to the best way to introduce him, Ellen stood by the gate, a case in either hand. She breathed deeply, trying to control the sudden thumping of her heart. Instead, Oliver took the initiative and came towards them. He looked relaxed in his cream chinos and a dark blue open-necked shirt. She saw him as if for the first time, taking in his aquiline features, the startling blue eyes and dark flop of hair. His familiar slightly uneven smile gave a sharp nudge to all the emotions that she’d thought she had under control, sending them skittering through her. If she took a step towards him, she felt her legs would give way. As if he understood, he turned to the kids, giving her time to gather herself.
‘Hello. You must be Matt and Em. Your mum’s told me all about you. Good holiday?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Emma’s voice was tight with dislike.
‘I thought you might all be starving after such a long journey, so I’ve brought some supper over.’
They looked at him in surprise, unsure what to say. Why on earth would a stranger bring them supper? Ellen could almost hear the cogs turning.
‘How lovely. What a kind thought.’ Under the close scrutiny of her children, she chose her words with care, not wanting to expose her cartwheeling heart. Matt could probably be deflected but Emma would pick up on the slightest clue. As they led the way to the front door, she lagged behind with Oliver. She fought back the urge to put her arms round him. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she hissed instead.
‘I couldn’t wait for two days.’ As he touched her hand, her stomach flipped. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Yes, I do. And after everything I said.’ A look of such abject disappointment crossed his face that she weakened. ‘Well, no, not really. Oh, I don’t know. You’re impossible.’ Whatever she said, it was too late. He was there and she was going to have to deal with it in the best way she could.
They’d reached the front door. Emma was already inside and had shot upstairs to check her room. Oliver leaned down to pick up his bag of shopping.
‘What have you got there?’ A sure way to Matt’s heart was through his stomach.
‘Only spaghetti carbonara.’
‘Nice one! How did you know I liked it?’
‘Your mum told me, of course. I’ve brought a salad as well.’ He winked at Ellen. ‘And I tell you what, Matt, England are playing tonight and my TV’s broken. I wondered if I could watch with you. Only if you’re watching, of course.’
‘Oliver, I’m not sure this is such a good idea.’ His brand new TV couldn’t possibly be broken. How dare he try to win over her kids without consulting her on the method first? ‘Shouldn’t you get back home? We’ll have to unpack and get ready for school.’
‘Come on, Ellen.’ His voice was like the smoothest honey, impossible to resist.
‘Yes, come on, Mum. We don’t need much at the start of term anyway.’ Matt’s eyes were shining with excitement at the idea of being able to watch the match. Normally Emma shouted him down if he dared even suggest such a thing.
Ellen was torn. She wanted Oliver to stay but she wanted him to go. At the same time she felt a guilty sense of relief steal over her. For ten years she’d been running this household, having responsibility for every decision, smoothing out every disagreement. Being able to share some of the daily grind suddenly seemed almost unbearably attractive. Despite all her anxieties, he had got Matt onside within minutes. Perhaps, with a little extra effort, he could work the same magic with the more resistant Emma. Why shouldn’t she indulge him? What harm could it possibly do? She led the way downstairs to the kitchen. ‘OK, I give in. Em and I can always do something else or watch TV in my bedroom, I suppose. Just this once,’ she added, to stamp on any impression that this might be a precedent for things to come.
‘Yes!’ yelled Matt, his fist punching the air. ‘I’ll go and tell Em.’ He shot upstairs before Ellen could stop him.
‘Oh, God,’ she groaned. ‘Wait for the fireworks.’
Oliver slipped an arm around her waist.
‘They’ll be down in a moment,’ she said. ‘You really shouldn’t have come, you know.’
‘It’s OK.’ He looked at her, before just brushing her lips with his.
She was glad he realised how inappropriate it would be to do more.
‘I’m going to make sure it all works out. Trust me. Let me get on with the cooking while you help them unpack.’
Lugging the cases up the stairs, she could hear raised voices from Emma’s room. Unable to make out exactly what was being said, she decided to leave them to it, dumping the cases on the landing before she retreated to the safety of her own room. Sinking onto the bed, she fell backwards into its embrace. She automatically turned her head towards her bedside table. For the last ten years she had gone to sleep and woken up beside Simon. He had remained a constant in her life even though he hadn’t been here to share things. Somehow she’d always drawn support from seeing him there, as if he was guiding her. Before she had a chance to think further, there was a shout, a slammed door and the sound of Matt laughing.
‘Well, we are and you can’t stop us,’ he shouted, above the noise of his footsteps clumping down the stairs.
With a sigh, Ellen got to her feet. Peeling off her jeans, she once again cursed the weight she’d put on during her week away as she squeezed herself into a green stripy skirt that Oliver liked, leaving the top inch of her zip undone and crossing her fingers that it would stay put, then rummaged for her long cream top in the cupboard. Slipping her feet into her most comfortable flip-flops, running her fingers through her hair, she emerged for the fray. As she passed Emma’s room, she noticed the door was ajar.
‘Mum!’
Unable to gauge the tone, imperious or upset, she pushed the door open, careful not to bring down the red-and-yellow sari fabric threaded with gold that was draped over the entrance. Inside, Emma had thrown herself face down on the gaudy Indian bedspread embroidered with tiny mirrors that twinkled in the light. In her left hand lay Lolly, a once yellow now grubby and almost threadbare pig that had gone everywhere with her until about five years ago when he had been relegated to pride of place on the mantel-piece. Ellen watched her daughter’s thumb working back and forth over the scrap of ribbon round Lolly’s neck, just as she had when she was a toddler needing comfort. She tiptoed in, taking a detour round the colourful spiky star lampshade, which was at exactly the right height to poke her in the eye, and sat on the bed.
‘Em. What’s up?’
‘What’s he doing here?’ Her daughter twisted round to face her, propping herself up on an elbow. She’d obviously been crying.
‘Oliver?’
‘Who else?’
Ellen was alarmed by how angry she looked. ‘He’s just a friend making us supper. That’s all.’
‘I don’t want him here.’
‘Why ever not? Nothing’s changed, you know.’
‘It has.’ Emma threw herself on to her side and curled into a ball.
Ellen
