Katie tried not to notice the way Hannah lumped her, and Jack, and Ross in as one, but picked her up and gave her a tight squeeze, bursting with protective love as Hannah’s arms and legs wound round her, clinging like ivy. ‘I love you more than anything else in the whole world,’ she said, fiercely. ‘And sometimes mummies have to work, but that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about you and Jack all the time.’
‘I wish you didn’t have to go to work, Mummy,’ said Hannah, and she sounded much younger than she had done for a long time.
‘I know, sweetie,’ said Katie. ‘I wish I didn’t have to, too, but that’s what grown-ups do.’ She tried to tell herself that her daughter, at least, had a strong female role model, but it didn’t fill in the answering silence from Hannah.
Just before she left for work on Monday morning, Ross said, off-handedly, ‘I won’t be in tonight, just so’s you know.’
‘What?’ Katie stopped stuffing papers into her laptop bag.
‘Monday nights. It’s going to be my night off from now on.’ He coaxed Jack into taking another spoonful of porridge. His swollen cheekbone had gone down, leaving him with just a little cut on his lip. It added a touch of Jack Sparrow roughness, which Katie found oddly attractive.
Though obviously she didn’t approve of him and Greg fighting.
‘And I’d like to take Thursdays off. The whole day. Jo says she can get Jack and Rowan into this nursery near her house on Thursdays, because she wants to start retraining. She’s thinking of going back to work, part-time.’
‘Really?’ said Katie, surprised. ‘She didn’t mention that to me.’
‘Well, she was thinking about it before Greg dropped this on her, and now she definitely wants to. We talked about it while we were away. I’m thinking of doing some retraining too, actually. Get up to speed with the new Photoshop software, that sort of thing.’
‘Are you? That’s great!’ Katie’s heart bumped ambiguously in her chest. Was Jack really ready to be left at nursery? And how much would it cost?
Ross wants to start working again, she reminded herself. That’s what you wanted. Focus on that.
Ross gave her a side look. ‘It’s a chance to get my own life back, now Jack’s old enough to be left on his own at nursery.’
She couldn’t stop herself. ‘Are you sure he’ll be all right?’
Ross glared at her. ‘For one day a week? I think so, Katie. It’ll do him good to meet other toddlers. Do both of us good, come to that.’ He softened a little as Jack grabbed for the porridge spoon. ‘It’s a nice nursery. Jo’s been looking into all of them locally, and she’s pulled some strings to get them both in. Come on, they’re friends, Rowan and Jack. They’ll know each other.’
‘Of course. Course.’
Something twisted in Katie, at the thought of Ross and Jo discussing their break-out plans from the tyranny of childcare. Was that why Jo hadn’t mentioned it to her, in case she didn’t understand?
‘It’s a great idea,’ she said, trying hard not to sound patronising. ‘Great.’
But all the way to work, she had to keep pushing away the mental image of Jo and Ross, two heartbroken survivors, the nurturers, thrown together, their friendship taking on more significance every day.
There’s nothing you can do, she told herself. If you can’t love him properly, you should let him go.
I can’t, she thought, miserably.
There was the usual stack of paperwork in her in-tray when she dumped her coat and bag in her office, plus an enraging Voicemail message from Eddie, wondering where the evidence for the ‘problem’ with the Memorial Hall was.
‘I’ve been on to Historic Buildings and they’ve no records of any letters demanding listing protection.’ His voice turned faux-concerned. ‘Are you sure you were looking at the right building, Kate? Or was it just one of those time-of-the-month blips? Sort it out, my love – don’t want them thinking my team can’t tell the difference between a community hall and a cathedral.’
She seethed and deleted the message.
Why’s he taking such a personal interest in this, she wondered, then answered her own question: there’s something going on with the developers.
Well, two can play at that game, she thought, and looked up the number of her contact at English Heritage.
Katie left work dead on time, and drove home via the big toy superstore where she assuaged her guilt with a couple of bags of toys, trying not to think about Greg as she did so.
Ross was changed to go out when she arrived, and his appearance, rather than the usual scene of domestic devastation behind him, made her stop in her tracks.
He’d had a haircut, and was wearing his smarter jeans, and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Clearly he was making an effort that he couldn’t normally be bothered to make for her, and it stung a little inside.
‘Off somewhere nice?’ she asked sarcastically, as Hannah clamoured for her presents. She’d had a haircut too, Katie noticed. So had Jack.
I wanted to do Hannah’s next haircut, she thought. She made herself push the thought away: from now on, she was going to make every effort not to nag.
‘Just out,’ he said, airily, and then added, because he was so unused to not telling her things, ‘some parents from Hannah’s old playgroup are getting together.’
‘The one in the Memorial Hall?’ asked Katie, half her mind still in work mode.
‘Yes.’ Ross looked closely at her. ‘Why?’
‘Well, could you maybe suggest they write some letters to English Heritage, asking for it to be listed? I’ve got the address. There are plans to build a big block of flats right over it – but obviously if it’s being assessed for protection then . . .’
‘Do you ever stop thinking about work?’ demanded Ross. ‘Seriously?’
‘This isn’t just about work!’ Katie took off her coat. She didn’t know how to say, if I can save the Hall, maybe I can save us too. And she didn’t like to say, is there a reason you don’t want to talk about
your wife’s job
tonight, out with these yummy mummies?
‘I can’t do much about it myself,’ she pressed on. ‘There’s too much office politics and money tied up. But if local people who use it make a fuss—’
‘I’ll mention it,’ Ross said, curtly. ‘Now, I’ve left supper out, and what, Hannah?’
Hannah was clinging to his leg, gazing up with puppyish eyes. ‘When are you coming back?’
‘Later.’
‘When later?’
‘After you’ve gone to bed, madam.’
He exchanged a look with Katie, who clapped her hands, and said, ‘OK, Hannah – who wants an . . . ice cream?’
Hannah looked at them both, slowly and carefully, then stuck out her lower lip. ‘Not me,’ she said, and ran away.
Katie tried everything she could think of short of letting Hannah run riot with the fairy-cake cases, but she remained in a foul mood all Monday night, delaying bedtime with every trick she knew. Hannah was, Katie thought grimly, her mother’s daughter. Ross didn’t get back until 10.30 p.m., and right on cue, Hannah trailed downstairs and insisted on him taking her back up.
Katie couldn’t help earwigging as Ross was tucking her in, and heard him say, ‘Yes, Mummy loves you. And I love Mummy. And Mummy loves me.’ He sounded more convincing than she did, Katie had to give him that.
When Hannah didn’t spring out of bed at 6.30 a.m. the next day, as she usually did, Katie went in to wake her up, and felt a guilty flicker of relief amidst her concern when Hannah moaned about her sore throat and funny tummy.
‘She’s not well,’ she told Ross, in the kitchen. ‘Might explain why she’s been extra clingy these past few days.’
‘Maybe,’ said Ross, non-committally.
He didn’t say much else. He’d stopped talking about anything that didn’t directly involve the children, or the house.
‘Must be something she picked up while she was away?’
‘It’s just a bug,’ said Ross. ‘Jo was saying last night that Molly’s got a cold. I’ll see how she is after breakfast, and if she’s really poorly, I’ll keep her at home.’ He looked up from sorting the laundry; according to the new list of chores he’d drawn up, he would load and wash, while she had to iron.
Katie paused at the door. ‘So Jo was there last night? How is she?’
‘Fine,’ said Ross. ‘Coping, you know. She’s still in shock. You’re going to be late for work.’
I should phone Jo, she thought, but what can I say? She and Ross are their own little club now, it was impossible to talk to her, not knowing what Ross had said.
‘I’ll call her,’ she said, as much to herself as Ross, then paused again.
Ross didn’t offer any more conversation, but continued loading the machine.
Silently, Katie turned and left the kitchen.
‘Where’s Ross this week?’ asked Bridget, kindly, as she and Katie changed their shoes in the vestibule.
‘Oh, he’s looking after the children – Hannah’s got one of these bugs going round,’ Katie replied. It was what she’d rehearsed in the car on the way over. Dancing was the last thing she felt like tonight, but the thought of spending an evening in the house, full of recriminating echoes and reminders of the kids was unbearable.
As soon as she’d arrived, she was greeted by Bridget and Frank, and Baxter, and Chloe, who’d had her hair cut and coloured by Trina’s niece at The Hair Academy, and needed reassurance that it didn’t make her look like a cocker spaniel.
Bridget and Katie both struggled to find the right words, but the best Bridget could come up with was, ‘It’s lovely and bubbly.’
‘She did her best, Chloe,’ said Trina, in an aggressive manner. ‘It’s not the easiest hair to work with, is it?’
‘What are you saying, Trina?’ demanded Chloe. ‘That my hair put up a
fight
?’
Despite her grey mood, a little buzz of warmth had crept underneath her numb exterior. Their familiarity, and their welcoming smiles were comforting. Katie didn’t know how long she could keep up the casualness, but the idea of having some gentle contact with people, without having to talk too much, or think too much, made her feel a little less alone.
‘Hannah’s not well?’ said Bridget at once. ‘There’s been a bit of a bug going round school . . . That must be it. Once one of them gets it, you know.’
‘Really? I mean, I don’t think it’s too serious, but we didn’t want to leave her with a sitter. Ross volunteered, so . . .’
Katie trailed off, now worried that Bridget knew something she didn’t.
Bridget patted her arm reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry, it’s amazing how quickly they get over these things if there’s someone there to cuddle them into bed with a hot drink and a story. She’ll be fine in a day or two. Good for Ross, letting you come out!’
‘Well, you know . . . No Chris tonight?’ she asked to change the subject, as they went into the hall. Lauren stomped past them both, heading towards the ancient loos at the far end of the main room. She wasn’t, Katie noticed, wearing her white satin bridal shoes to dance in.
Bridget waited until the banged door confirmed that Lauren was out of earshot, then checked to see where Frank was: chatting about lawnmowers with Baxter. She dropped her voice. ‘Oh, not so good, I don’t think. They’ve had a bit of a falling-out about something, but she won’t tell me what. Says nothing’s up, but you know . . . Mothers know, don’t they?’
‘Oh no!’ said Katie, genuinely sorry. ‘Surely it’s just the usual pre-wedding nerves?’
Bridget’s gaze flitted back and forth towards the door, anxious not to be seen talking in a low voice – which could only be about one topic. Concern was written all over her face, in the sad eyes, and twitching mouth. Katie could see that every part of her was thinking of Lauren, wanting to take away the hurt.
She’s like a mother lioness with a full-grown cub, thought Katie: still protective, even though Lauren towers over her. They have a proper mother–daughter relationship. She thought of Hannah’s fierce, knowing eyes, and felt useless.
‘I think it’s all getting on top of her, with the house, and the wedding plans and everything,’ said Bridget. ‘Nothing more than that. She’s only twenty-two, you know. Still a baby, really.’ She sighed. ‘Oh dear.’
‘Everything OK?’ said Frank, coming up and putting one arm on his wife’s back.
Bridget’s smile snapped back into place. ‘Yes, fine! Everything’s fine!’
‘Good,’ said Frank, and winked at Katie. ‘No Chris and no Ross, eh? That means I’ve two smart young ladies to myself this evening!’
‘Yes,’ said Katie, with a crooked smile at Bridget. ‘That’s one way of looking at it.’
Lauren didn’t want to be at dancing tonight, but her dad had asked her if she was coming, and she couldn’t say no. She’d only just managed to get herself through three whole days at the surgery, with Sue asking questions about whether it was worth her cousin’s daughter getting a wedding cake made professionally, and bloody Kathleen making personal remarks about whether the vicar would need a stepladder to marry her and Chris. Like she was the wedding expert now.
Chris hadn’t phoned. She hadn’t phoned him. Or texted. She could hardly bear to think about what Kian would be saying to him, or what they’d be doing together. She didn’t even know if he’d told Irene; presumably not, since Irene had called her twice to ask whether she’d consider having her hairdresser’s toddler daughter as a flowergirl. She didn’t even know if that was in exchange for a wash and bridal put-up – a thought that wouldn’t even have crossed her mind before she found out about her mum’s credit cards.