Wednesday morning, David was already feeling a little off-balance. Rory had been acting strangely around him since the weekend. David kept getting the oddest feeling that Rory was about to say something to him, something important—but then it always ended up being about what they were having for tea, or if they were out of loo roll, or on one occasion, if he’d realised that Mr. Willis had been sick in the bathroom.
David was beginning to wonder if he was imagining things. And then just as he’d halfway managed to convince himself he was being paranoid and was starting to relax, Patrick turned up at Mark’s literally seconds after Mark, being egalitarian, had left to nip to the bakery for coffees.
“Can I have a word?” Patrick asked, standing a little closer than was polite, his arms folded and his feet planted firmly on the floor.
“But of course,” David said, feeling generosity in the face of the enemy couldn’t hurt. “Take a whole sentence.”
“There’s something going on, and I want to know about it.”
David froze. That did not sound good. “There’s nothing going on!” It came out rather more of a squeak than he’d have liked. Was this about his lunch out with Mark last week? He cleared his throat. “My relationship with your better half is entirely platonic. Trust me.”
Patrick huffed. “You? About as far as I could throw this house. Mark though, I trust completely, so untwist your knickers. It’s about Rory.”
David froze. “Rory? My Rory? I mean, not my Rory, but the one in whose house I—”
“Yeah,” Patrick cut him off rudely. “That Rory. What do you know about his love life?”
“Can I ask why you’re asking? It seems a little, dare I say—”
“Look, is he back with my mum or not?”
David blinked. “Not,” he said after a moment. “You can trust me on that. Or you could, and this is only a suggestion, mind, ask her.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes she says what she thinks I want to hear. And how come you’re so sure? Just because he hasn’t brought her home doesn’t mean he’s not spending time with her. Which, by the way, I know he is, cos my mate Con saw Rory coming out of her house the other night. He asked me if they were back together.”
David’s stomach lurched. Was Rory getting back together with Jenni? He’d said he was going round to see a mate when he went out Monday night. And all right, exes could be mates, but why make such a thing of not telling David it was Jenni? Oh God, this was a reaction to David’s little faux pas in the park, wasn’t it? Rory was trying to prove he was straight—to himself, to David, it didn’t matter.
He knew he and Fen should have tried harder to fix her up with Si.
“David?” Patrick’s voice sounded concerned.
David forced a smile, but found himself blinking rapidly and had to clear his throat again before he could speak. “It’s, ah, probably just . . . I expect he left some clothes at her house, and wanted to pick them up. Or something.”
Patrick was still staring at him. “David,” he began again, then stopped.
“I’m fine,” David said quickly, only realising a moment later that Patrick hadn’t asked.
“Mate . . .”
And, oh God, this couldn’t be good. One thing Patrick never called him was mate.
“Honestly. I’m fine. Now, got to get on with work, so much to do, don’t want to disappoint Mark . . .” David turned resolutely back to his file, the contents of which had become unaccountably blurry since he’d last looked. He jumped as a hand landed gently on his shoulder.
“Rory’s straight,” Patrick said. “I mean, I used to wonder sometimes if he and Barry were more than just mates, on Rory’s end at least, but . . . I’ve been watching them, and trust me, they’re the straightest couple of blokes around. I’m sorry, but it ain’t gonna happen.”
“You can’t say that for sure.” David spun to face him. “You don’t know him like I do. He’s different, when . . . when Barry’s not there.”
Patrick was shaking his head. “Mate, you’re setting yourself up for heartache there. I’m telling you. Don’t do it. Even if you get him feeling experimental, it ain’t gonna end well. He’s in his forties. You think he’ll thank you for screwing with his world view now?”
He squeezed David’s shoulder, and somehow that was the worst part of it all.
If Patrick was being nice to him, it had to be hopeless, didn’t it?
David took a deep breath. “You won’t say anything to anyone, will you?” It was bad enough that Patrick knew. He couldn’t face Mark’s sympathy on top.
Or Fen’s total incomprehension, come to that.
“Silent as the grave, mate,” Patrick said, squeezing his shoulder again.
The front door slammed, and Mark strode in. Patrick’s hand dropped from David’s shoulder so fast he must have got friction burns.
“Getting a bit nippy out there now— Oh, Patrick. I wasn’t expecting you home.” Mark gave an awkward laugh. “I hope you two have been getting on all right while I’ve been gone.”
“Great,” Patrick said, at the same moment as David said, “Fine.”
Mark looked from one to the other of them slowly.
“Yeah, just came back for my phone. Left it here this morning.” Patrick pulled said phone out of a pocket with a flourish. “Better get back to work now.”
He shoved his phone back in his pocket, kissed Mark, and left. If he sent a final glance of sympathy David’s way en route, David missed it, having buried his nose in his work.
“Did I miss something?” Mark asked, sitting down.
“The destruction of all my fondest hopes and dreams,” David said sadly.
“Oh. I see.” Mark coughed. “Want to talk about—”
“No.”
“Okay. Fine. Um. Almond croissant?”
David took the proffered paper bag and held it gratefully.
It wasn’t his teddy bear. But it would do.
David didn’t get a chance to quiz Rory on the subject of his possible reconciliation with Fen’s Granny O that night, because when he got home from work the house contained three hundred percent more occupants than he was expecting. Close on four hundred percent, in fact, as Evie’s pregnancy bump was looking alarmingly close to term.
Evie and Rory turned harried faces in his direction when he walked in the front door. They seemed to have been having a tense conversation in the kitchen while—David ducked his head into the living room—Leo and Lucy watched SpongeBob.
“Anything amiss?” David asked, approaching the kitchen with caution.
Evie huffed. “Just those two running me ragged as usual. You won’t believe what they did when they got home from school tonight. Lewis is going to go spare when he gets home.”
“Well, if there’s anything we can do to help . . .”
“You know what? Sometimes I worry they’re past helping. I mean, look at me. I’ve got a daughter who’s getting herself a reputation for violence, and a son who’s hardly said three words to me all year. Or anyone else. I’ve had the school calling me in and chucking around words like selective mutism, for God’s sake—”
“You never told me that! And he ain’t that bad. You just have to get him on his own.”
She groaned. “You think I haven’t tried that? He still hardly talks to me—and he won’t say word one to Lewis. If he wants something and I’m not there, Lucy asks for it. If he wants to have a flippin’ row with Lewis, Lucy talks for him. It’s driving him mental.”
“Oi, Leo talks to me. He’s even said a few words to David, ain’t he, mate?”
David nodded, but didn’t get a chance to speak before Evie was off again.
“And that’s what I’m talking about.” She screwed up her face. “He’s like that with us because he doesn’t want to be with us. Neither of them does. Have you got any idea how it feels to be their mum, saying that?”
Rory folded his arms. He was doing his pit-bull-cross-standing-firm-against-a-German-shepherd impersonation again, only this time the German shepherd was more of a . . . David wasn’t sure what. What Evie most resembled at the moment was a stressed hippopotamus, although it seemed a little unkind to think of her that way.
“Right, then,” Rory said briskly. “How about this? You and me, we swap. The kids can spend the week here with me, I’ll take ’em to school and back and all that, and you get ’em every other weekend. We still got joint custody—we just switch it around a bit.”
“What about him?” Evie jerked her head in David’s direction.
David felt very strongly that he shouldn’t be part of this discussion, but if she was going to drag him into it, he was going to support Rory.
“I think it’s a marvellous idea?” he hazarded.
“See? Not a problem.” Rory pushed home his advantage. “With you having this baby, you’re gonna have less time for Lucy and Leo, and face it, you’re gonna be knackered, and Lewis is too. The kids ain’t happy now. They ain’t gonna get any better when the new baby’s there and nobody’s getting any sleep.”
“But where are you going to put them? You’ve got this bloke living in your spare bedroom now—remember?”
David opened his mouth to say if all else failed, he was sure Mark and the newly friendly Patrick wouldn’t actually let him sleep on the street, but Rory beat him to it. “I’ll get a bigger place. Me and David, I bet we could manage the rent on a three-bed semi or something between us.”
She gave Rory a look David couldn’t work out, and didn’t speak for a long moment. Then, “How you going to get them to school? You’ll be half way through your round.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” David put in, glad to be able to contribute. “I’ll have plenty of time to drop them off before work. It’ll be a pleasure.”
Now David got the searching look. “It’s more than just walking them up there,” Evie said after a pause. “You’d have to get them out of bed, get their breakfast down them, and make sure they’ve got all their stuff for school.”
It sounded, at least to David, that she was actually considering it. He glanced at Rory and saw hope dawning on his face. “Oh, I’m a born organiser. Ask Mark. His files hardly know what’s hit them since I started working for him.”
“Just think about it, love,” Rory urged. “You go home now and put your feet up—”
“Chance’d be a bloody fine thing, what with all that mess to clear up. The dry cleaning bill’s going to be through the roof.”
“—and me and David’ll take care of the kids. Did you bring their school stuff?”
She sighed. “Yes. Thanks, Rory. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“So what did they do?” David asked curiously as Rory shut the door behind Evie. “What’s Lewis going to go spare about? And what’s all this about dry cleaning?”
Rory laughed. “You know we had this charity bin bag come through the letterbox? Evie had one too, so she asked the kids to get out any stuff they didn’t want and bung it in the bag for the charity shop to take away.”
“And?”
“They got out three more bin bags, and emptied Lewis’s stuff out the wardrobe while Evie was cooking their tea. All his poncey suits—no offence, mate, your poncey suits are all right—and his designer shirts and his silk ties, crumpled up together with his shoes and his squash gear and his muddy hiking boots. Evie only found out when Leo dropped one of the bags down the stairs and it all spilled out.”
David laughed. “Hm, I’d say Lewis going spare is possibly the understatement of the century.”
Rory’s face turned serious. “That’s why she brung ’em round here. Give him a chance to cool down before he sees them. Tell you straight, I don’t like it.”
David glanced at the living room door, and knew exactly what he meant. “Well, you know that anything I can do, will be done.”
“Yeah. Yeah, cheers, mate. Means a lot. And cheers for saying you’ll take ’em to school. You okay to do that tomorrow?”
David nodded eagerly, and Rory’s face cleared. “I was gonna call in to work, say I couldn’t come in, but that helps. Helps a lot.”
“No problem.” How hard could it be to get a couple of tots off to school? “So, I suppose we’d better start checking out rental listings online.”
Rory rubbed his face with both hands. “Yeah. About that. Look, mate, that was out of order, me saying that without even asking you how you felt about it. You don’t need to worry about me putting the rent up, neither. I’ll manage it somehow.”
“Rory, Rory, Rory. Don’t be ridiculous. As it stands you’re charging me nothing like market rate, and my travel costs to work are precisely zero. You could double my rent and I’d still feel I was getting a good deal.” This was literally true. “Although I will miss the kitchen, and the air of intimacy it adds to preparing a meal together. And Mr. Willis, obviously.”
“You’re a star.” Rory gave a relieved smile. “Anyway, I s’pect we ain’t gonna end up moving out for a while. If she says yes, which she might not.” His look turned dark. “Wouldn’t put it past Lewis to tell her to say no just to spite me.”
“Au contraire. I’m fairly certain his sense of self-interest is too highly developed for that.”
Rory laughed. “You’re not wrong there. Well, cheers, mate. I owe you.” He paused. “And you never know. It might not have to happen—the moving, I mean.” He glanced down, but David could still clearly see the flush that spread across his cheek.
A horrid thought struck him. Was Rory anticipating moving in with Jenni?
No, he couldn’t be planning that far ahead, could he? Not when the reconciliation was still tentative—at least, David hoped it was still only tentative. Surely Rory would have at least mentioned it to him if their relationship had been on a firm footing? He opened his mouth to ask, but before he could speak, Lucy burst in on them with “Daddy, Daddy! You’ve got to come and watch with us,” and dragged them both into the living room for You’ve Been Framed!
Next morning David was awoken not by his alarm clock, which he’d set an hour early to be on the safe side, but by a strange prickling sensation on the back of his neck.
He rolled over, blinked his eyes open, and gradually made out a small, pale face in the gloom. Leo was standing by his bed.
The clock said five fifteen. David manfully repressed a groan. “What’s wrong, mon petit lapinou?”
Leo stared at him for a moment. “Daddy’s gone.”
“And you can’t get back to sleep?” David guessed. “Tell you what. You take Gregory”—he handed over the bear—“and I’ll bring my duvet, and we’ll both go downstairs and join Lucy, how about that?”
Lucy was snuffling softly on one leg of the L-shaped sofa. David settled himself, Leo, Gregory, and Mr. Squiddy on the other, by now rather crowded, leg. Leo snuggled down with a smile on his little face and was asleep within seconds.
David lay awake for some time, wondering how this had become his life—and trying to come to terms with the realisation that he actually liked it this way.
His second awakening that morning was decidedly less pleasant, and consisted of Lucy shaking him violently by the shoulder and shouting, “Wake up, David, we’ll be late.” In the distance he could hear the faint strains of his alarm clock upstairs. It sounded as exhausted as he felt—God knew how long it had been ringing to itself.
He pushed himself up groggily to a sitting position, and blinked at the excessively milky bowl of cereal Lucy thrust under his nose. “I made breakfast, but you’ve got to be quick.”
“Absolument. Thank you. I’ll, um . . . I’ll eat it in the kitchen. Wouldn’t want to make a mess.” He picked up the bowl, managed not to spill any milk as he staggered into the kitchen, cast a guilty glance over his shoulder to check the coast was clear, and hid it in a cupboard.
Then he nipped upstairs to turn off the alarm. It was, in fact, only fifteen minutes after the time he’d set it for, and by his reckoning, they weren’t running late at all. Rory had made sure the school bags were packed the night before and the uniforms laid out, right down to little cotton socks. David strongly suspected Lucy was channelling her mother.
He even had time for a cup of blessed, life-giving coffee while the children brushed their teeth and made last-minute trips to the loo, and then they were off, out into the cold, fresh light of morning. It was surprisingly pleasant. St. Saviour’s (David did his best to ignore the not wholly unpleasant frisson that tingled down his neck at the reminder of his encounter with a certain older gentleman) School was only a hop, skip, and a jump away, opposite the eponymous church. Hordes of warmly clad children were converging on the playground, shepherded by mummies and a few daddies in varying degrees of readiness for the day.
David even spotted a couple who had thrown their coats on over their pyjamas—he’d always thought that was an urban myth.
Leo tugged on his arm, and David crouched so he could hear what the little mite had to say. “That’s Mr. Enemy,” he whispered, wide-eyed, pointing to a tall teacher who was wearing a bow tie and holding a whistle in a manner that suggested he wasn’t afraid to use it.
“Mr. Emeny,” Lucy corrected. “I was in his class last year.”
She tugged David over to the teacher. “Mr. Emeny, this is David. He lives with Daddy now.”
The teacher smiled, as well he might. David was suddenly very conscious of his thrown-on clothes and unshaven chin. “Oh? Pleased to meet you,” he said.
“Shake hands,” Leo said audibly, giving David a gentle shove.
Mr. Emeny’s smile grew broader. “Thank you for the reminder, Leo. Where are my manners today?”
They shared a firm, if brisk, handshake, and then Mr. Emeny lifted his whistle. “Now, I’m afraid it’s time for the children to line up. You may want to stand back if you value your eardrums.”
David made a hasty retreat, just as his new acquaintance blew a piercing blast on the whistle. Children immediately started gravitating to the front of the playground and forming wobbly lines.
“You can go now,” Lucy said, and ran off to a line roughly in the middle.
“Oh. Bye,” David said a little forlornly.
“Bye,” Leo said, and gave him a quick hug before running off likewise.
It’s a brave new world, David thought to himself as he strolled back home for another coffee and a shave before work.
Just because he felt a small—or not so small—pang at yet another person assuming he and Rory were now blissfully coupled-up . . . That would get better in time.
It would.
Definitely.