also explained the whole situation to Mum and Dad. They’re very pleased that you’re on the scene.’
Within minutes Raoul had got the measure of what was going on. She was making it perfectly clear that they would now be communicating on a need-to-know basis only. Her bright green eyes were guarded and detached, only warming when they had Oliver between them so that they could explain the situation.
Finally fatherhood was fully conferred onto him. He was no longer the outsider, easing himself in. He was a dad, and as she had predicted it was a smooth transfer. Oliver had had time to adjust to him. He accepted the news with solemnity, and then it was as though nothing had changed. Raoul had brought him back a very fancy but admirably small box of bricks and an enormous paintbox, both of which were greeted with enthusiasm.
‘Take a few pictures when he starts painting in your living room,’ Sarah said sarcastically. ‘I’d love to see how your leather furniture reacts to the watercolours.’
‘Is this how it’s now going to be?’ Raoul enquired coldly, as Oliver stuffed his backpack with lots of unnecessary items in preparation for their meal out.
Defiant pink colour suffused Sarah’s cheeks. She didn’t want to be argumentative. He was going to be on the scene, in one way or another, for time immemorial, and she knew that they had to develop a civil, courteous relationship if they weren’t to descend into a parody of two warring parents. But she was truly scared of reaching the point they previously had, which had been one of such easy friendship that all the feelings she had imagined left behind had found fertile ground and blossomed out of control. She had let him crawl under her skin until the only person she could think about had been him, so that when he’d finally touched her she had gone up in flames.
‘No. It’s not. I apologise for that remark,’ she responded stiffly, stooping down to adjust Oliver’s backpack, whilst taking the opportunity to secretly remove some of the unnecessary stuff he had slipped in. ‘Now, you’re going to be a good boy, Oliver, aren’t you? With your dad?’ Oliver nodded and Sarah straightened back up to address Raoul. ‘What time can I expect you back? Because I’m going out. I’ll only be a couple of hours.’
‘You’re going out? Where?’
Raoul gave her the once-over. Sloppy clothes. Damp hair. She was waiting for them to leave before she got dressed.
‘I don’t think that’s any of your business, actually.’
‘And what if you’re not back when I return?’
‘You have my mobile number, Raoul. You could always give me a call.’
‘Who are you going to be with?’
Raoul knew that it was an outrageous question. He thought back to his brief—very brief—notion that he might get in touch with another woman, go on a date. The idea had lasted less than ten seconds. So … who was she going out with? On the first evening he had Oliver? With a man? What man? She had claimed that there was no one at all in her life, that she had been just too busy with the business of trying to earn some money and be a single parent. She might not have had the time to cultivate any kind of personal life, but that didn’t mean that there hadn’t been men hovering on the periphery, ready to move in just as soon as she found the time.
The more Raoul thought about it, the more convinced he became that she was meeting a man. One of those sensitive, fun-loving types she professed to like. Had she made sure to appear in old clothes so that he wouldn’t be able to gauge where she was going by what she was wearing?
He was the least fanciful man in the world, and yet he couldn’t stop the swirl of wildly imaginative conclusions to which he was jumping. He was tempted to stand his ground until he got answers that satisfied him.
Sarah laughed incredulously at his question. ‘I can’t believe you just asked that, Raoul.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s none of your business. Now, Oliver’s beginning to get restless.’ She glanced down to where he was beginning to fidget, delivering soft taps to the skirting board with his shoe and tugging Raoul’s hand impatiently. ‘I’ll see you in a couple of hours, and you know how to get hold of me if you need to.’
Sarah thought that it was a damning indication of just how quickly their relationship had slipped back into dangerous waters—the fact that he saw it as his right to know what she was getting up to. They might not have become lovers, the way they once had been, but it had been a close call. Had she sent out signals? Without even being aware of doing so?
She was going out with a girlfriend for a pizza. Wild horses wouldn’t have dragged the admission out of her. She would be gone an hour and a half, tops, and whilst she knew that she shouldn’t care one way or another if he knew that her evening out was a harmless bit of catching up with a pal, she did.
So instead of her jeans she wore a mini-skirt, and instead of her trainers she wore heels. She wasn’t quite sure what she was trying to prove, and she certainly felt conspicuous in the pizza parlour, where the dress code was more dressing down than dressing up, but she was perversely pleased that she had gone to the trouble when she opened the door to Raoul two and a half hours later.
Oliver was considerably less pristine than he had been when he had left. In fact, Sarah thought that she could pretty much guess at what they had eaten for dinner from the various smears on his clothes.
‘How did it go?’
Raoul had to force himself to focus on what she was asking, because the sight of her tight short skirt and high black heels were threatening to ambush his thinking processes.
‘Very well …’ He heard himself going through the motions of polite chit-chat, bending down to ruffle Oliver’s hair and draw him into the conversation. Crayons and paper had been produced at the restaurant, and he had drawn some pictures. Happy family stuff. There would be a psychologist somewhere who would be able to say something about the stick figure drawings of two parents and a child in the middle.
‘Right … Well …’
Raoul frowned as she began shutting the door on him. He inserted himself into the small hallway.
‘We need to discuss the details of this arrangement,’ he told her smoothly. ‘As well as the details of the house move. Everything’s signed. I’ll need to know what needs to be removed from this place.’
‘Already?’
‘Time moves on at a pace, doesn’t it?’
Sarah fell back and watched him stride towards the sitting room. ‘I’ll get Oliver to bed and be back down in a sec,’ she mumbled helplessly to his departing back.
Tempted to get out of her ridiculous gear, she decided against it. Whatever technicalities had to be discussed wouldn’t take long, although she was surprised at how fast the house had become available. The last time she had seen it, it had been something of a derelict shell. At the time, she had confided in Raoul what she would like in terms of furniture, but that was the last she had heard on the subject, which had been a couple of weeks ago. She had assumed that the whole process would take months, and had deferred thinking about the move until it was more imminent.
‘I can’t believe the house is ready. Are you sure?’ This as soon as she was back in the sitting room, where he was relaxed in one of the chairs,
