had the same periwinkle-blue eyes as her son, and long brown hair that looked as if it had been through the straighteners. She was wearing a cream suit with a pale pink scarf knotted at her neck, and looked cool and summery.

‘They seem to be really good friends actually,’ Josie replied. ‘We could swap numbers if you like, so that Oliver can come round and play one day?’ She grabbed a bit of scrap paper from the drawing table and wrote down her number. ‘Here. We’re on Edmond Road, just around the corner.’

Annette wrote down her number. ‘We’re just off Edmond – on Howard Terrace? Just moved in a few weeks ago after . . .’ She glanced at Oliver, who had drifted over to the fish tank where he was gazing in at the goldfish. ‘Well, my divorce actually. We’re just getting to know this area – so yes, I’m sure Oliver would love that. Thanks.’

‘Great. And actually . . .’ Now it was Josie’s turn to glance around for her boys’ whereabouts, checking they were out of earshot. They were. ‘Actually, I’m kind of going through the same thing myself. So I sympathize.’

Annette gave a nod. ‘It’s awful, isn’t it? Horrible.’ That same quick check over at Oliver, who was still tapping on the fish tank with his thumbnail. ‘I’d better go, anyway. This is my one and only afternoon of the week with Ol now that I’m working, so I’d better make the most of it. Nice to meet you, Josie, anyway . . .’

‘You too,’ Josie said. ‘And give me a ring. Have a good weekend.’ She gave Annette a last smile and went to round up her boys. ‘Come on, guys, time to go home.’

Josie and the boys stopped by the bakery on the way home for fresh bread, plus sausage rolls and gingerbread men for lunch. It was a glorious June day, and she was smiling again. She’d had another good morning. She’d met someone new, who seemed nice. Almost another week had gone by without anyone falling ill or hurting themselves.

Best of all, she felt as if she was finally starting to mend. Not completely, of course – God, no, that was going to take ages. But she’d stopped crying all the time. She’d stopped waiting for Pete to call, expecting him to come back. She’d stopped being haunted by dreams of Sabine.

I’m doing all right, she realized, once they were back home. Life is beginning to settle down again, ever so slowly. I’m getting by without Pete. I’m managing. The bills are paid, the fridge is full, the boys are happy. On the surface of things, we’re OK.

She was feeling so all right, she phoned Barbara to see if she’d like to come over sometime.

‘Ooh yes,’ Barbara said at once. ‘Oh, I’d love to. I could do Monday. Or Tuesday, actually. Or – well, to be honest, the rest of the week is only WI stuff and I can change that, for the boys. And any time you need a babysitter, Josie, do say, won’t you?’

‘Oh, cheers,’ Josie said. ‘I will.’ She put the phone down once they’d made arrangements, smiling. She’d actually had a friendly chat with Scary Barbara. And Scary Barbara had even offered to help her out! Who would have thought it?

Josie’s good mood lasted all afternoon, and she treated herself and the boys to fish and chips in the garden for tea. It was almost midsummer now, a point in the year that she always loved, with its promise of warm days, her birthday, bucket-and-spade holidays just around the corner. Things were looking up. They were definitely looking up!

But then, later that night, when the boys were asleep and she’d just poured herself a large G and T, there came a knock at the door.

Josie glanced towards the hallway in dismay.
Coronation Street
was just starting and she had some cake from the bakery she’d been saving all day. She wasn’t expecting anyone to call round. Her friends would all be tucking into gin and cake on their own sofas by now, surely?

The knocking came again as the
Coronation Street
music warbled to a close, and Josie sighed in annoyance as she went into the hall. This had better be something important, she thought crossly.

She opened the door – and then stared.

‘Josie? Is it Josie?’

It was her, Sabine, standing on the doorstep.

For a second, Josie couldn’t move. She felt winded, as if someone had landed a punch in her stomach. Then she was overwhelmed by a surge of fury. ‘I don’t want to speak to you,’ she said, pushing the door shut.

Sabine stepped in front of it, stopping her. ‘Please! I know you must hate me but—’

‘Too right I do,’ Josie shouted, shoving the door against her. ‘Get the fuck out of the way. I mean it!’

‘I didn’t know! Josie, I didn’t know he was married!’

Crash! The door slammed and Josie stood there for a moment, reeling from the shock. On the other side of the glass, just centimetres away, was Sabine, the slut, the tramp, the whore. Sabine the backstabbing bitch who’d stolen her husband, wrecked her marriage, destroyed her children’s lives.

Had she really just said what Josie thought she’d said?

The letterbox rattled open. ‘Did you hear me? I didn’t know he was married. I swear!’

Her vowels were northern-sounding. Her tone was beseeching, but Josie was too tightly wound to be able to produce sympathy.