Pedigree Mum (31 page)

‘Er … they just overheard something when I was having a chat with Mum,’ Rob mumbles. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Well, they both seem a bit upset, Rob.’ She clicks on the kettle, dropping an ordinary teabag into a mug for Rob, and a chamomile one in hers.

‘You’ve gone all Shorling,’ he remarks.

‘It’s just herbal tea, Rob. It has been around for a few decades now. So, the thing they overheard …’

‘Oh, God. It’s going to sound awful but Mum read my column on my laptop last weekend – my Miss Jones one – and assumed it was some kind of fantasy thing, that I actually want to
be
a woman …’

‘What?’ She explodes with laughter. ‘Like … have the full op, you mean?’

He nods, his mouth set in a firm line.

‘You’re not, are you?’

‘For God’s sake, Kerry …’ He emits a withering laugh.

‘And they overheard you talking about this? About having your, your …
dick
removed?’

‘Not exactly,’ he says glumly. ‘Just that I was perfectly happy being a man, and I guess it’s confused them. Like, there was a possibility that I might want to be a
lady
…’

‘For God’s sake, Rob,’ Kerry exclaims. ‘And they’ve been asking you about this?’

‘All the way here, yeah …’

Kerry shakes her head. ‘As if they haven’t enough on their plate right now.’

‘I know … and I’m sorry. I’m a complete and utter fuck-up, aren’t I?’

She looks at him, assessing the man she could quite happily have slapped in the face just a few weeks ago. Now, though, her barely controllable fury has ebbed away to be replaced by a sort of … quiet disillusionment. It’s less painful, certainly. To her surprise, a sense of something akin to
pity
has also begun to creep in.

‘I can’t believe your mum jumped to that conclusion,’ she says, turning to tip out the kids’ overnight bags, and stuffing their laundry into the washing machine.

‘You know Mum. Makes worrying about me and Dom her life’s work. She hadn’t even been able to bring herself to tell Dad …’

‘God. Poor Mary.’ Kerry can’t help smiling as she turns back to face him. ‘Listen, d’you want to come to Mia’s party next Saturday? I know she’d be delighted if you were there.’

There’s a small pause. ‘I’d really like that, if you’re sure it won’t be awkward …’

‘Why would it be? You’re still her dad, Rob.’ Kerry’s voice cracks a little, and she quickly clears her throat. ‘It would mean a lot to her. We’ve spent ages planning it and I’ve booked a clown as a surprise.’

‘Have you? Why?’

‘To make it
fun
, Rob. That’s what clowns are for, apparently.’

He winces. ‘I’m not sure about clowns. Don’t you think they’re kind of … sinister?’

‘Not this one. He’s a pupil of mine. D’you remember you saw him when you picked up the kids last weekend? He’s an actor really …’

‘Oh,’ he laughs witheringly, ‘one of
those
.’

‘Yes,’ she says, deciding not to rise to the bait, ‘one of those, but don’t hold it against him, will you, and be all terse and tight-lipped while he’s here?’

‘Of course not,’ he blusters, finishing his tea. ‘I am perfectly capable of being pleasant, you know.’

She sniggers, taking a moment to savour the image of Rob and Harvey in the same room. As children’s birthday parties go, she figures, this one might prove more entertaining than most.

*

Next morning, having underestimated the amount of gift wrapping she still has to do, Kerry ignores the small stab of guilt as she suggests Freddie and Mia watch a full-length movie while she ‘gets on with things’ upstairs.

‘What things?’ Mia wants to know.

‘Christmassy things. Things you’re not meant to see.’

‘
Ohhh
.’ Mia nods, eyes shining. ‘Santa’s busy as well, Mummy.’

‘Yes, I’d imagine he is.’ She puts on the movie, eager to tackle the pile of gifts currently stashed in her wardrobe.

‘Mummy?’ Mia has followed her out into the hallway.

‘Yes, honey?’

‘Is Father Christmas real?’

Kerry frowns, conscious of the seconds ticking by as she scrabbles for the appropriate response. ‘Why d’you ask?’ she says lightly.

‘’Cause Audrey-Jane says he’s not. She says her mummy and daddy don’t believe in lying to children and presents just come from shops.’ Mia blinks slowly.

‘Why would they say that?’ Kerry asks, feigning amazement.

‘’Cause Santa’s a lie, she said.’

‘Oh, Mia.’ Kerry bobs down and brushes a caramel curl from her daughter’s lightly freckled face. ‘You know what? I think maybe Audrey-Jane just said it to be mean, to spoil the fun, don’t you?’

Mia nods solemnly.

‘Shall we put out Father Christmas’s mince pies and beer now, and a carrot for Rudolph?’

‘Yeah,’ she says firmly. And that, thankfully, seems to satisfy her. While Kerry wouldn’t wish her daughter to be speculating on Santa’s existence at the age of fifteen, she is only seven, for goodness’s sake. Anyway, does it really count as a lie? How
joyless
are some of the mothers around here? Briefly, Kerry wonders again how many of the invited children will actually turn up for Mia’s party.

No time to dwell on that now, though. Upstairs in her bedroom, Kerry surveys the vast selection of games, books and soft toys – both children are still rather fond of their cuddlies, albeit secretly in Freddie’s case – plus a dazzling array of stocking presents which she’s been amassing over the past few months. Aunt Maisie, too, has sent alluring parcels for all of them, while the children’s main gifts – new bikes – were ordered by Rob and are hidden in Mary and Eugene’s attic. Then, for Mia’s birthday in just five days’ time, Kerry has bought an easel and enormous art set, including five hundred pens which she knows her daughter will store in perfect rainbow order (clearly, Mia has inherited Rob’s organisational skills).

Momentarily distracted, Kerry picks up the carefully handwritten note from her bedside table, which had fallen out of Aunt Maisie’s Christmas card:

Dearest Kerry, I know from your last letter that things have been incredibly difficult lately. Sending you all my love for a happy and peaceful Christmas and, who knows, perhaps you and the children will manage to come out to stay for some much-needed sun?

Kerry folds up the sheet of thin blue paper and slips it into her top drawer. She has tried not to dwell on how bizarre Christmas will feel this year, although it’s clear from the enormous stash of presents still to be wrapped that she’s tried to compensate for something lacking. Anita has invited them over for lunch tomorrow, then the children will be whisked off by Rob to spend Christmas evening at his parents’ house, where they’ll have Boxing Day too.

It’ll be
fine
, she tries to reassure herself, biting off strips of Sellotape. After all, plenty of families manage Christmases like this. But what about the new year? Her resolutions are usually along the lines of ‘start running, do stomach crunches, drink less wine’. Not ‘divorce Rob’. A lump forms in her throat and her eyes suddenly fill with hot tears. She blots them with a corner of her duvet and focuses on wrapping the easel instead.

With the children now installed in front of a
second
movie – call the childcare police – Kerry tackles the last of the gifts, coming up for air three hours later to the sound of a sharp rap on the door. Buddy leaps from his basket with a cacophony of barks as she takes the enormous, cellophane-wrapped wicker hamper from the delivery man.

It is stunningly presented with flamboyant ribbons and bows, and filled with delicious things to eat. There are Italian wines, plus pickles, chocolates and cheeses: the perfect offering to take to Anita’s tomorrow as a way of saying thanks. Blinking away more tears, Kerry peels off the tiny envelope and extracts a card.
To Kerry
, she reads,
still our beloved daughter. A very happy Christmas from Mary and Eugene xxx.

She carries the hamper to the kitchen table and is untying its flashy red bow when her mobile rings. ‘Kerry? It’s James.’

‘Hi,’ she says, quickly wiping her eyes on her sweater sleeve.

‘Just wondered how things are going. Um … are you all organised?’

‘Yes … just about.’

There’s a small pause. ‘You sound a bit … upset.’

She exhales. ‘A hamper just arrived from my in-laws – my
ex
-in-laws, I mean. It’s a sort of ritual but usually, of course, it would be for all four of us. I didn’t expect it this year.’

‘Oh, that’s sweet of them.’

‘There’s even some Camembert and Brie,’ she adds, ‘which they don’t usually include – it’s normally Italian goodies all the way …’

‘Luke’s test-running melted Brie with cranberries as a kind of seasonal special,’ James chuckles. ‘I thought it was a bit over-ambitious, even for around here, but it’s actually proving quite popular.’

Kerry smiles. ‘I might try that. I’m taking the whole lot to my friend Anita’s tomorrow – we’re invited for Christmas Day. What are you up to?’

‘Um … I thought it was going to be a miserable little turkey dinner for one, but Luke’s girlfriend’s parents have asked me up to their holiday place in Norfolk. Bit of a mercy mission, I suspect, but kind of them, even if it means a board game marathon.’ She laughs, then he adds, ‘Sorry I haven’t called, Kerry. It’s been crazy in the shop. We’ve had orders for huge buffets from people who’ve been let down. A couple of sandwich places have gone out of business and it seems like all their customers have come flocking to us …’

‘I’m glad it’s going well,’ she says.

‘Um, I hope Freddie’s ear’s okay now?’

Hmmm.
A little belated, she decides. ‘He’s fine, thanks. Anyway, enjoy your Christmas,’ she adds, wandering through to the living room where the children are sprawled beneath blankets, looking cosy as anything on the sofa.

‘You too. And, um … maybe we could meet up for lunch sometime during the holidays?’

‘Sure,’ Kerry says, ‘that sounds great. Bye, James.’ With a smile, she switches on the multi-coloured Christmas tree lights and places Mary and Eugene’s note among the clutter of cards on the mantelpiece. Then she snuggles between her children on the sofa, the three of them basking in the glory of their undeniably tacky yet beautiful twinkling tree.

‘So you’re not the editor of the magazine,’ barks Jens, Nadine’s Swiss father, across the restaurant table. ‘Just the
deputy editor
.’

‘That’s right,’ Rob says pleasantly, ‘but I’m quite happy with that. It’s actually through choice.’

Jens frowns in bafflement at Candida, his blonde, rather fragile-looking, English wife. If Nadine was taken aback when they called her from Heathrow this afternoon, having opted for a last-minute Christmas in London, Rob was downright horrified. He hasn’t shown it, though. So far, he has been a study in charm and manners, despite being invited to dinner in possibly the only restaurant in North London which still seems to think it’s 1976.

‘And why did you choose this?’ Jens wants to know, fixing him with small, rapidly blinking blue eyes.

Because I didn’t want the sodding Steak Diane.
‘I just fancied something light’ – Rob prods his unyielding risotto with his fork – ‘with that big Christmas dinner looming tomorrow.’

‘No, no, I mean the deputy editor position and not editor.’

‘Erm …’ Rob forms a rictus smile. ‘You see, on magazines the deputy tends to be more hands-on in the office, especially in a small team like ours. Whereas the editor has to be out there, schmoozing advertisers, being a figurehead …’

‘And you don’t want to be a figurehead?’ Jens’s startled expression suggests Rob actually said,
And you don’t believe in wearing underpants?

‘Er, not especially, no.’

‘But the editor is paid more?’

‘Yes, of course, but I’d rather have job satisfaction—’

‘Even when you have my daughter and a baby to support,’ Jens cuts in, scratching his thick, pink neck.

‘Dad,’ Nadine says quickly, placing a small hand on her father’s arm. ‘Rob’s happy. He’s really good at what he does. Let’s leave it, okay?’ She casts Rob an apologetic smile which does nothing to thaw the chilly atmosphere. Rob already feels as if he has spent half of his adult life in this restaurant with its thick beige tablecloths and napkins folded into swan shapes, or possibly geese. There are too many wine glasses – four each, for some unfathomable reason – and a few feet behind him, Rob can hear the miserable dribble of some hideous fountain.

‘I’m sure you are, Rob,’ Candida says kindly. ‘I think Jens is just a little concerned about …’ she casts Nadine a fond look ‘ … how you’ll both
manage
. That’s why we came, to make sure everything’s all right.’

Oh, sure.
The caring vibes are overwhelming, Rob reflects, resorting to picking out a lump of stodgy rice that had become embedded in a molar. While Nadine gamely attempts to further boost his PR as fabulous boyfriend and father-to-be, he takes a moment to assess the curious family he’s found himself plunged into. Jens is a large, fleshy man with a face that was probably once classed as handsome, but is now softened by several chins which wobble as he chews. Candida was clearly a beauty – all high cheekbones and kind, baby-blue eyes – but, being far too skinny, has a rather alarming, sinewy neck which, to Rob’s mind, moves in an almost alien way as she speaks. Plus, she has the misfortune to be named after a yeast infection.

‘So, what are your plans for tomorrow, Rob?’ she asks pleasantly.

‘Erm, I’m going to my parents’ in Kent in the morning, then after lunch I’ll pick up my children from my wife’s – my
ex
-wife’s – friend’s place and take them back to Mum and Dad’s.’

‘Very complicated.’ She emits a tinkly laugh.

‘A lot of driving, yes,’ he says inanely, ‘but at least it’ll keep me off the drink.’
Otherwise, you see, I’d be a raging alcoholic …

‘Hmmm,’ Jens grunts. ‘And you, Nadine – you say you’re spending Christmas Day with friends?’

‘Yes. Sasha and Harriet share a flat and neither of them are going home this year so, um … we thought it’d be fun to get together.’