‘You look handsome.’ Maureen smiled, touching his shirt collar briefly. ‘I like this.’
He looked down at himself. It wasn’t a new shirt. She must have seen it before. ‘Thanks.’ He smiled at her.
They hadn’t asked him where he was going. Christ – did they think he was on a date? The thought was bizarre. He heard himself blurting out, ‘It’s just supper with an old friend of ours. I won’t be late.’
Maureen nodded, unquestioning. ‘You have a good time. Don’t hurry home. Enjoy yourself.’
‘Thank you,’ Nick mumbled. He knelt down, and held Bea’s tiny body tightly. ‘You okay, monkey?’
‘I’m going to read to Granddad. Aren’t I, Granddad?’
‘You are, my love.’ Ed put his big hand on her head affectionately.
‘I’ll see you later.’
Bea kissed his cheek, then took Ed’s hand, her attention already elsewhere. ‘Bye, Dad.’
On the other side of the front door, Nick leant against it. It was still hard to leave them: that was what Carrie had done. Kissed Arthur goodbye and left him. It was easier with work: he understood that their lives must go on. Easier at the school gate too. This was different. He didn’t have to go. He had his house key in one hand – he pushed the edge into the palm until it almost hurt, because physical pain, he’d discovered, running so fast and so far that only the agony in his chest made him stop, was the fastest distraction from the emotional kind – and set off.
Fran was already at the table when he arrived, with a large glass of wine in front of her. He bent and kissed her cheek briefly. She smiled.
‘Am I late?’
She shook her head. ‘I was early. Mad keen babysitter three doors down. Saving up to backpack around South East Asia. Offered to do bath and bed, which I obviously leapt at, slummy-mummy that I am.’
‘You look nice. Didn’t recognize you without the athleisure.’ This was true.
Fran narrowed her eyes, then smiled. ‘Flatterer.’
The waiter approached the table with two menus.
‘Bottle? What is that?’
‘Sauvignon Blanc. Why not?’
‘A bottle of that, please,’ Nick said. ‘And some prawn crackers while we choose …’
He drank the first glass very fast. They ordered and did parent small-talk for a few minutes. This was safe territory – they did it in each of their houses and at the school gates. It was easy enough to do it in a restaurant. Not too weird. They’d done it, the four of them, him and Carrie, Fran and Craig. But usually it would be Fran and Carrie in a maternal huddle, him and Craig talking football. They’d never been as close as the girls. They’d never have been mates without them. But they understood that the strength of the bond between their wives made it compulsory for them to rub along together, so they did. As long as they didn’t talk about politics, it was tolerable. Carrie once said she wasn’t sure what Fran had ever seen in Craig, but they hadn’t talked much about it beyond that. He’d have joked – something about not all women being as lucky as Carrie was – some naff, stupid joke, the kind he made all the time and not any more. He’d been busy being happy in his family cocoon. He liked Fran a lot, and he knew Carrie adored her. But he was also sort of ambiguous about her. Craig too. In the nicest possible way, politely disinterested.
He could never have known how much she would come to mean to him in the months since he’d lost Carrie. How much he relied on her. How grateful he was for her.
‘You’re off on holiday soon, aren’t you?’
Nick nodded. ‘Dreading it slightly.’
‘It’ll be fine. Safety in numbers, Nick. Didn’t you say your brother and sister both had kids?’
‘That’s right. Stepkids, in my brother’s case. Girls. Teenagers. My sister Laura has a boy, Ethan.’
‘Well, teenage girls will love your tinies. You’ll probably hardly see them. You could do with a rest.’
Nick hadn’t conceived of the ten days as even potentially restful. It was a seductive thought.
‘Take a few books. Let the others help with the kids. Hang out.’
‘Yes, Fran.’ He smirked at her.
‘Where is it again?’
‘Cotswolds.’
‘Not far from us, then. We’ll overlap.’
‘Really?’
‘I think so. Where exactly are you?’
He checked on his phone. Fran opened her diary and read out her own destination.
‘I don’t think yours is that far away from ours.’
‘But you’ll be living it up in some swanky country mansion courtesy of your dad, and we’ll be slumming it in tents. Sorry – yurts, if you please.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. See? Yours is looking better every minute, right?’
‘Can’t see you in a yurt, Frannie. Isn’t glamping just fairy lights around your compost toilet?’
‘Don’t you dare laugh at me, you bastard.’
‘Who’s laughing?’ But they both were now.
‘It’s the very fanciest of tents, I’ll have you know. With a proper bed, allegedly. Besides, I’m adaptable.’
‘I’m sure you are. Are there … showers?’
Fran snorted now, and put her head into her hands in mock-despair. ‘I bloody hope so.’
‘What about Craig? Has he got a Bear Grylls side?’
Fran’s mirth subsided, and her expression changed.
‘Fran?’ For a dreadful moment he thought she was going to cry and he didn’t think he could cope with someone else’s tears, especially hers. ‘Fran? What is it?’
‘I want to tell you something, and I’ve been really scared about telling you.’
‘What could you be scared of telling me, for Christ’s sake? Oh, fuck – you’re not moving, are you?’ Nick felt a stab of genuine fear. ‘You can’t.’
‘No. No. Well …’ Fran wasn’t looking at him now. She was staring hard at her hands in her lap. Turning her napkin over and over into a fan.
‘Come on. Spit it out.’
‘Me and Craig. We’re splitting up.’ She spoke fast.
Nick was shocked. ‘What? Divorcing?’
Fran shook her head. ‘Separating for now. But, yes, probably divorce at some point. I haven’t got that far.’
‘Oh, my God. What happened?’
‘Nothing happened.’
‘What’s his problem?’
‘It’s not his problem, Nick. It’s mine.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Nick was trying to remember the last time he’d seen the two of them together, but he couldn’t remember when that was. Ages ago.
‘I don’t want to be married any more. Not to him.’
Nick didn’t speak. He waited. He’d got better at doing that.
Fran took a very deep breath. ‘I don’t love him any more. I haven’t for ages. Sometimes I’m not sure I ever really did. Not properly. Not like …’ For a second he swore she was going to say ‘like you and Carrie’, but maybe that was just him. Her voice trailed off. ‘Not like I should have done.’