‘Now we can have a proper chinwag,’ she said, a conspiratorial wink in her eye. ‘Did Mummy tell you I put Persil in the fish tank?’
‘No,’ I replied, not sure what to be more afraid of, her use of ‘chinwag’ or the fact that I was alone in a tree house with a tiny sociopath. ‘Why would you do that?’
She shrugged and sipped her fake tea.
‘I was trying to clean it,’ she said, as though it were obvious. ‘But it didn’t work and then we had to get new fish.’
Clever Alice, skipping over the part where they all died.
‘Why haven’t you got a husband?’ she asked, opening an empty Quality Street tin and offering me an imaginary biscuit.
‘Not everyone has a husband,’ I said, taking care to select the right one. She’d tell me off if I took the imaginary Orange Club. ‘Granny hasn’t got a husband.’
‘That’s because Granny is too old,’ she assured me. ‘Daddy said so. And she used to be married to Grandad Mal, didn’t you know?’
As my mum liked to say, Alice was six going on sixteen. I couldn’t remember being quite so precocious when I was her age but, to be fair, the only thing I really remembered about being six was wetting myself on the way home from Alton Towers and my parents’ divorce. Hardly a banner year for me.
‘I did know that,’ I replied, following her lead and nibbling on my fantasy biscuit. ‘I don’t have a husband because I haven’t found anyone I want to marry yet.’
‘That makes sense,’ she said. ‘I’m going to marry Kofi from my gymnastics class. He can do four somersaults in a row.’
I’d definitely dated people for less.
‘I’ll find someone when I’m ready,’ I said, watching my niece cross and uncross her legs until she felt she’d found a suitably grown-up position. It would have been more effective if her dress hadn’t ridden up in the process, revealing her pants to the whole world. ‘There’s no rush.’
‘Daddy says you’re getting old too,’ she replied. ‘And that you’d better get a move on because you’re not getting any younger.’
‘Did he now.’ I pulled back the curtains and shot Alan a death stare across the garden. ‘And what else did your daddy have to say?’
‘He said everything started to go downhill for Mummy after thirty-five and that you ought to try to get a ring on it well before then.’
Note to self. Literally never open your mouth in front of a child over the age of one.
‘Well, I know this is probably going to be a strange thing to say, but your daddy doesn’t know everything,’ I said. ‘Especially about girls.’
‘Oh no, I know,’ Alice assured me. ‘Mummy tells him that all the time.’
‘Good,’ I said, sipping my tea. ‘Mummy is really very clever.’
‘I know,’ she replied happily. ‘She tells me that too.’
She went back to her play kitchen for a moment, faffing around with pots and pans, making all the prerequisite not-quite-swears she’d heard from her own parents as she prepared our second course.
‘I’ve done some sandwiches,’ she announced, turning around with a plate full of Matchbox cars. ‘But you’re not to have too many in case it makes you fat.’
‘You shouldn’t be worrying about things like that,’ I said, the blood draining from my face at the thought of someone destroying my six-year-old niece’s body image with one wrong word. ‘Fat isn’t a bad thing, you know. Some people are fat and some people aren’t.’
‘Yes, but you don’t have a husband,’ Alice repeated, in case I wasn’t already aware. ‘And getting fat certainly won’t make finding one any easier.’
‘Thank god your mother is a therapist,’ I muttered, accepting a single red Hot Rod from the platter. ‘You’re definitely going to need it.’
Dad and Gina had to leave earlier than Rebecca had hoped. Lesley from badminton was having her retirement do at the club and they absolutely had to show their face, Dad explained, otherwise they might be a no-show at the end-of-summer party and she’d done the catering on exact numbers.
It took me longer to make my escape and before I knew it, I’d sat through bathtime, bedtime and bedtime story time. Alan was already flicking through Netflix by the time I started faking yawns.
‘Stay,’ Rebecca insisted. ‘I’ll make up the spare bed.’
‘Yes,’ Alan echoed with zero enthusiasm. ‘Stay.’
‘I’d love to but I can’t,’ I said, picking up my handbag, tote bag and refillable water bottle. The holy triumvirate of Modern Women’s Things. ‘I’ve got a really early yoga class in the morning and it’ll be a nightmare to get across town at that time on a Sunday.’
‘Oh, good for you,’ Becks said, bundling me into a hug and a borrowed cardigan. It had turned cold after the sun had set. ‘Do you need Alan to run you to the station?’
‘I’ll get the bus,’ I said, much to Alan’s relief. ‘Or maybe I’ll walk, burn off that trifle. Wouldn’t want me getting fat, would we?’
He didn’t even look away from the TV.
‘I can’t do lunch this week,’ my sister said, buttoning up the cardi for me. ‘But we’ll see you at Dad’s party next week.’
Of course. Dad’s surprise sixtieth birthday party. So that was why Mum had nicked off to Portugal and gone completely incommunicado. We’d had quite the performance over his fiftieth birthday celebrations. She’d shown up at my halls of residence and refused to leave for a week. She spent most of it half-cut on Taboo and lemonades and in all honesty, I didn’t even know they made Taboo anymore but it was amazing what a woman could find in a provincial off-licence if she was truly committed.
‘Don’t give me that look,’ Becks warned. ‘You’re coming, end of.’
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ I promised, patting myself down for my Oyster card and earphones. ‘Talk to you later.’
‘Text me when you’re in,’ Becks called as I headed out for the bus stop. ‘And don’t you dare think about missing that party.’
As if I would do such a thing.
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