‘Then who let her in?’
I was beaten; Kerry gave me the look and we were both grounded for two weeks.
I close my eyes behind my sunglasses and Hailey’s face hangs on the inside of my eyelids, scared and upset. My eyes flash open and I avert my gaze from Kerry, instead glancing down to the pills in my hand, throwing them to the back of my throat, hitting it like flint, scraping down my insides, cutting away at me. Their capsules separate, the insides spilling out, firing off in different directions, I can feel it . . .
Kerry coughs, covering her mouth with a tissue and bending herself forward.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say.
‘What?’ Nessa asks. Her head is turned away from me and she’s humming along to the radio. I reach down and pick up my paperback and ignore the fireworks that are exploding in my veins. The sound of the gate creaking open is quickly followed by Oscar’s voice clambering towards me; it throws its arms around my neck before his body can follow it.
‘Muuuummmmy!’
I lean into him, my arms desperate to be filled with his skin, his hair, his smell. The ridiculous hat falls from my head; my daughter watches it land on the floor.
‘Hello, Mummy.’ Her voice saunters over to me, ambles and hovers awkwardly.
I reach out my arm towards her. I smile and can feel the red lipstick that I had applied cracking. I never wear this colour, but I wanted to make an effort; I wanted to look my best for him. He isn’t looking at my red lips though, he’s looking anywhere but at me. I, on the other hand, can’t take my eyes off him. His eyes are red-rimmed: he’s not sleeping.
‘I love your hair, Hales!’ My body is desperate to hold her, to inhale her smell, but hesitation sticks to her skin like insect repellent. Instead, I begin to stroke the peculiar plaits that are hanging parallel to her lopsided parting. My heart swells as I imagine her trying to plait her hair by herself.
‘Thanks! Daddy has YouTubed.’
‘Daddy YouTubes a LOT.’
The knowledge that Ed has tried to plait her hair is like a sparkler in my hands, something new and dazzling, but I know it will burn me if I get too close to it. Oscar runs over to the pool, his chubby legs are less chubby I notice, his shorts a little less snug.
‘Does he?’ I ask. My lips are smiling at Ed, trying to tell him how proud and how sorry I am all at the same time. I stretch out my hand towards him; he has the same hesitancy around him as my daughter but moves towards me regardless.
‘Yep. He YouTubed how to make a dippy egg runny.’ Hailey tiptoes across the lawn; she has always walked on her tiptoes, not like with the confidence of a ballerina, more like she’s afraid to make a noise, too scared to leave a mark on the ground.
Ed’s hand is warm in mine: it feels so familiar, but it doesn’t fit the same way as it used to; his fingers feel too long, my hand too small. His lips brush my cheek, his free hand resting at the back of my head. I wonder if he can feel that my hair is softer; I spent two hours walking around with a conditioning mask on it this morning. Nessa laughed and said I was behaving like a teenager before a first date. Nessa’s hands are unsuccessfully trying to fit the two sides of her bikini strap together; I release Ed’s hand and help her. It’s only for a second but Ed has already left my side and has followed the kids to the paddling pool. The loss of his hand in mine feels different from what I’m used to, like the loss is actually a relief. I open my mouth to speak but close it again; I don’t know what to say to him. Conversation that used to fall like rain is barren.
I follow him to the water’s edge. ‘Have the kids got sun cream on?’ I begin. ‘Only Hailey burns so easily—’
‘Yes. I bought some factor fifty from Boots.’ His tone lands somewhere between disappointed and resolved.
‘Oh, I thought I told you where the spare sun cream was? In the blue box in the garage?’
He looks away from me, seemingly focused on something much more important.
I try to make light of it. ‘Oh. Maybe it was Elvis I told . . . we’ve been getting on like a house on fire.’ It is supposed to be a joke, but his face is telling me a different story . . . it’s a split second before he can rearrange his features into mock amusement, but it’s there. For that split second . . . he believed me. I place my hand on his arm carefully, ‘I’m joking, Ed.’ I don’t know if I’m trying to reassure him or myself.
‘Oh.’ Ed looks back at the kids, shielding his eyes from the sun. ‘I know, of course you’re joking.’ He turns his back on me. My hand goes out to reach him – it hovers between his shoulders so close that I can feel the warmth of him through his shirt – but the muscles beneath are tensed and I let my hand drop.
‘Besides, if I was going to start talking to dead rock stars,’ I prattle on, ‘I’d have gone for Jim Morrison, he’s more my type.’
He turns to me and gives me a smile that is normally reserved for chatty supermarket cashiers, the ones that want to talk to you rather than get on with the job as quickly as possible. A smile for strangers.
Chapter Fifty-One
Ed
I’m pissed off. I know I’m pissed off, but I also know that I shouldn’t be pissed off.
I’m saying pissed off too many times . . . and that’s pissing me off too.
We let ourselves in through the back gate where Nessa and Jen were lying on sun loungers listening to music. Nessa was lying on her front, her back bare and shining from the sun cream. That bothered me, because Jen had probably put that on for her . . . all slippery and shiny. And what is Jen wearing? She looks like she’s trying to look like Audrey Hepburn. My mood has swung from happy to see my wife to something else. She’s wearing red lipstick.
It doesn’t suit her.
We’re both distracted and looking over to where Nessa is asking Daniel what time he is dropping off Erica.
‘Mummy, look! I can hold my head under the water for twenty seconds, count!’
But Jen is walking back to Nessa. Hailey watches her go and starts counting. I try to give the kids my attention, but I hone into the conversation.
‘He’s on his way. Honestly, I’ve never known anyone who is always so late . . . he’ll be late for his own funeral.’ She flinches and catches Jen’s eye. ‘Too soon?’ Jen shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
Oscar erupts from the water at the count of nine. ‘Nine,’ Hailey says in a bored tone.
‘It was not. It was twenty.’ Oscar is indignant. ‘I counted one-two-three-four-five—’
‘You don’t count like that, silly. You have to go one Mississippi, two Mississippi.’
‘What’s a misterzippy?’
She shrugs her shoulder. ‘Mrs Park always counts Mississippis when we’re getting changed for P.E.’
‘Hey, Ed! Why don’t you take your gorgeous wife out while I play with the kids for half an hour? Dan will be here in a minute with Erica.’
Jen leans forward and kisses Nessa’s cheek.
‘Marvellous idea!’ I reply; my voice sounds more pleased about it than I feel, for some reason.
I try to ignore the lipstick imprint that Jen has left on the side of Nessa’s cheek.