The Sweetest Thing (31 page)

‘I said, stop calling me “love”!’ he interrupts.

‘I can’t help it,’ I say, holding out my arms. ‘It’s because I love you.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, but he hangs back, peering at me through his tousled fringe that’s grown rather long. ‘You and Guy.’

‘I thought you liked Guy.’

‘I do. I said the problem was you and Guy together.’

‘We’re both adults. Neither of us is involved with anyone else, unless you know differently. I can’t see anything wrong in it.’

‘You wouldn’t be sneaking him in here while we’re
at school if there was nothing wrong with it.’ Adam emerges from the larder. ‘Have you told Dad?’

‘It’s nothing to do with him any more. I have my own life. I can see who I like.’ I watch Adam’s face. He won’t look at me at all now. Clearly, there is a problem.

‘You’re a mother – mothers don’t do that kind of thing.’

‘You mean, fall in love?’

‘Are you in love with Guy?’

‘No,’ I cut in quickly, which I realise from the expression on Adam’s face was the wrong thing to say. ‘I‘m talking in general terms now. I mean, to love someone … to be with someone again.’

‘You mean to have sex with them?’

‘Well, yes …’

Adam is disgusted.

‘It’s perfectly natural. How do you think you got here, Adam? I’m not a Vestal Virgin.’

He shudders with embarrassment.

‘I’m sorry if that offends you, but it’s the way it is. I thought you’d be happy for me. Guy’s a good man – he’s been very kind to you.’ I pause. ‘Me and your dad – we’ll never get back together. You have to accept that, otherwise you’ll never be happy.’

‘I have accepted it,’ he says icily. ‘Dad and Alice are getting married.’

‘Married?’ I reach out for a chair and sit down. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I wasn’t supposed to say anything. Don’t tell Dad, will you?’

‘No, no. I won’t.’ I’m shocked. I don’t mind. It’s just that I didn’t expect David to marry again. ‘How do you feel about that, Adam?’

‘I’m cool. Dad and Alice have been together for ages. You’ve only just met Guy.’

‘I agree that it hasn’t been terribly long.’ I stand up again. ‘For goodness’ sake, I understand that it’s hard for you to see me with someone who isn’t your dad, but it’s bound to happen one day.’ I used to think, not so long ago, that it would never happen, but Guy’s changed all that. I bite my lip, watching my son turn his eyes to the floor and put his hands to his ears, blocking me out. Adam has friends, new and old, supportive grandparents, a half-decent dad, a hardworking mum … and a dog. So why is he so deeply unhappy?

‘Adam,’ I continue softly, ‘if you want to talk, I’m here for you. If you’d rather talk to someone else, someone outside the family, then say so … There are counsellors, people who can help you.’

‘I don’t need to see anyone. I’m not mad.’

‘I never said you were.’ I pause, giving him time to speak, but he remains silent. ‘Why aren’t you at school?’

‘I walked out,’ he says eventually. ‘I couldn’t stand Mr Hughes going on at me.’

‘What did he say to you?’

‘He told me I was hopeless, in front of the whole class.’

‘But why?’ I exclaim, feeling hurt on Adam’s behalf. ‘How embarrassing. And unprofessional. Is this Mr Hughes one of the younger teachers?’

‘He’s old,’ Adam says. ‘He’s a sad old git.’

‘Sometimes you just have to get through it, Adam. Running away is never a good option.’

‘Well, I’m not going to do maths any more and that’s that.’ Adam’s voice is brittle now and there are tears in
his eyes. ‘I know how to do equations. I did them at my old school, but Mr Hughes doesn’t like it because I don’t do them the same way as he does.’

‘I think I should go into school and have a word with Mr Hughes and your tutor. I’m sure we can sort this out.’

‘It won’t make any difference,’ Adam says. ‘He’s a bully.’

‘We can’t just leave it,’ I point out.

I check my watch – there’s over an hour until I have to collect the girls.

‘I’ll phone school and let them know where you are. Shall we take the dog out after that?’ I put this as less of a question and more a statement of intent. We are going to take the dog out.

If I was expecting Adam to open up to me a bit more, I was wrong.

We end up strolling beside the river in the early-afternoon sunshine. The leaves on the trees have turned brown and orange, and some have fallen and drifted across the meadow. Lucky runs up and down the riverbank, occasionally trotting down to paddle in the water for a drink.

‘Your tutor sounds nice,’ I begin. ‘She was worried about you. I’m going in to have a chat with her tomorrow.’

I keep trying, but Adam hardly says a word.

‘You know, you can walk all the way along this footpath to the coast,’ I say, for the sake of filling the silence more than anything.

‘Why on earth would anyone want to do that?’ says Adam, his words a painful reminder of David and his scathing remarks about country life and country people.

I think for a moment. ‘To relax. To enjoy the view.’

Adam groans. ‘That’s sooo boring.’

Inwardly, I agree that the idea of a ramble is pretty dull, especially when I compare it with that of a kiss and maybe more with Guy.

I’m not sure what to do. I don’t want Adam to be unhappy, yet I don’t see why I should be unhappy either. It might sound selfish, but although Adam was deeply upset at first, he did come round to accepting David’s relationship with Alice, and I don’t see why he shouldn’t accept that I’m entitled to move on with my life too. Okay, I wasn’t bothered before I met Guy, so the situation didn’t arise, but now that it has, I want to feel that I have Adam’s blessing.

I didn’t think he would be quite so sensitive about it. He knows Guy.

I glance towards the river, and a lump catches in my throat. The water is dazzling. If we can’t be happy here, I think, then there’s no hope. We’ll never be happy anywhere.

‘You haven’t been in touch for a while,’ Summer says when I call her after dinner.

‘You didn’t try to ring me,’ I say lightly, although I’m concerned about what’s happening to my friendship with her. It’s changing, a consequence of the move that I didn’t anticipate. ‘How are you?’

‘Pretty good, thanks, but what’s the goss?’

‘I’m not sure where to begin. The pony threw Georgia off – she’s broken her arm. Then Guy came round today with a trailer-load of muck for the garden as a gift.’

‘What a present,’ says Summer. ‘How sweet.’

‘Actually, it’s a bit smelly.’ I bounce up and down on
the balls of my feet, clutching the phone tight. ‘We kissed.’

‘Wow.
We
kissed? That gives the impression that it was a mutual decision. So … go on.’

‘It isn’t the first time …’

‘Jennie, why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because I wasn’t sure that it was going anywhere.’

‘But you are now. Certain, I mean? Wow. You’re so lucky.’

‘I know, but there are complications … Adam walked in on us. Summer, he was really angry and upset.’

‘I don’t know why that’s such a surprise to you. Adam’s jealous. A teenage boy living with his single mum? He’s probably worried about losing you. He’s been your protector, the man of the house, and now you’re letting another man muscle in on his territory.’

‘I hadn’t looked at it like that. I thought he was being – well, difficult.’

‘He’ll come round,’ Summer says reassuringly.

‘I hope so. I thought he’d be cool about it – he likes Guy. Looks up to him.’

‘Jennie, your life reads like the pages of an Aga Saga. Thwarted romance, triumph over adversity, bitter conflict between mother and son, endless toil and drudgery over a hot stove.’

‘You make it sound so dramatic.’

‘It is though.’ I can tell from the tone of Summer’s voice that she’s smiling. ‘Are you going to visit us soon?’ she goes on.

‘Maybe at Christmas. It’s difficult to get away. I can’t leave the animals and the build-up to the festive season is going to be a busy time for me.’ I’ve been planning ahead. ‘I’m going to sell Christmas puds and cakes on
the stall at the Farmers’ Market. I think they’ll go down well.’ I hesitate. ‘You can always come here for a holiday.’

‘We might be able to find a weekend sometime,’ she says, ‘only it’s hard to fit everything in when I’m working. I plan to catch up over the hols.’

‘Oh,’ I say, disappointed, and although I want her to be happy and fulfilled, I almost wish that I hadn’t inspired her to follow her dream after all.

‘Do you remember Clare?’ she says. ‘Used to go to Toddler Group with us.’

‘Little Clare,’ I say, dredging up memories of a time when I was part of a crowd of mums, all eager to outdo each other, showing off our perfect lives. I feel a twinge of regret. It was all a sham on my part. My marriage to David was never perfect.

‘Anyway,’ Summer goes on, ‘she teaches the Year Twos at school. She invited me to her yoga class. It’s great. In fact, she’s picking me up in five.’

‘Have fun,’ I say, my heart shrinking with regret. For the first time I sense our friendship diminishing, and it makes me sad. ‘I’ll let you go.’ Saying goodbye, I cut the call then find Adam who’s sprawled out across the sofa in the drawing room, watching the television: endless repeats of
Top Gear
and
Friends
.

‘I’m popping out for a minute,’ I tell him.

‘To see Guy?’

‘To see Guy,’ I confirm. ‘I won’t be more than half an hour, I promise.’

‘A minute or half an hour? You aren’t planning to stay over, I suppose?’ Adam’s voice is part annoyed, part teasing, and decidedly challenging.

‘I shan’t be staying.’ I hold out my hands. ‘Look, I’m not taking my toothbrush. Keep an eye on the girls for
me.’ They’re both in bed asleep. I don’t think they’ll give him any trouble.

As I leave Lucky joins me, following at my heels, and I can’t help wondering, although it’s ridiculous, if Adam’s sent him along to act as chaperone. I walk purposefully up the drive, shining my torch to avoid the worst of the mud, then I turn left into the farmyard and walk across to the farmhouse door. It’s a modern brick-and-tile house, and feels as though it’s been built back to front. The rear door faces the yard, the front faces the lawn on the other side. I ring the bell and wait.

Eventually, a figure appears, silhouetted against the glass in the top of the door.

‘Who’s there?’

‘It’s me, Jennie.’

The door opens and Guy’s face appears.

‘You could have just come on in,’ he says, smiling broadly.

‘Um, I wanted a word … about earlier.’

Guy opens the door wide. Lucky invites himself in.

‘You’d better come in too,’ Guy says.

‘Thanks.’ I walk inside, straight into the utility room, and follow Guy into the kitchen. It’s kind of contemporary. The units are finished in light oak, the floor tiles are terracotta and the walls willow green. It’s clean but untidy, a bachelor’s pad. The breakfast bar is piled up with post, and everything that I imagine Guy uses on a regular basis is out: mugs, plates, saucepans, cereal boxes, keys and wallet. There’s a pot of dead and drying herbs – basil, I think – on the windowsill. The blind is up.

‘Would you like a drink?’ Guy shows me to one of the stools at the breakfast bar, picking up a pile
of laundry and dumping it on a worktop before I can sit down.

I fancy a large gin and tonic, but I doubt Guy has any, so I settle on a mug of tea.

‘I can’t stay long,’ I say. ‘The children.’

Guy nods as he fills the kettle and plugs it in. There’s no Aga here.

Lucky sits at my feet, watching Guy’s every move. It’s spooky.

‘I don’t know what the forecast is for the next couple of weeks,’ Guy says, ‘only your apples will soon be ready for picking, if that’s still all right with you?’

‘Of course it’s all right.’ I refrain from adding, You can have all my apples, and more … ‘Are you sure you aren’t leaving it too late? I mean, the harvest festival at school has been and gone.’

‘Don’t worry. You can leave some of the old cider varieties on the trees until November.’ Guy slides a mug of tea across the breakfast bar, diverting it around the post.

I take a sip. It’s too hot, unsurprisingly.

‘Would you like more milk in that?’

‘I’m all right, thanks.’ Actually, I think, I’m not all right. That’s why I’m here, but I leave so much unsaid, fool that I am.

‘How is Adam?’ Guy leans against the fridge freezer. ‘He seemed quite distressed.’

‘I don’t know what to do with him. He walked out of a lesson … maths with Mr Hughes.’

‘He used to teach me over twenty years ago,’ Guy says. ‘I remember him as an impatient man, prepared to explain a concept only once. If you didn’t get it, tough.’

‘Maths used to be Adam’s favourite subject.’ I tug
the collar of my fleece up tight under my chin and hold it there.