You Can’t Fall in Love With Your Ex (Can You?) (6 page)

“Surely
they must have picked you then?”

Zé
laughed. “I’m hardly the elite. I did go along a few times, but I never read
anything. Then Amanda tried to rope me into the PTA, but I told her I can’t be
arsed with committees, and she threw a strop and blocked me on Facebook, and
now I’m persona non grata with her and her gang.”

I
laughed. “I’ll take that as a warning. She’s invited Darcey to her daughter’s
party on Saturday, actually, but now Jonathan says he’s going out and I’ve got
no one to look after Owen, who’s most definitely NFI, so I don’t know if she’ll
be able to go.”

“But
you must let me look after him,” Zé said. “Juniper adores toddlers. God knows
where she gets it from, but she’s the most maternal creature. Why not bring
them both round in the morning, and your little girl can try on Juniper’s
clothes – she’s got truckloads from when she was that age – and we can have
lunch and then by the time you head off I won’t be a stranger any more. Owen
will be fine with us for a couple of hours, and we’ll be just down the road if
he needs you. Go on – you know it makes sense.”

Before
I realised I was going to do it, I leaned forward and gave her a hug.

“Thanks,”
I said, “I think I’ll do that.”

“There,”
Zé said, “Darcey shall go to the ball.”

“Do
you want to knock on the door, Pickle?” I asked Darcey, when we arrived at Zé’s
at the appointed time on Saturday.

Her
excitement at the prospect of meeting Zé and Juniper, and the party that was to
follow, seemed to have deserted her and been replaced by shyness. She shook her
head mutely and put her thumb in her mouth.

“Okay,
I’ll do it.” But as I lifted my hand to the brushed stainless steel knocker,
the door flew open and a child stood there who could only have been Zé’s
daughter. I mean, it was obviously her because no other little girl would have
come to let us in, but I could have picked her out of a line-up of dozens, so
striking was the resemblance to her mother.

She
was very tall for eight, with a curtain of smooth hair the colour of black
coffee, and brilliant green eyes. She was wearing dark indigo skinny jeans with
a rip in one knee that I was pretty certain was supposed to be there, and not a
result of falling over on her scooter. Her T-shirt had dozens of tiny sequinned
stars on it, which Darcey would have picked off within about ten minutes. She
looked like she’d been born stylish.

Darcey
stared at her, wide-eyed, and took her thumb out of her mouth very quickly.
Owen hid behind my leg.

Then
Juniper smiled, the gappy grin of a normal eight-year old.

“Hello.
Are you Darcey? You’ve got a cool name, and you’re so lucky to have a little
brother. Mummy’s outside in the garden, but we can go upstairs to my room and
play on my iPad, or do dressing up. Gardens are boring, don’t you think? Come
on.”

She
held out her hand and Darcey instantly took it, briefly turning to glance back
at me, anxious for permission.

“Off
you go,” I said. “Owen and I will go and find Juniper’s mum.”

I
scooped Owen up and he buried his face in my shoulder. “Hello?” I called,
closing the door behind us and walking through to the kitchen.

“Hi,”
Zé said. “I’m so glad you came. I’m just making us a bit of lunch, I thought
you’d probably rather eat now than join the kids in whatever sugar-laden spread
they’ve laid on for the party. And you must be Owen. What a cutie he is, Laura.
Would you like to come and see the giant goldfish in my pond? Last time I
counted there were ten, but it’s really hard to find them all. Maybe you can
help me?”

Owen
squirmed to be put down, and said, “Yes! Fishes! I can count up to ten now,
because I’m nearly three.”

“And
very clever,” I said, catching Zé’s eye and returning her smile. “Thanks so
much again for offering to have him. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

“Honestly,
it’s no bother,” she said. “They’re adorable at this age. We’ll have a lovely
afternoon here, and if he gets bored we can go to the park and play on the
slide.”

“I
want to see the fishes,” Owen said.

“All
right, but you must be very, very careful and not lean too far over the water.”
I had a sudden, horrible stab of anxiety, imagining a panicked phone call from
Zé, a mad rush back to the house, Owen’s little body limp and sodden…

As
if she’d read my thoughts, Zé said, “There’s a net over the pool, Laura. Don’t
worry.  Not just for safety – last winter a bloody heron decided to feed her
family for a week on my koi. I was gutted – but not as gutted as I’d be if
anything happened to a child, of course. Would you like a glass of wine with
lunch? Dutch courage before you face the party?”

I
vacillated for a moment, then said, “Yes, please. If you’re having one.”

“It’s
just a salad Nicoise,” she said. “With lots of olives. Do you like olives,
Owen?”

“I
don’t think he’s ever tried one,” I admitted.

But
Owen said, “Yes! Olives.”

We
sat in the shade and ate and drank, while Owen made a series of forays into the
garden, returning to chatter away about the fish and eat olives off our plates,
and soon it was half past two and time to leave for Amanda’s.

“Let
me go and see what those girls are up to,” Zé said, calling up the stairs,
“Juniper! It’s time for Darcey to go to her party.”

Darcey
ran downstairs, Juniper following her more sedately. Gone were her grey
leggings and pink Barbie top, and in their place she was wearing Juniper’s
sequinned T-shirt as a dress. Her hair was piled up in a messy bun that was
clearly meant to be that way, not just inexpertly arranged the way I did it. A
pair of heart-shaped sunglasses were perched on her nose.

“Look,”
she said, giving me a shy twirl. “Juniper said I could borrow it. Isn’t it
beautiful?”

“You
don’t mind, do you, Mum?” Juniper said. “We tried on loads of my clothes but
Darcey liked this best.”

“Darcey
looks gorgeous,” Zé said. “You’ll be the sparkliest girl at the party, and the
prettiest too.”

“Are
you sure?” I said. “What if she spills something on it, or damages it? Is it
dry-clean only?”

“Don’t
give it a thought,” Zé said. “Juniper has far too many clothes. PR people are
constantly sending me samples and I never get around to eBaying them. If she
doesn’t mind lending it, then of course I don’t either.”

“And
I’ve said I don’t mind,” said Juniper. “Keep it, if you like. It suits you.”

“Say
thank you, darling,” I said, admitting defeat.

“Thank
you,” Darcey said. “But I already said, loads of times, didn’t I?”

“She
did,” Juniper confirmed. “When can Darcey come and play again? It’s so boring
that you have to go to this party. Can’t you stay?”

Darcey
looked down at her new outfit, then at Juniper, then at me. I could see her
suffering agonies of indecision – part of her longing to spend the afternoon
with her new friend, part wanting to show off her finery to her classmates.

“We’ll
come again soon, I promise,” I said. “It’s so kind of you to lend it to her,
and to look after Owen, and the lunch…”

“You’re
so welcome,” Zé said. “Come any time.”

“Come
next week,” Juniper said. “You can see Carmen.”

“Our
au pair,” Zé said. “She’s in Romania this week, her sister’s just had a baby.
But she’s back on Monday, thank God. We’ve missed her, haven’t we?”

“Mmmm,”
Juniper was losing interest in this grown-up conversation. “Do you want to come
and make a castle in the sandpit?” she said to Owen, who agreed eagerly.

I
kissed him, and kissed Zé, and said we’d be back in a few hours, and Darcey and
I departed.

All
the way to Amanda’s, she chatted non-stop about how cool Juniper’s clothes
were, how many amazing toys she had, and when she could show Juniper her own
bedroom and toys.

And
as I steeled myself for another bout of competitive parenting, I found myself
thinking how much nicer it would be to still be sitting in Zé’s tranquil
garden, sipping white wine and chatting while our children played together. It
sounds mad, I know, but it felt like the end of a holiday, or like leaving a
lover to return to a sour, unsatisfactory marriage.

It
was a week later, and Jonathan was giving the kids their bath while I tried to
make some impact on the chaos that had taken over our kitchen, which I’d tidied
just that morning. Darcey had wanted to make cupcakes; Owen had insisted on
helping and dolloped chocolate batter all over the floor and made his sister
cry. So I’d packed them off to the park with Jonathan, and then it had rained
and he’d forgotten to make them take their wellies off at the front door, so
the spilled cake mix was indistinguishable from the smears of mud that
decorated the so-modern, so-impractical white rubber floor.

Was
six thirty too early for a glass of wine, I wondered, and immediately decided
it certainly was not. A glass of wine, maybe several, and Jonathan could sort something out for our dinner, and if it ended up being yet another
takeaway I wouldn’t complain, as long as I didn’t have to lift another finger
in this kitchen all weekend.

I
was just twisting the corkscrew into a bottle of chardonnay when I heard my
phone ring. I almost didn’t answer – it would be Sadie ringing for a chat,
which would be far more enjoyable later over a drink. Or one of the school mums
wanting to arrange something for tomorrow, in which case I’d need a bit of
breathing space to think of a plausible excuse. Or Jonathan’s mother, who
infuriatingly insisted on ringing me whenever she wanted to make plans to see
her grandchildren, as if Jonathan was incapable of using a phone or looking in
a diary.

But
when I glanced at the screen, I saw Zé’s name, and decided to take the call
after all.

“Hi,
Laura!” she sounded a bit croaky, as if she had a cold.

“Hi,”
I said. “How’s it going?”

“Been
better,” she said. “Actually I was meant to be going out with Rick, but the
fucker’s stood me up at the eleventh hour. We had the most epic row about it.”

I
wondered whether she didn’t actually have a cold, but had been crying.

“Bastard,”
I said sympathetically. I thought, shall I ask her to come round for a drink?
She must have a babysitter sorted if she’d been going out. Then I imagined
having to give the house a less cursory clean, put on make-up and wave goodbye
to my quiet evening in, and didn’t say anything.

“Look,
are you busy tonight?” she said. “It’s just, I booked this theatre thing. It’s
virtually impossible to get in, I only managed to get tickets through a friend
who’s producing it and I really want to go. Will you come along?”

“Okay,”
I said. “I didn’t have any plans, and Jonathan hasn’t got work to do, for once.
I’d love to come.”

“Great!”
she said. “It starts at eight, so you’ll need to get your skates on, but it’s
just round the corner, in Battersea Park. You know the bandstand? Meet me there
as soon after seven thirty as you can. And wear comfortable shoes, and
something warm – it’s outdoors and we’ll be running around. Thank God the
rain’s stopped, or they would have cancelled the performance.”

And
she rang off before I could say that actually running around in a park at night
sounded like the least fun thing in the world, ever.

I
went upstairs, calling to Jonathan that I had last-minute plans and was going
out.

“Out
where?” He emerged from the bathroom, his shirt splashed with water and smudged
with bath crayon.

“Some
theatre thing, with Zé. Rick stood her up. It’s in Battersea Park, I’ve no idea
what it is.”

“That
must be
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
. Lucky you – tickets are harder to
come by than ones with six winning lottery numbers, apparently. We tried to
arrange to take some clients but it’s totally sold out. Everyone’s talking
about it.”

“Not
to me, they aren’t.” I pulled my shirt off and glanced down at my jeans. They
were too smeared with cake batter to pass muster, even in the dark. I found a
clean pair, and a clean black jumper. The rain had made my hair frizz, even
though I hadn’t been outside all day, but there was no time to do anything
about that, or about my face.

“Here,
I’ve found it. Listen.” Jonathan read from his iPad. “‘The new, ground-breaking
immersive production, from Flight of Fancy, the most talked-about theatre company
of the century (who brought us last summer’s award-winning
Out to Sea
,
as if our readers need telling) is a must-not-miss. This magical interpretation
of Shakespeare’s best known comedy blends theatre and dance with elusive,
intimate moments that see cast and audience interacting, and the fourth wall
dissolving. The sensational set transforms a suburban park into a sylvan wood,
with breathtaking lighting and sound effects completing an enchanted world. And
it’s not just about smoke and mirrors – there are truly insightful performances
from…’ Loads of people I’ve never heard of. Anyway, it says, ‘Prepare to be
dazzled, amazed and perhaps quite literally swept off your feet – if you can
get your hands on a ticket. Rob a bank, sell a close family member – whatever
it takes, you won’t regret it.’ They’ve given it five stars.”