Cassie laughs. ‘I didn’t hear anything that any woman hasn’t felt at some time. I happen to do some of my best problem-solving during sex – it’s the only time that I’m not distracted.’
Relatable.
‘So you don’t think I’m menopausal?’ I ask, as Cassie heads back to her side of the table. ‘Or getting old?’
She shrugs again. ‘Who knows? I’m not a doctor. You might be menopausal but so what? Gone are the days when that meant a woman was all dried up and written off. We’ve got to own that shit now.’
I suppress a groan. I do not want to own the menopause. I only mentioned it in the first place because I wanted her to tell me that I’m being ridiculous and that there’s no way I can possibly be at that stage of life.
‘I mean, you’re getting older but you’re definitely not getting old,’ muses my so-called best friend. ‘What I do know is that you’re tired and over-worked and that’s making you a tiny bit stressed out right now.’
I nod in agreement. ‘I am all of those things.’
‘You need to take a chill pill, Hannah.’ Cassie flops back onto her chair. ‘Stop taking everything so seriously. Chill out. Do something just for you. And lighten up.’
Chapter Seven
My phone beeps just as I’m debating what to cook for supper.
‘I suppose I’m going to have to collect him,’ I say to Nick, eyeing the can of beer in his hand as I tip some fish fingers onto a baking tray. ‘Seeing as you’ve already started the weekend.’
‘You snooze, you lose,’ he tells me, stretching his legs out in front of him and sighing in pleasure. ‘I offered you a glass of wine, remember?’
I narrow my eyes at him. ‘Not today, Satan. Some of us have self-control and willpower.’
I pick up my phone and swipe the screen, suddenly keen to jump in the car and spend some quality time with my oldest child before he flies the nest and does whatever baby birds do when they’re ready to spread their wings and leave their mummies, which hopefully won’t involve too many failed attempts at flying or any lurking cats. But instead of the text that I am expecting from Dylan, requesting a lift home from his girlfriend’s house, the green WhatsApp icon shows a notification and a very tiny part of me dies inside.
I didn’t even want to be on WhatsApp in the first place. If the kids need me and I’m not within screeching distance then they text like every other normal person. But the Parent Teacher Association at Benji’s school decided that every class should have a private messaging group and Allegra, our terrifyingly efficient class representative and Chair of the PTA, made me join. I suppose that in some ways it’s quite useful – if I’d been part of the group chat last year then I’d at least have had a heads-up about bastarding World Book Day.
However, the positives are quite hard to remember when the negatives far outweigh them.
And the missive that has just slid into my DMs is about as negative as they get.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ I read the words and then lower my phone to gape at Nick. ‘This is a new all-time low, even for Allegra.’
‘What’s wrong now?’ he asks half-heartedly. ‘Did she catch you trying to pass off shop-bought cake as your own again?’
‘It’s worse than that,’ I mutter, shaking my head. And then I read her message aloud, keeping my voice low so that I can’t be overheard.
‘Hannah. I would very much appreciate it if you would address Benji’s use of language. Auberon came home from school today and told me that Benji called him a penis. Yes. A penis. He says that Benji shouted it at him in front of the whole of Chestnut Class when they were in the playground at lunchtime, which means that we may very well have a large penis epidemic on our hands. I’m sure that you understand just how serious this is. Unfortunately, Ophelia’s ballet class had been cancelled so she heard everything and you know how impressionable six-year-olds can be. She’s now running around the house and shouting “You’re a penis” at the dog, which is upsetting for all of us. Please help – I’m at my wit’s end here.’
‘Bloody hell,’ murmurs Nick, when I’m finished. ‘That sounds like a right cock-up. What does a penis epidemic look like?’
‘She’s clearly unhinged,’ I say, putting down my phone. ‘But I can’t just ignore the situation, not if he’s going round saying rude things at school. God – what if he’s overheard us talking about the plot of More Than Sex? What if my writing is somehow corrupting him?’ I grimace and turn to face the kitchen door. ‘Benji! Can you come in here please?’
‘Is it really necessary to drag him into this?’ asks Nick. ‘It’s not a big deal, Hannah. All kids say stuff like this – and he doesn’t know anything about your book. Just calm down.’
I narrow my eyes at my husband. ‘You might not think it’s a big deal, Nick – but if we let him get away with inappropriate language now then where’s it going to end up, hey? Penis might only be the start of it.’
‘I hardly think this is a gateway to—’ starts Nick and then our youngest son appears in the doorway and the interrogation can begin.
‘Is supper ready?’ he asks, sniffing the air apprehensively. ‘I can’t smell burning.’
‘Give it time,’ says Nick.
I ignore them both and gesture Benji to sit down.
‘How was your day?’ I start. I don’t want to leap right into the gritty stuff straight away.
‘It was okay,’ Benji tells me. ‘Mrs Cowl got cross with me because Logan was talking and so I wasn’t allowed to use an iPad but I didn’t mind because I got to read a book instead.’
‘Reading a book isn’t a punishment!’ I exclaim.
‘Why did you get told off if Logan was the one talking?’ Nick asks at the same time.
Benji shrugs at both our responses and I move on.
‘Did anything happen in the playground at lunchtime?’ I prompt. ‘Maybe with Auberon? Perhaps some kind of argument that got a bit silly?’
Benji wrinkles up his forehead. ‘No. We played football for a bit until Logan kicked it over the fence.’
‘It’s just that Auberon’s mum seems to think that you said a rude word to Auberon,’ I say, pulling my sad face. ‘A not-very-nice word that has made Auberon’s mum feel quite upset.’
Benji stares at me blankly. ‘I didn’t say anything.’
I pause. I’ve never known Benji to lie to me but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t. He might just be exceptionally good at it.
‘Well, Auberon’s mum is quite sure that you said an offensive word.’ I pull out a chair and sit down opposite Benji. ‘It’s better to admit it now and then we can move on.’
Benji’s upper lip starts to tremble. ‘I didn’t say anything bad!’ he insists. ‘Honestly, Mum.’
I maintain eye contact and try to channel a calm but firm manner. ‘So you didn’t say the word penis at school, then?’
Benji bursts out laughing, which is not the reaction that I was expecting.