Hannah and Ross shared a birthday – October 24 – which only made their ‘daddy and his girl’ bond even stronger. It also meant that she and Ross hadn’t been able to have a romantic dinner out on his birthday since she was born. This year, of course, Katie’s idea was that Jo and Greg could entertain the kids while Katie and Ross got the chance to spend some lovely grown-up time together. It would cost a fortune, but Katie’s overtime would cover that. The only hard thing was making time to arrange it, since Ross did most of the domestic arrangements, and so far, work and resentment had pushed it to the bottom of her to-do list.
If Katie was being honest, right now she cared a lot more about proving to Hannah that Mummy was just as much fun as Daddy, than she did about proving to
Daddy
that she could still be fun. But you’ve got to try, she told herself. It’s when you stop trying that you know it’s over.
When she looked up, Jo’s expression was sympathetic, not disapproving, but Katie felt guilty all the same.
‘Well, you’ve been busy, haven’t you?’
‘I have,’ she protested. The redevelopment project was going to be massive, with new shops and new housing and if she performed well, there was every chance she’d get promoted by the end of the year. If she made it that far. Katie gazed hopelessly round the messy kitchen. Last night’s clean washing was still in the dryer. That night’s dirty washing would still be in a pile in front of the washing machine if she hadn’t hidden it in the pull-out vegetable drawer. ‘Really, I don’t know where the week goes. It’s not like I haven’t been thinking about Hannah’s birthday, it’s just that I can’t make personal calls at work and then . . .’
Her voice wobbled dangerously, with sheer exhaustion.
Before she knew it, Jo had swept across from the other side of the kitchen and was wrapping her in a warm hug. She smelled of babies and fabric conditioner, and Katie was overwhelmed with a desire to burst into tears, right on Jo’s velvety shoulder. She didn’t dare speak in case she did.
‘Give yourself a break. You’re under a lot of stress,’ murmured Jo, patting her back. ‘I know how hard you work.’
‘It’s not just that,’ mumbled Katie.
It was the pressure, the constant pressure from everyone, to do everything, at home, at the office, with the lawyers, with the developers, with Ross . . .
But Jo was talking over her head, as if she’d forgotten she used to work twelve-hour days as a matter of course.
‘Seriously, Katie, you’ve got to get your priorities right. You and Ross. Sort it out. Sod work. There’ll always be another job.’
But if I don’t work, we won’t have anywhere to
live
, thought Katie, wildly. If I don’t work, the kids won’t see the inside of a softplay centre again, let alone have birthday parties there. If I don’t work, and I have to leave it to Ross to support us, it’s definitely game over for our relationship. I can’t even rely on him to recycle the newspapers.
The weight of responsibilities crushed her chest so hard that for a second she couldn’t breathe. How could Jo possibly understand? She had unlimited credit cards, a husband who put a roof over their head and two cars in their drive, and a mother who was permanently on hand for emergency babysitting.
‘Hmm?’ said Jo, pushing her to arms’ length so she could scrutinise her face. ‘If you need some time together, tell me. I can take the kids – honestly, I don’t mind.’
Katie knew she wouldn’t mind, and also that Hannah would be thrilled to spend more time in Molly’s pink-tastic playroom.
‘It’ll work out,’ she said, and reminded herself horribly of her own mother, and the cover-all clichés she trotted out when she didn’t want to acknowledge her unhappiness. Katie knew she was going the same way: the more stressed and desperate she got, the more she felt obliged to pretend otherwise. The only difference being that at least she knew she was doing it, and she wasn’t teaching Hannah to mix her gin and tonics.
The chicken tasted better than normal, and Katie knew it was because Jo had discreetly done something to it while she was getting the pudding out of the freezer. She knew how to do things like that. Then again, Jo had the time to read the home sections in the back of magazines – the ones that told you what seasonings to scatter to make ready-meals taste like restaurant food. Somehow, it even looked better on the plate.
That might have been the candlelight, though. Katie gazed at her dining table, which spent more time as a newspaper-covered easel than a centre of witty dinner conversation. It had been Ross’s job to run round the house tidying up while she got supper ready, and though the sitting room was still a tip, he’d done something clever with a sheet over the table, and stacks of candles down the middle and the effect was quite elegant, making the glasses sparkle and everyone’s faces seem less worn-out.
‘Top you up, Katie?’ Greg had the bottle poised over her glass. It was a ‘good bottle’, one from some wine club that he belonged to. He’d explained it to her at some length while Ross and Jo were discussing car seats and the problems of getting ingrained chocolate out of same.
‘Um, just a little,’ she said. Two glasses made her feel relaxed, but more than that and she was liable to turn maudlin and, at the moment, who knew where that would lead.
‘Sorry, Jo, you’re driving tonight, aren’t you?’ he added, as he passed Jo’s half-empty glass by.
‘Or we could get a cab?’ muttered Jo.
Greg didn’t seem to hear her as he turned his attention back to Katie.
‘Katie, I meant to ask you about office interns,’ he said. ‘I’ve been talking to my personnel officer about getting one in next year – we seem to go through temps like nobody’s business. You’ve got them in your office, haven’t you?’
‘Well, yes.’ She leaned back a little in her chair, gratified by Greg’s attention. ‘But you really need to get the selection process right – I’ve had some real problems with mine this year . . .’
Greg made an interested mmm noise, and loosened his tie, exposing the tanned hollow of his neck beneath the blue shirt as he pushed himself away from the table. ‘Really? In what way?’
Katie dragged her gaze away from the smoothness of Greg’s throat. ‘Oh, it’s amazing how quickly they get into office politics, specially if they’re smart. Mine’s made an alliance from hell with my own boss, and I think he’s blind-copying him into all our email correspondence, just to catch me out . . .’
‘Sneaky little bastard!’ said Greg, then winked. ‘Have you got evidence?’
She noticed, as they were talking, that Ross’s attention was drifting away. It always did when she and Greg got on to business stuff. Jo pulled a conspiratorial face and leaned forward to talk underneath them. Ross’s eyes immediately brightened.
I wish he’d look at me like that, thought Katie. I wish he saw me as someone he could gossip with. Is that my fault?
‘Katie?’ Greg prompted her.
‘Oh, I’ve got my eye on Scott. He doesn’t know but the security camera’s trained on a spot very near his desk, so I know all about his long lunchbreaks . . .’
‘Did you hear about Leigh Sinton complaining to Mrs Hodge about the snacks at playgroup?’ murmured Jo, and Katie heard Ross laugh in response – a light, unfamiliar sound, not like the nervous giggles he made at dancing.
‘Really?’
‘Apparently she threw a real wobbler in her office because they’d used chocolate in the crispy cakes they made last week, and didn’t use some fancy kind, can’t remember what. Delphi’s allergic to supermarket own brands.’
Ross laughed again. ‘Unlike her mother, who tells me she
only
goes to Aldi for her prosciutto.’
‘It’s the only place to go,’ agreed Jo, deadpan.
‘But not on a Wednesday,’ he added, and Jo giggled this time – it was obviously a running joke they had.
God, he sounds like a girl, thought Katie, crossly.
At least he was talking though. Ross had been notably quiet so far, not contributing anything to the conversation about who the reliable builders were in Longhampton and being a bit sarcastic, Katie thought, when Greg mentioned the problems he’d been having with his new car.
Ross and Greg never had much to say to each other, although clearly he and Jo were the French and Saunders of the school gates, with that in-jokey banter. There had been a time, she remembered rather sadly, when it had been she and Jo cracking jokes about leaky breasts and Kegel exercises. Well, mainly Jo.
Katie sipped her wine and tried to keep her face interested in Greg’s HR problems while Ross did a silly voice that she assumed was some mother she hadn’t met.
Then Jo stopped laughing, and she heard Ross say, ‘Oh, here we go’, and something ambiguous in his tone made her look up.
Hannah was standing in the doorway, her golden-brown hair tousled adorably around her heart-shaped face, her too-big pink Angelina Ballerina pyjamas wrinkling over her feet. She blinked in the light of the dining room, like a surprised mole, and clutched her Beanie sheep, Baalamb, once white and now grimy grey, in both small hands.
Katie’s heart turned over once, with pride at the gorgeousness of her own daughter, then turned over again with frustration as she felt the final threads of a grown-up evening slip from her hands. Just an hour or two, at home, off duty, with her friends – was it so much?
‘No show without Punch, eh?’ said Greg, giving her a sympathetic look and topping up his wine glass. ‘Molly’s just getting to this stage too. Got to nip it in the bud, I reckon, otherwise you’ll never get a moment to yourself.’
‘Yes, well, that’s easier said than done,’ sighed Katie.
‘Daddy!’ Hannah announced when all the adult attention had turned to her. She put one hand melodramatically over her forehead. ‘I just
can’t
sleep!’
‘I just
can’t
’ had become one of her favourite phrases lately. Where she’d got it from, Katie had no idea. Ross did seem to watch lots of films while she was out at work.
‘
Can’t
you?’ said Ross, in the same melodramatic tones. ‘Why ever not?’
Hannah sighed. ‘Bad dreams. Can I sit here with you?’
‘No,’ said Katie, before Ross could humour her. All the baby behaviour books said you shouldn’t engage children in conversation at bedtime; she’d tried from the beginning to stick to one routine so they didn’t get confused. It would help if Ross wasn’t so inconsistent. Hannah hadn’t had any trouble sleeping until Jack started waking up, but she was sharp enough to see the attention it got him and had started getting to be a real pest about it. Especially with an audience.
Katie looked at Ross, but he was only gazing proudly at his charming daughter, so she pushed back her chair, as a sign to Hannah that a return to bed was nigh.
Hannah’s lower lip jutted and she glared at her.
Katie saw Hannah’s considerable tantrum mechanisms were now semi-engaged and braced herself. ‘Come on, Hannah,’ she said. ‘Bed.’
‘Daddy, I
need
a glass of milk,’ she whined, ignoring Katie. ‘To sleep.’
‘Oh, we know that one, don’t we?’ said Jo easily, glancing sideways at Greg. ‘Magic sleep milk.’
Hannah widened her eyes, and brought Baalamb’s ear up to her mouth to chew.
Katie looked at Ross. They’d
talked
about the chewing. He’d agreed it wasn’t good. But something about it made Hannah look so much smaller, younger than her princess-y daytime self, that it was hard to be firm.
You
have
to be firm, Katie told herself. Someone has to be.
‘Hannah,’ she said, and leaned over to remove it from her mouth. Hannah pulled away, and ran over to lean against Ross’s knee. Automatically, Ross’s arm went around her, making a little barrier.
Hannah and Daddy against Mummy, thought Katie, with a stab through the heart.
‘Well . . .’ he said, visibly weakening.
Katie could see Jo was melting too, and felt irritated. Yet again, she was going to look like the mean one.
Greg, she was pleased to see, wasn’t joining in.
‘Come on, Hannah,’ he said, firmly. ‘You’ll be all tired and grumpy in the morning if you don’t go up to bed now. Molly’s sleeping like a good girl, isn’t she?’
‘Exactly. And this is grown-up time,’ Katie said, getting to her feet. ‘Molly and Rowan are asleep, aren’t they? And Jack?’
‘They’re
babies
,’ said Hannah, nuzzling further into her father. ‘I’m a big girl.’
‘Even big girls have to go to bed,’ insisted Katie and held out her arms. ‘Come on, I’ll carry you upstairs. Say night night to everyone.’
The effect was instant.
‘Daddy!’ roared Hannah, bursting into heart-wrenching sobs. ‘Daddy!’
‘Daddy take you then,’ said Ross, swinging her into his arms and getting up from the table.
‘Stop it, Hannah!’ said Katie, as lightly as she could. ‘You’re just making a show of yourself.’
Greg, she saw out of the corner of her eye, snuck a glance at his watch.
‘Oh dear,’ said Jo, which was worse.
5
‘Oh, Lauren, you look . . .’ Bridget put her hand to her mouth as Lauren stepped out from behind the changing-room curtain, her lanky frame turned magically doll-like by a frothing cloud of pearl-strewn tulle. Her long, pale arms seemed elegant, the milky softness of her shoulders exaggerated by the stiff strapless bodice. She even held herself differently, as the corset pulled her out of her usual self-conscious slouch, making her tower like a catwalk model over the cooing shop assistant.