Pedigree Mum (43 page)

Rafferty has wisps of soft dark hair, and the warmth of the tiny body against his father’s chest seems to fill Rob with a kind of strength. ‘We’ll be okay,’ he murmurs, and as soon as he’s said it he knows it’s true. Together, they watch dusk settle over the city until streetlights glow silver against the night sky.

‘The thing is,’ the pert mother says, all bones and angles in Kerry’s faded red armchair, ‘we think Lucia should skip the early grades and whizz straight to seven or eight.’

‘Right,’ Kerry says, her mind racing ahead as she tries to formulate a diplomatic response. ‘I think you’re doing really well, Lucia’ – she turns to address the wispy blonde girl who is seated at the piano – ‘but sometimes, rushing things can create an awful lot of pressure, and it’s better to do the grade that’s right for the stage you’re at.’

Lucia’s mother emits a scathing laugh. ‘But she’s been playing since she was six! That’s
three years
, and her old teacher said …’ Here we go. The woman witters on, detailing the many ways in which Mrs Ferguson’s teaching methods were superior. ‘More formal,’ she says, ‘and structured …’

‘Well, our lessons are structured too,’ Kerry says, sensing a nerve flickering on her eyelid, ‘but there’s also room for flexibility, so depending on—’

‘You see,’ the woman barges in rudely, ‘we
need
to keep tabs on what sort of progress Lucia is making week to week so we can ensure that she’s practising correctly …’ Kerry allows her to continue, this dreadful woman who seems hell-bent on putting her daughter off music for life, poor thing, sitting there meekly, staring down at her black patent Mary Janes …

‘Would you like to do grade eight, Lucia?’ she asks when her mother finally pauses for breath.

‘I don’t know,’ she mutters, cheeks flaring pink. ‘I think it might be a bit too hard for me.’

‘Some people don’t do formal exams at all,’ Kerry adds, trying to keep her annoyance in check as she meets the woman’s gaze. ‘With some children – and adults too – they can actually be a turn-off. If it’s a struggle, it comes through in the playing and I don’t think that’s how music should be.’

‘Oh.’ The woman frowns. ‘So what
do
you suggest?’

‘Um … I think we should let Lucia think it over and we can talk about it again next week.’

Kerry can tell, as they leave, that the woman is dissatisfied and, as she gathers together a pile of music from the kitchen table, she hears her sharp voice outside: ‘You could go back to Mrs Ferguson, you know. She’s out of hospital now.
She’d
put you in for grade eight …’

‘Mum, I don’t want to. I just want to keep coming to Kerry, okay?’

As their voices grow distant, Kerry checks her diary; there’s an hour’s gap before her next pupil. Rob and the children are at his parents’ – he’s back to spending weekends there, much to Mary and Eugene’s delight – and Buddy needs a walk. Slipping her phone into her pocket, she clips on his lead and allows him to pull her forcibly to the front door.

She could call Brigid to see if she’d like to meet for a walk, but decides she’d rather be by herself today. Using the ball thrower, she strides along to the furthest beach – the dog-friendly one – sending Buddy’s tennis ball flying in a huge arc. He leaps delightedly, catching it in his mouth as it falls. Keeping a close eye on the time, she throws it into the shallow waves. It’s so pleasing – life-affirming really – to watch a dog running just for the fun of it. Kerry’s favourite pupils are like that – the ones who play because they want to, because they love it, and not because they’re forced to, or solely in preparation for an exam.

In the distance, a jogger is heading towards her, his face a violent shade of puce, and feet slapping wet imprints in the sand. When he draws closer she realises it’s Ethan. Spotting her, he tugs his headphones out of his ears and grins. ‘Hey, Kerry!’

‘Hi. Didn’t know you were a runner, Ethan.’

‘Just these past few months,’ he says, catching his breath and rubbing his shiny forehead against his T-shirt sleeve. ‘Started as a New Year’s resolution, and when I took over from Harvey – in the entertainment business, I mean – I realised I’d need to shape up if I was going to be able to cope with the little sods.’

She laughs. ‘So is it going well in the, er … entertainment business?’

‘God, yeah. Got double the bookings Harvey used to have. Focus, you see.’ He taps the side of his head. ‘He wasn’t committed enough.’

‘Right … so how is he?’ she asks lightly. ‘Still touring with the play?’

‘Yeah, hardly see him these days. Suits me, to be honest. All that nagging about my personal foibles.’ He rolls his eyes dramatically. ‘Like living with your bloody mother.’

‘I can imagine,’ she says, breaking off to call Buddy when she spots the approaching spectre of the woman in the pink coat. He zips back towards Kerry, spraying both of them as he shakes off the sea water.

‘And when he does have a break,’ Ethan continues, ‘he’s always jetting off somewhere with Luella …’

‘Oh, really?’ She offers Buddy a biscuit from her pocket.

‘Yeah.’ He grins. ‘She’s loaded, you know. Got a place in the south of France so they’re often down that way, living the bloody life of Riley …’

‘That’s … that’s great,’ she enthuses. ‘I’m really glad, and I’ve read some brilliant reviews of the production. Maybe I’ll get tickets and take Mia and Freddie at some point.’

‘Erm, you don’t fancy a drink sometime, do you?’ he cuts in.

She smiles. ‘Um … thanks, Ethan, but I’ve kind of got a lot on right now.’

He nods and plugs his headphones back in. ‘Ah well. Maybe some other time when things are a bit quieter, eh?’ Before she can reply, he’s dashed off at an impressive pace, dodging pink coat lady’s terrier who tries to snap at his ankles as he hurtles past.

Whatever life throws at him, Rob likes to think he can somehow muster a smidgeon of optimism. Look at the fiasco at
Mr Jones
. Despite Eddy the Wrecker’s disastrous editorial decisions, Rob has managed to keep his head, reassuring himself that something else will turn up and he’ll be out of there by autumn. However, the Nadine situation is somewhat trickier. She’s been gone a month now, and their phone conversations have been tense to say the least.

‘So you can walk away from your son, just like that?’ he’d snapped last time.

‘There’s no
just like that
,’ she’d shot back. ‘It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, Rob.’ He’d finished the call then, unable to continue a conversation with her. How could she walk out on them the minute motherhood became a little boring for her? Yet he knows, even as he formulates these thoughts, that something else had been happening – something he should have picked up on. Could he have been more hands-on? Would she still be here if he hadn’t tagged along on that tram enthusiasts’ night out? Ridiculous, he knows, but Rob is completely baffled. Her terse emails haven’t helped to make things clearer, and now she has stopped replying to his texts and messages. Rob kept firing off the odd email about how worried he is, and how Eddy has been pretty decent about him working from home until he can find a suitable childminder. Then Candida called him, explaining ever-so-nicely in her tinkly voice that it might be easier for Nadine if he stopped contacting her now. ‘She’s just in a very delicate place,’ she said apologetically. Even so, Rob is confident that Nadine will want to hear about Rafferty at some point, and maybe even come over to see him. He can’t believe that anyone would wish to be parted from their child through choice.

And now, driving at a steady sixty as he indicates to take the Shorling turn-off, Rob decides that things could work out with Kerry too. Not immediately, perhaps, after all that’s happened – but in a few months, if he is careful to say and do the right things. Rob is forming a plan and almost dares to believe it’ll work. He just has to convince Kerry that it’s the best thing for all of them.

First, though, he must eat. Kerry turned down his offer of going out for lunch – she has a piece for this nature series to finish, can’t afford the time – and he doesn’t want to risk getting off on the wrong foot by raiding her fridge. He’s starving, though, having come via his parents’ to drop off Rafferty. All he wants is a sandwich, so he parks in a side street and strides into the first place he sees, a little cafe called Luke’s. There’s a tall, amiable-looking man behind the counter, chatting to an attractive woman with swathes of highlighted hair and the requisite Shorling glow. She’s reminding him about a big lunch order tomorrow.

‘I’ve told you, Amy – it’s all under control,’ he assures her good-naturedly. ‘God knows how this place survived before you rolled up to knock it into shape.’ He turns to Rob and grins. ‘What would you like?’

‘Um …’ Rob’s spirits sink a little. There doesn’t seem to be a sandwich on the blackboard that doesn’t involve seared aubergines or melting Brie or liberal sprinklings of pine kernels. He doesn’t want a great slab of a thing with oily fillings that’ll fall out and stain the new pale blue shirt he’s bought specially. ‘Actually,’ he says, already turning away, ‘I’m just after a plain cheese sandwich.’

‘We can do that,’ the woman says brightly. ‘Would you like a baguette, sourdough or … James, do we have any plain white sliced?’

‘Uh, yep,’ the man says.

‘White sliced please,’ Rob says, almost apologetically.

The man makes it quickly and hands it to him in a brown paper bag.
How sweet
, Rob thinks, glimpsing the woman planting a quick kiss on the man’s cheek as he turns to leave the shop. It’s obviously the couple’s place. He glances back again and sees them giggling about something together. With the shop to themselves now, the man gathers her into his arms for a hug. Rob’s mind starts to whir as he imagines he and Kerry being together during the day – him writing, her composing a score, meeting up in the kitchen every so often, or even sneaking illicitly to bed …

He devours his sandwich on a bench overlooking the beach, feeling entirely guiltless about skiving off work today. Why the hell should he? The early afternoon sun is warming his face and, as he watches a father and toddler kicking a beach ball on the sand, he wonders why he had such cold feet about moving here. What’s not to like, really? Anyway, Kerry and the children are here, which means he needs to be here too. Rob still loves her desperately – even Nadine knew that – and he’ll do everything within his power to put things right.

‘So you want to move down here with Rafferty?’ Kerry needs to be certain she’s got this absolutely right, and hasn’t misunderstood Rob’s announcement.

‘Yes, I really do.’ He rubs his tired-looking eyes. ‘God, Kerry. I was such an arse when you wanted to move here. I know I went along with it, but then I got this terrible fear that I’d be missing out and feel as if I’d
retired
or something …’

‘
I
haven’t retired,’ she says sharply, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

‘I know! You’re teaching and composing and keeping everything afloat and I want to be here, Kerry. I want to be a proper dad again. You can’t imagine how much I miss Freddie and Mia …’

She observes him across her kitchen table, feeling oddly detached. ‘Maybe you’ve forgotten it wasn’t just about you developing a sudden allergy to the coast, Rob. You know, there was also that little thing about you having a child with someone else.’

His cheeks flame red. ‘And now it’s just me and Rafferty.’

‘Yes, for the moment—’

‘It’s finished,’ he says firmly. ‘To be honest, it should never have started …’

She makes a snorting noise. ‘And you’re planning to resign from work?’

‘Not resign – they want voluntary redundancies because sales are so poor. I’m sure I could sort it, I’ve never fitted in there anyway since Eddy arrived. It’d be, God, I don’t know – how long have I been there? Ten, eleven years? I’ll get a fortune, we could use it to extend the house, build a proper music studio where you can teach and write instead of being crammed in that dingy little room …’

‘But I
like
my room, Rob.’ She studies the man she once loved so much.

‘Your life would be a lot easier,’ he adds, ‘if I was here.’

Kerry frowns, glancing out at the clear blue sky. ‘You don’t like dogs though, Rob. You’d have to wear some kind of metal codpiece to keep him from savaging your private parts.’ She is only half-joking.

‘Don’t be silly. Jesus, a dog can’t dictate how we live our lives. I could get into it actually, all the walking, getting fit after ten years spent hunched at a screen …’

She exhales, looking around the kitchen for Buddy, and wondering if she’s wrong to dismiss Rob’s proposal: that he moves here, renting a flat for the time being so as not to pressurise her, because he’s not so presumptuous as to assume he can just waltz right back into her life …

‘Buddy?’ Kerry calls out, as a way of buying herself a few moments. She must think this over carefully because it’s not just about her. Rob is Mia and Freddie’s father, and what child wouldn’t prefer them to all be together, like the smiling family all sitting around a cafe table in
The Tiger Who Came to Tea
?

Kerry is up on her feet, scanning the kitchen in case Buddy has discovered a new place to nap. ‘Buddy!’ she shouts again, a little unsettled now. He is never far away from her. Rob looks mildly irritated – he’s come all this way, and now she’s more concerned about the whereabouts of her dog – but it doesn’t feel right, Buddy not coming when she calls. Perhaps he’s lying down somewhere, feeling unwell, or someone’s inadvertently shut him in the bathroom …

Buddy isn’t in the living room, bathroom or any of the bedrooms, and when Kerry comes back downstairs she realises the porch door is open. Maybe he’s in there, having a sneaky pee. For some reason, as far as Buddy’s concerned, the tiny porch doesn’t count as indoors, and several puddles have been deposited there. But when she goes to check, the front door is open too – Rob mustn’t have clicked it shut properly.