Just as Chrissie’s reaction to Valentina had been one of astonishment, so, too, was that of her children. 

No sooner had the pair bowled through the door from school and come face to face with their guest – at the battered old kitchen table flicking through a magazine – than they screeched to a halt, jaws dropping, eyes bulging. 

‘Wow,’ gasped Jess, after what Chrissie estimated to be forty seconds of unprecedented silence.  ‘You’re like… even cooler than your Facebook pictures.’

‘And those pictures are awesomely cool,’ gushed Harry, turning a dazzling shade of red.  Before adding, to his mother’s dismay, ‘Can I take some photos of you to send to my mates?   Then we can put you in our Top Birds list.’

‘Okay,’ sniffed Valentina, with a flick of her lustrous locks.

In a flash, Harry, more excited than the time Chrissie had promised him a ride on Oblivion at Alton Towers, had tossed his school bag into a nearby flexi tub, tugged his mobile from his blazer pocket and sprinted across to the table, tripping over a bag of plaster mix in the process.  Vaulting to his feet, he brushed himself down, held out his phone and began merrily snapping their guest. 

During this ungainly performance, Chrissie’s instincts had screamed increasingly louder that this really was not one of her son’s better suggestions. 

‘Um, we don’t refer to females as “birds”, Harry.  And while I’m sure Valentina is very flattered by your attention, I honestly don’t think this is a good idea,’ she pointed out, as the Brazilian – pointing out other things – ran her tongue over her lips.  ‘Valentina may not want her pictures touted about to all and sundry.’

Adjusting her cleavage, Valentina shot her host a withering glare that implied ‘don’t be so stupid.  Of course I do,’ before resuming her posing. 

Chrissie attempted a different tack.  ‘Jess wouldn’t want a load of strangers gawping at her pictures, would you, darling?’

Jess’s returning look had a definite ‘I should be so lucky’ about it. 

Chrissie, though, was grateful she wasn’t so lucky.  Her daughter might not boast sultry South American beauty, but she was still gorgeous – in a pretty, fresh, English, fifteen-year-old way.  Indeed, with her long wavy chestnut hair, huge green eyes and peaches-and-cream complexion, she was almost a miniature Chrissie, had she not been as slim as a reed with legs up to her neck.  And although Chrissie didn’t agree with all her firstborn’s sartorial choices – like the clumpy shoes she’d insisted on wearing all summer – her wardrobe was, nonetheless, age-appropriate. 

Jess was evidently making similar comparisons, not arriving at quite the same conclusions. 

‘Can I have a T-shirt like Valentina’s?’ she asked, through one of her ‘pleeeeeeease can I?’ smiles. 

‘Not on my Aunt Nelly’s nelly,’ Chrissie wanted to reply.  But, not having the energy for a squabble, she instead uttered that age-old adage employed to extricate many a parent from a tricky situation: ‘We’ll see.’ 

Jess pulled a face.  ‘That means not on your Aunt Nelly’s nelly, doesn’t it?’

Chrissie didn’t reply, deciding, as Valentina stuck her thumb in her mouth in a pose way too suggestive for Chrissie’s liking, that she needed to bring an end to the impromptu photo shoot. 

‘Right!’ she squawked, in a voice several octaves higher than usual.  ‘That’s enough.  Jess, Harry, it’s time you two changed out of your uniforms and we thought about what to eat tonight.’

Harry, fingers now dancing over the keyboard on his phone, mumbled, ‘I thought we were waiting for Dad.’

At the reminder of her ex-husband’s planned visit that evening, relief pulsed through Chrissie.  Not only did Paul always exude calm, but it would be good to hear his opinion on their guest.  Plus, he might offer some suggestions on how best to handle her.  In fact, it was at times like this, that Chrissie questioned their mutual decision to end their marriage.

Just as she’d analysed her career - or rather lack of it - following her father’s death, the next thing subjected to scrutiny had been her and Paul’s relationship.  Which had, unfortunately, been found to be equally lacking. 

They’d been together since sixth form, Paul being Chrissie’s first serious boyfriend, and she, his first serious girlfriend.  At that tender age they’d been brimming with the hopes and dreams that accompany adolescence; believing the world was theirs for the taking; that all they had to do was follow their hearts, pass a few exams and everything else would topple into place.  Paul’s heart had been set on becoming a paramedic, and, as well as studying for his A-levels, he’d volunteered at St John Ambulance.  Chrissie’s strengths had lain in more creative areas: she’d had a penchant for art, adored fabrics, and possessed a natural flair for throwing together colours.  Combined with her love of home makeover programmes, no one had argued with her decision to become an interior designer. 

But it hadn’t taken long for the pair to discover that even the best-laid plans of mice, men, Chrissies and Pauls could go awry, as life had taken a turn which hadn’t so much as featured on their satellite navigation system: despite taking the Pill as regularly as clockwork, Chrissie had fallen pregnant.   

Their families’ reactions had followed the same well-worn path that thousands of others had trotted down over the decades: shock, horror, incredulity.  The usual proclamations had been spouted forth such as ‘You’re ruining your lives’ and ‘There’ll be plenty of time in the future for children’. Pressure had been applied to consider the alternatives.  Which they had.  Arriving at the conclusion that they were different; that this didn’t have to mean the end of life as they knew it; that they could cope perfectly well; and that they could still forge ahead with their career plans. 

Inevitably, with Jess’s arrival, they’d discovered that they weren’t different; that it was the end of life as they knew it; and that they couldn’t forge ahead with their career plans – or at least Chrissie couldn’t.  While Paul had been lucky enough to be accepted as a student paramedic, she, with the help of both sets of parents, had juggled childcare and life in general.  She’d made a valiant attempt to return to college but the combination – plus the lack of sleep – had proved too much.  Something had had to give.  Her interior designer dreams had therefore been cut loose and allowed to drift off into the stratosphere, settling in a place far out of reach, a pinpoint on the horizon.

Life, meanwhile, had trundled on.  Just after Jess’s first birthday, Chrissie and Paul had made their union official, exchanging vows at the local registry office.  The September day had been grey and dull, the event small, quiet and low-key, all of which had conspired to set the tone for their marriage.  It hadn’t been bad.  It had been grey, dull, quiet and low-key.  Even with the addition of Harry one year on. 

Of course, in hindsight, their families had been right: they had been far too young to become parents.  Chrissie would never regret her decision to have her children – she loved the bones of them.  But by procreating at such a tender age, she and Paul had deprived themselves of so many opportunities: to travel, experience new things, meet other people, establish their own place in the world and grow into their own skin.  Facts that had walloped into her harder than a marauding rhino following her father’s death.  It wasn’t that she’d fallen out of love with Paul; she’d always love him.  But as a friend, not a lover.  Their relationship – for a host of reasons – had lacked passion, romance, spontaneity and excitement.  And, as her fourth decade had begun, Chrissie had determined to make it a good one.  Because the mere thought of hitting middle age, lugging with her a boatload of regrets, was a scenario she really couldn’t stomach. 

To her amazement, when she’d sat down with Paul to have The Talk, he’d agreed with her, admitting he’d been feeling the same.  Their parting had therefore been incredibly amicable.  Even the kids had accepted it without too much demurring, both parents taking every possible step to ensure their children’s lives were disrupted as little as possible.

But the irony was that while it had been Chrissie who’d been brave enough to suggest they separate, it was Paul who, six months later, had found a new partner – a lovely midwife named Meg, whom the kids adored; who even Chrissie could tell, made her ex two hundred times happier than she ever had; and who hadn’t upset her and Paul’s congenial relationship at all.  Chrissie continued to regard her ex-husband as her best friend, and could scarcely think of a time she’d been more relieved to see him than she was that afternoon. 

‘Thank goodness you’re here,’ she puffed, opening the door to him. 

‘Why?  What’s the matter?’ he asked, concern sweeping over his still-boyish features.  Indeed, apart from more pronounced laughter lines and a slightly receding hairline, the years had scarcely affected him at all. 

‘Come into the kitchen and you’ll see,’ she whispered.

‘You mean you actually have a kitchen?’  

Chrissie pulled a face.  ‘This is no time to be sarky about my living arrangements, thank you very much.’

‘Spoilsport,’ he chuckled. 

Jess and Harry were sniggering over something on the laptop when Paul and Chrissie entered the room.  ‘Hi Dad,’ they chorused. 

Paul didn’t reply.  Following the familial trend, he, too, came to an abrupt halt, gawping at Valentina as she sat at the table, filing a fingernail. 

‘This is Valentina,’ Harry informed him excitedly.  ‘She’s from Brazil.  I’ve sent pictures of her to all my mates and put them on Facebook.’

‘Riiiiiiiiight.’  Paul cast a questioning look at Chrissie. 

‘Are we going to get a takeaway, Dad?’ asked Jess.  ‘I’m starving.’ 

‘Er, yes, if you want to,’ stammered Paul.  ‘I just… need to have a word with your mum first.’

‘Bloody hell,’ he snorted, the moment he and Chrissie were alone in the space that would eventually become the living room across the hall.  ‘How old is she?’

‘Sixteen, apparently.  Although if she’d said twenty-six, I’d have been less surprised.’

‘God.  That is… scary.’ 

‘I know.  And I am scared.  Very scared.  I have the horrible feeling the entire three weeks of her stay are going to be a nightmare.’

Paul contorted his features into a rueful expression.  ‘You know I’d normally help but—’

Chrissie wrinkled her nose, wondering what might be about to follow this statement. 

‘— I won’t be able to.  The, um, thing is…’ He shuffled his feet on the bare, dusty floorboards.  ‘Me and Meg… we’re… we’re getting married.’

Chrissie’s heart skipped a beat, her stomach turned over and panic began swirling in her chest.  Paul.  Getting married again.  Crikey. 

‘It’s all a bit rushed,’ he continued, embarrassment oozing from every one of his pores.  ‘But there was a great ten-day deal to Antigua, which was too good to miss.  It includes the special licence, the ceremony and everything.  We leave tomorrow night.  I feel terrible about the short notice, but it’s such a bargain, and we didn’t want to wait, and—'

Pulling herself together, Chrissie shook her head.  This wasn’t right.  Paul shouldn’t be apologising.  He should be happy and excited.  Pinning a smile to her face, she said, ‘It’ll be fine.  Don’t worry about a thing.  You go and have a wonderful wedding.  I’m delighted for you.’  Then, clueless as to what to do next, she closed the gap between them, wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder, drinking in the familiar scent of his aftershave and savouring the reassuring warmth of his body. 

‘You are okay about it, aren’t you?’ he asked, holding her to him. 

She took a step back and met his gaze.  ‘Of course. I’m thrilled.  You and Meg are made for each other.’

He blew out a long breath.  ‘Thanks.  I have to admit I was a bit nervous about telling you.’

Chrissie choked out something resembling a laugh.  ‘Well, I have to admit I was slightly floored for a moment there.  But I hope you’ll be very happy together.  Although I don’t know why I’m even saying that, because I know you will.’

‘I know so, too,’ he said.  Then, screwing up his nose, ‘How do you think the kids will take it?’

‘They’ll be over the moon.  Come on.  Let’s tell them.’ 

 

As expected, Jess and Harry were over the moon at this momentous development. 

And even more over the moon at the Chinese banquet Paul ordered up by way of celebration, washed down with the two bottles of champagne he brought in from his car.  The kids were allowed one glass each – including Valentina, whose blatant attempt at sneaking a second was deftly nipped in the bud by Chrissie.

Later that evening, Paul having returned to the home he shared with his soon-to-be-wife, and all the kids in their respective bedrooms, Chrissie retired to her own room, where, as much as she tried, she couldn’t fall asleep.  Her head throbbed in the aftermath of Paul’s news.  She really was delighted for him and Meg.  You only had to be in their presence for ten minutes to notice how well they got along, how their eyes lit up when they looked at one another, how they shared easy banter and made one another laugh.  They were perfect soul mates, so lucky to have found one another.  Chrissie’s forays into finding her perfect partner had been significantly less successful.  Within a year of attaining her single status, her friends had set her up on a couple of blind dates, both of which had failed dismally.  From there, she’d made a tentative foray into the world of internet dating, swiftly concluding that it was far too contrived and ever so slightly scary.  She much preferred the old-fashioned method of bumping into someone naturally.  But, almost four years on, there hadn’t been so much as a natural nudge, never mind a bump.  Romance, in any guise, continued to give her a wide berth.  Just as it had her entire life.  Indeed, so unfamiliar with the concept was she, that she doubted she’d recognise it if it were delivered to the door in a luminous green van, bearing the slogan This Is Romance.  Having the children so young and so close together, she and Paul had been too exhausted to engage in any amorous adventures.  And even if their energy levels had reached dizzying heights, cash – or, more specifically, lack of it – had always been an issue: candlelit dinners in intimate restaurants and cosy weekends in log cabins stretching way beyond their financial reach.  But while Paul appeared to be making up for it now with Meg, whisking her off for an exotic, beachside wedding, the most tropical thing in Chrissie’s life remained, somewhat depressingly, the pineapple on the Hawaiian pizza in the freezer.