leather trousers. But now she thinks maybe they’re more complicated than that. More like a forty-year-old man gets monumentally pissed with younger colleagues, stays over at the flat of some little princess, then announces that perhaps moving to the south coast wasn’t such a great idea after all, despite being one hundred percent certain that blissful day with the kite. And that now he’s had time to ‘really think things through’, and despite the fact that they have an offer on the house, maybe they should hang onto their London home for a while longer, as a sort of … ‘base’.
‘What d’you mean, a “base”?’ Kerry asks. She and Rob have left the tearoom and are waiting at the pedestrian crossing to cross the road to the beach.
‘Just … somewhere I’d stay,’ Rob says, ‘one or two nights a week instead of commuting every day, until we’re sure about selling it.’
‘But I thought we were certain,’ she points out. ‘I seem to remember you saying, “Let’s do it, tell Maisie we want to go ahead.”’ She looks at him expectantly, baffled by this new development. ‘And now you’re completely backtracking,’ she adds. ‘I don’t know what the hell’s going on with you, Rob.’
For some reason, Kerry is finding it hard to breathe. Aware that in just a few minutes she’ll be required to be all perky and smiley in front of hordes of mothers at the sandcastle competition, she exhales fiercely and starts to cross the road.
‘I’ve just been mulling things over,’ Rob says, hurrying to keep up with her.
‘Well, I don’t see how we can afford to run two homes – not with your job being so precarious and me just starting freelancing. We’ve got to buy Maisie’s place sometime. We can’t expect to live rent-free forever.’
Rob presses his lips together as they reach a group of shiny blonde teenage girls dressed in skimpy shorts and Abercrombie sweatshirts, talking in loud, braying voices.
‘Anyway, when you say you want a “base”,’ Kerry adds as they make their way along the seafront, ‘do you mean a shag pad?’
‘Of course I don’t mean that. For God’s sake, that’s ridiculous.’
‘So why would you need it, unless this thing with Nadine—’
‘There’s no thing,’ he snaps. ‘I thought I’d finally managed to get that across to you …’
She glares at him, wishing she wasn’t obliged to spend another moment in his company. ‘Why d’you want to keep the house, then?’
‘I’m just trying to think practically,’ he mutters. ‘It is quite a schlep every day …’
Kerry throws him a baffled look. ‘But you said you’d be fine with the train, and you can always stay over with Simon or Phil if there’s something on after work …’
‘I … I just think,’ Rob starts, ‘maybe we’re being a bit hasty in selling it. It all feels a bit sudden, that’s all. Maybe we’d be better renting it out instead?’
‘I wish you’d have the courage to admit you’re having cold feet about moving,’ she replies bitterly.
‘No, I’m not. I just think … this might be a more sensible option, for us not to burn our bridges, you know? You’ve said yourself how you haven’t managed to make any friends yet, and I was thinking, perhaps that’s why last Saturday happened. I’m not making excuses, but maybe I’m not quite ready to make a complete break, and that’s why I went out and drank too much and crashed out at Nadine’s like a fucking idiot. Maybe it’s just been building up and I needed to let it all out …’
‘What did you need to let out?’ Kerry barks. ‘Your sperm?’
The woman in the creperie kiosk stares at them, brandishing her spatula in mid-air.
‘I can’t talk to you when you’re being like this,’ Rob hisses, quickening his pace. ‘That’s really going to help us settle in around here, isn’t it, shouting about sperm in public?’
‘Well, you obviously don’t want to settle in, so what does it matter?’
‘Kerry, listen to me.’ He grabs her arm and they stop and glare at each other. ‘Just forget what I said about the house. Let’s accept the offer – I’ll ring the agent first thing on Monday, okay? And once I’ve done that, can we please just forget this whole thing?’
She focuses hard on his handsome face, which looks as tired and stressed today as it had during the early parenting years when sleep was snatched in hour-long segments. Kerry inhales, feeling her anger fading slightly and deciding she has to get over this. Rob is far too prim and proper for a one-night stand; in all their years together, she has never seen him even flirting with anyone. As for the house cleaning incident – Cif-gate, as she and Anita have named it – Nadine is probably nurturing some mild, Daddy-type crush on Rob, and insisted on tagging along. A woman would have to strip naked and launch herself, missile-like, at Rob for him to realise she found him attractive. ‘Come on,’ she says coolly, shrugging away his hand. ‘They’ll all be waiting for us at the beach.’
Spotting his parents treading gingerly between the sand constructions, Freddie leaps up and waves frantically.
‘It got run over!’ he yells.
‘What did?’ Kerry hurries towards Anita and the children.
Anita pulls a wry smile. ‘Well, Sand Island looked great until a dog ran right across the top of it.’
‘Oh no.’ Kerry frowns at the collapsed mound, its toothpick flags scattered everywhere. Daniel, Anita’s youngest, has burst into tears, and Anita pulls him onto her lap.
‘I’m sure it doesn’t matter,’ Kerry tries to console him. ‘The judges probably looked at the sandcastles before the dog came—’
‘No they didn’t,’ Freddie thunders.
‘Dogs shouldn’t be running about loose on the beach,’ Rob declares.
‘Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t deliberate,’ Anita explains. ‘Some guy was chasing it, it must have got loose …’
‘Then it was his responsibility to keep it under control,’ Rob huffs as Kerry and Anita exchange glances.
‘My mummy won’t let us have a dog,’ Freddie bleats loudly to anyone within earshot.
Sitting beside Kerry on Anita’s tartan rug, Rob takes Kerry’s hand in his and squeezes it. ‘Quite right, Mummy,’ he whispers with a smile.
The tinkle of a brass bell from the judges’ table calls everyone to attention.
‘After that unfortunate little incident,’ announces an elderly lady, her gold-rimmed glasses glinting in the weak sunshine, ‘it’s time to announce the winners of the annual Shorling sandcastle competition. Everyone ready?’
‘Yeah!’ Freddie yells. Kerry removes her hand from Rob’s slightly clammy grasp.
‘Okay. It’s been a tough decision but, in third place, I’m delighted to announce … Team Tyler-Jones for their fabulous Hogwarts!’
