contrition in her friend’s voice brought a smile to her face. ‘Don’t be daft.’ Her finger followed the shape of the agapanthus leaf design on the sofa fabric. ‘Alistair’s lovely and I’m sure you’re going to be very happy together.’
‘I really should try and engage my brain before I speak. It’s just this wedding stuff is all-encompassing. I don’t seem to be able to think about anything else at the moment. It’s all dresses, bouquets, flowers, table settings…I’m really sorry. And I haven’t even asked you anything about your new job yet. What a cow I am!’
‘There’s not a lot to tell.’ Jemima idly twisted the navy-blue tassel at the corner of the cushion. ‘I’ve only done a couple of weeks.’
And I hate it. I hate being away from the boys. Hate missing meeting up with my friends. Hate my life being different from the way I planned it. No point saying any of that. There was no way Rachel would understand how she felt about working at Kingsley and Bressington.
‘Are the girls you’re working with nice?’
‘Girls’ was just about the only way to describe them. Jemima thought of Saskia with her board-flat stomach, Lucinda with her exquisite and very large solitaire engagement ring, Felicity with her nails…
‘Everyone’s very friendly.’
‘But?’ Rachel prompted. ‘Go on, tell me. I can hear it in your voice. How’s it going really?’
There was going to be no escape. ‘Everyone’s incredibly friendly,’ she said slowly. ‘Just a little young, maybe. I feel a bit like Methuselah.’
‘You’re only thirty,’ Rachel objected. ‘And so am I, for that matter! Nothing old about being thirty.’
Jemima smiled. ‘Well, I reckon the average age of the female staff is about twelve. Thirteen at the outside. And I don’t think there’s a woman in the building apart from me who doesn’t have prominent hip-bones and the kind of skin that doesn’t need foundation. It’s all a bit depressing.’
Rachel gave a cackle of laughter. ‘You should be used to that. Growing up with Verity as your sister must have been really depressing.’
‘You’d think so,’ Jemima agreed, ‘but honestly, Saskia makes even my sister look fat. They all sit around at lunchtime telling each other they’re completely full on a plate of lettuce and make me feel guilty for eating a cheese sandwich. At least Verity moans about being hungry.’
‘You’re wicked. What about the guy you’re working for?’
‘England’s answer to Casanova?’ Jemima said with a sudden smile. ‘He’s nice enough. Very calm in a crisis, obviously brilliant at his job and completely full of himself. Yesterday he got me to send a dandelion to this poor woman he’d met at a party the night before. Says it works every time…’
Jemima trailed off as she watched her ex-husband’s silver BMW drive up the road.
‘Did it work?’
‘Rachel, I’m going to have to go. I’ve just seen Russell arriving. I’ll see you tonight.’
Jemima finished the call and called out, ‘Ben. Sam. Daddy’s here.’
She glanced across at the mantelpiece clock. He was five minutes early. He’d now sit in the car until it was exactly ten. She hated the way he did that. Why couldn’t he be like other absent fathers and gradually drift out of their lives? It would be so much easier if he simply disappeared.
Guilt slid in—as it always did. She shouldn’t have thought that. She didn’t mean it. It was great that Russell didn’t let his boys down. Turned up when he said he would. Great that he paid everything he should—and on time. Really, really great.
Jemima uncurled from the sofa and threw the cushion across to the armchair. It just didn’t feel so great.
‘Ben. Sam.’ She walked to the foot of the stairs and shouted again. ‘Ben? Did you hear me? Daddy’s here.’
Ben appeared, shuttered from all emotion. Almost. His eyes were over-bright and his body was stiff. ‘I don’t want to go.’
She hated this. ‘I know, darling,’ she said softly.
‘I want to go to the football tournament.’ Ben walked slowly down the stairs. ‘Everyone’s going to be there. Joshua’s mum is going to take a picnic.’
‘I know, but Daddy has been looking forward to seeing you. He loves his weekends with you.’
The front doorbell rang. Jemima glanced at her wrist-watch. Exactly ten o’clock. Not a minute before, not a minute after. Russell was so…damn reasonable.
She looked at Ben as he picked up his bag. ‘It’ll be fun when you’re there.’ What a stupid thing to say. That wasn’t the point. Ben was eight years old and he wanted to play football with his friends. Of course he did…
‘You’ll be okay.’
He nodded.
‘And you’ll have a really great time.’
Ben put his backpack on his shoulders. ‘What are you going to do, Mum?’
‘Me?’ What was she going to do without them? Cry a little…Miss them a lot…The same as every other weekend they spent with their father. ‘I’m going to spend the day trying to decorate the bathroom, maybe get some tiles up, and then I’m going to go and have supper with Rachel and Alistair. I’ll be fine.’ She forced a bright smile and wondered how convincing she was. ‘It’s not long. Just one night and you’ll be home again.’
The doorbell rang again.
‘Will you go and hurry Sam up for me?’
She watched him climb the stairs and counted to ten before she opened the front door. It didn’t matter how prepared she thought she was, seeing Russell always felt strange. In the space of a millisecond she remembered the first time he’d kissed her, the proposal in a felucca in Vienna, the way he’d cried when Ben was born…
Russell looked good. Clearly he’d decided to keep up his gym membership and she liked the way he’d let his hair grow a little longer. Jemima wrapped her arms protectively around her waist. ‘Ben’s just gone to find Sam. They’re all ready.’
Russell nodded. ‘There’s no hurry.’ Silence and then, ‘How are things?’
‘Fine.’
Another pause. ‘That’s excellent.’ He rattled his car keys and looked uncomfortable.
He always did that too, Jemima thought. What exactly did he think she was going to do? Cry? Scream at him? He flattered himself. She was a long way past that. ‘You?’
‘Yes, well, we’re fine.’ He stood a little straighter. ‘Stef’s just got a promotion…’
‘That’s…great.’
‘She’s heading up a team of three.’
Jemima
