Nina
Thursday, 13 December
‘How did it go?’ asks Kitty as we ready ourselves in the snug by dressing in layers for yet another cold morning on the farm.
‘Emotional… but cathartic,’ I say. ‘I’m surprised how good it felt this morning coming down to a clean home.’ One with fewer reminders plastered on every surface.
‘A job well done, then?’
‘Absolutely. Twenty-seven black bin liners of… removed from the house.’ I can’t bring myself to say rubbish, but still.
‘And?’ Kitty continues, her face spreading into a beaming smile. ‘How were the fellas?’
I attempt blasé, but she continues to watch me as I add another jumper.
‘I’m waiting.’ Kitty gives a giggle, her blonde fringe dancing.
‘They were amazing, and really caring…’ I fade to silence.
‘And yet?’ Kitty stands, hands on hips, bulging in a puffa jacket, extra padded trousers and large boots. She looks quite comical.
‘Bram was his usual cheeky self, asking for a date, but Zach was amazing, comforting me whenever I got upset.’
‘So?’ she urges.
‘Shouldn’t I feel something more?’
‘Duh! Yeah!’
‘That’s the problem… I don’t.’
‘Nina!’ cries Kitty. ‘I thought… you were getting the whole…’
‘Heart-racing and stomach-flipping sickness?’
‘Yeah!’
‘Nah!’ I grimace.
Kitty’s eyebrows are lost into her fringe as she shakes her head.
‘That’s not good, girl.’
‘I didn’t think it was. I always hoped I’d feel the whole shebang when I met the right guy but…’
‘I know that feeling,’ Kitty says, unable to keep back her glowing smile. ‘Ahh, my legs turned to jelly ten times over. I knew the minute I saw Connor that…’ She ceases to speak. She doesn’t need to finish her sentence; her expression says it all. Kitty is in love, head over heels, totally smitten. Her face comes alive the moment she thinks about Connor, like an internal light bulb that beams. Each night he collects her from work. She can’t wait to be with him, so jogs over to his car, hastily shouting bye to us. They’ve been together for a couple of years and still the magic is alive. That’s what I want. Someone who ignites my world, and I theirs.
The snug door bursts open. It’s Shazza, gasping for breath.
‘The boss is spitting feathers out here. You’re both late and he wants all hands on deck – the herd of reindeer have arrived early,’ she calls.
‘In a minute,’ says Kitty, eager to finish the conversation.
‘No, now!’ says Shazza. ‘He’s in a devil of a mood. They weren’t due until tomorrow and he’s just discovered that the kids have cut through the fencing again and had some kind of winter barbecue amongst the spruce. There’s cider cans and aerosol canisters everywhere.’
‘Is this happening every night?’ I ask, pulling on my embroidered jacket.
‘Virtually,’ says Kitty. ‘Shazza, tell him we’re on our way.’
Shazza disappears, with an unconvinced look on her face.
Kitty rubs my forearm and gives me a puppy-dog look.
‘So now what do I do?’ I mutter.
*
Holly
I stare at my mobile: ten text messages all from Alfie about his pizza night with his mum. Doesn’t sound like it was a fun night, and I can completely understand that.
It’s 7 a.m. Do I reply? He must have fallen asleep only three hours ago – how is he going to get through double physics today?
I ready myself for school, pack my book bag and dive downstairs for breakfast. It’s the usual scene: a cramped huddle about the breakfast table all shouting for Frosties and sharing the decreasing milk, eyeing the remaining amount left. I’d love to live in a house that has plenty of milk. We never have enough milk. I squeeze in at the breakfast table between Hope and Hettie, though I fear for my school uniform given the way they dribble and throw their cereal around. Dad is scooping milk from a bowl, while trying to pour orange juice; Mum is frantically trying to spread sandwiches on a Formica sideboard that is covered in an array of plastic lunch boxes. When I’m older, much, much older, I won’t be having this many children. I look around the table. Having six sisters is probably the best contraception I could ever wish for. Living amongst this amount of pink is probably more influential than those safe sex film shown at school. Two babies, even one, might be enough.
‘Morning, Holly!’ says Dad finally, looking up from his spent bowl. ‘Are you wearing make-up?’ He peers at my face then turns to view Mum’s anxious features, her butter knife suspended mid-action.
‘Hump!’ snorts my mother, returning to duty.
‘Mum says he’s got nice manners…’ jibes Dad, adding his bowl to the mountain of dirty crocks on the drainer.
I raise my eyebrows. This feels so foreign. I expected him to lecture, to ban me from having a boyfriend, but to compliment, wow!
‘He comes from the Rowland’s Way Estate,’ I say, as if that explains everything Dad needs to know.
My parents exchange a glance and pull a face.
‘La-di-da, is he?’ asks Dad, circling the table and giving out kisses before he dashes to work at the garage.
‘No! Pretty down to earth, actually.’ He annoys me with that comment. What’s la-di-da got to do with having nice manners? He makes Alfie sound like a posh-weirdo.
Dad comes closer to plant a kiss on my forehead before speaking.
‘Maybe you want to invite him over for tea one night. I’m sure his mum won’t mind,’ he says.
‘It’s just him and his dad. His mum left.’
My mother whips around from her butty duty, her eyebrows high.
‘Single parent family?’ she mutters, and shakes her head.
‘It’s not his fault, love,’ adds Dad, smoothing his newspaper to take with him.
‘Exactly. I’ll ask him, Dad.’
‘Any attempt to get a boy in the house.’ Hannah laughs, and Dad pretends to swipe her with the folded newspaper.
‘Ha, ha, young lady. We may ask to trade him for you. Maybe his dad would like a daughter for a while before sending you back!’ Hannah pulls a face, as Dad gives Mum her final peck on the cheek. I like the fact that they openly kiss in front of us. I think it’s how it should be when you’re married. I wonder if Alfie’s parents had stopped kissing in front of him. Maybe that’s stage one towards the divorce courts.
Within ten minutes of Dad leaving, I’m back upstairs faffing about trying to get Heidi dressed. She won’t wear her woollen tights, she won’t have her hair brushed and at this rate I’m going to be late calling for Demi.
‘Stop wriggling about and get dressed properly,’ I snap. I see her eyes widen. As little as she is, she knows that’s not me. ‘Sorry.’ Heidi gets dressed without fuss; she knows when she’s crossed a line with us older ones.
My mobile bleeps, which distracts me from my guilty conscience.
It’s Alfie.
Walk to school?
I answer, not wanting to push my best friend aside.
What about Demi?
His reply takes ages to arrive. I stare at my screen, willing him to answer, as Heidi pulls her woollen tights over her scabby knees.
Her too.
Right answer, Alfie. I’m thrilled. I’ve never like it when friends get blown out just because two people start dating. Demi’s unaware of the fact, but she’s done that to me a couple of times and it feels like the pits. Then the minute they get dumped they call you up to go down town as if nothing happened. I’ve always gone with her when she’s asked but I’ve had the hump inside for days. I quickly reply.
OK ☺
‘Come on, slow coach, race you downstairs!’ Heidi belts from her bedroom and dashes downstairs. I follow, leaving her in Hannah’s capable hands, grab my coat, kiss Mum and shout goodbye from the open doorway.
*
Alfie waits on the corner of Raveloe Drive, his rucksack lolling from his shoulders and his new fringe swept to the side, chomping a bacon roll from the corner shop.
‘Is that your breakfast?’ I ask, on approaching.
‘It only costs a quid,’ he says. I hesitate. Are we at the ‘kiss you on greeting’ stage or just when in private? ‘How are you?’
‘Good, though my sister refused to get dressed this morning… so I feel tetchy as hell! Come on, otherwise Demi will think I’ve stood her up.’
We fall into step side by side, him nearest the road side of the pavement and me on the inside. His free hand links into mine. My fingers wrap around his like a glove.
‘My dad said you can visit for tea one night if your dad’s OK with that,’ I say, unsure of how he’ll feel. A household filled with screaming girls and Barbie dolls in comparison to being calm, peaceful and surrounded by computer games.
‘Cool, I’ll mention it when I get back. Next week would be better for my dad – I know he’s home early for the rest of this week.’
My mobile bleeps; it’s Demi.
Where the hell are you?
I instantly feel guilty. Dawdling, that’s where.
‘Come on, we’re late.’
We do a stupid jog-speed walk action as we cross the road and head towards Demi’s.
*
‘I see. Like that, is it?’ calls Demi as she slams the porch door behind her.
‘Morning, Demi,’ calls Alfie, in a jolly voice.
Demi gives him a sly stare.
‘What?’
‘Has Spud said anything to you?’ she says, joining us on the pavement.
I didn’t think she was that keen on Spud.
‘Boys talk,’ warns Alfie.
‘Demi?’
‘Hasn’t she told you?’ jibes Alfie, releasing my hand. ‘Well, Spud’s saying that on…’
I stare at Demi, who has gone decidedly pink beneath her tinted moisturiser.
‘Shut up, Alfie Woodward. You know nothing. He’s lying.’
Alfie raises his eyebrows at me.
‘Boys talk, do they?’ I ask, cheekily.
‘Not me. I don’t,’ he quickly adds, taking my hand as we trundle back along the street towards the school gate.
*
Nina
‘I daren’t ask whose bloody stupid idea this is,’ grumbles Old Bill, the farm’s eldest and long-suffering handyman-come-gofer, as he loads the final wooden pallets onto the truck’s trailer.
‘Mine,’ I offer, keeping my head low, knowing that my suggestion has caused additional work for others.
‘Cheers, Nina… as if I haven’t enough to do around here,’ says Old Bill, quickly fastening the strap ties across the pile of pallets. He heads for the truck’s cab, hitching up his baggy corduroy trousers as he walks. I could complain, I could grumble too, but I’m not going to. I follow suit, jumping into the passenger seat.
Instead of a day in the sales yard, I am helping Old Bill create a new festive attraction.
‘Every other year the traditional grotto that’s been stashed in the end barn has always been good enough, but oh, no, not this year!’ mumbles Old Bill. He draws breath and starts again. ‘I don’t stop fetching, carrying and building sodding projects on this damned farm, you know?’
He drives across the sales yard and through the gate towards the spruce growing in the north fields.
‘The boss wants something attractive for his customers. They don’t want the same old thing every year, do they?’ I offer.
‘Boss wants something new then leaves it until two days before opening to assign me the time to build it. And as for those bloody reindeer – have you seen the size of them?’ His white overgrown hair shakes constantly as he talks; everyone knows when Old Bill is not best pleased.
‘Bill, you know what it’s like around here come Christmas time – it’s always manic.’
‘Seriously, you girls with your bright ideas. It’ll not secure you one of the twins, you know?’
‘Oi!’ I snap, as he touches a nerve. ‘You’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Plus, we’re all busy. I’d much prefer to be on the sales yard amongst the customers and spruce than this.’
‘Phuh! Wait till you have to muck out the reindeer – then you’ll be moaning about being busy.’
‘We are! Jackie’s got a Christmas Eve wedding to organise, Shazza’s trying to plan the perfect carol service and, despite it being my great idea, I’ve been lumbered with helping you build the new grotto.’
‘Who has a bloody wedding this close to Christmas, I ask you?’ he scoffs, navigating the muddy pathway.
‘I think a winter wedding is romantic,’ I answer, staring from the passenger window at the rows of growing Norway spruce.
‘Like there’s shed loads of snow about to fulfil her winter wonderland dreams,’ grumbles Old Bill.
‘True, if the bride’s wanting snow it looks like she’s picked the wrong year,’ I say, noting the abundance of muddy brown earth and emerald moss carpeting the ground amongst the passing spruce.
‘The forecasters are always bloody wrong. Mark my words, there’ll be no snow this year despite what the boss says.’
‘Jackie’s the queen of weddings – she’ll deliver whatever the couple have asked for. Anyway, you don’t even work the weddings so what are you chomping about?’
The cab of the truck wobbles us back and forth as the chunky tyres grip the uneven terrain. It’s not the same spruce-lined meandering pathway that the customers will walk whilst visiting the grotto, but it’s the widest path for a vehicle to deliver the pile of raw materials necessary for building.
‘Bloody good job. I’ve been here thirty-seven years and never have I known such nonsense as this. And that sodding carol service… whose bright idea is that to move it from the usual seated arrangement and make it a lantern procession?’
‘I think it’s nice.’
‘Phuh! It’s all a bloody gimmick, if you ask me. The customers don’t know half the carols anyway… they’d be silent without the song sheet stuck under their noses.’
‘Bill, December is the busiest month. We might not like events but that’s what we have to do to get through the year.’
‘Phuh!’
‘Without the extra money, some of us would be out of a job!’
‘Mmmm, and I suppose you think that about the bloody rental shacks down by the lake?’
‘I think you’ll find they’re log cabins, Bill… and yes, I do quite like them, actually.’
‘Utter bloody nonsense, if you ask me, folk paying good money to stay in a glorified shed – what’s so wrong with staying in their own homes? That’s what I say.’
I remain silent.
‘We called it camping in my day and we did it under canvas but not now – your generation think they’re so daring and adventurous sleeping in a heated shed.’
I’m sure he’s about to start complaining about our designated task again, and I don’t want to spend the day justifying why I think it’s a cracking idea. Plus, I can’t afford to add fuel to his fire, as I’ll never live it down if this project goes wrong.
So I am thankful when we drive in silence amongst the spruce until we arrive at our designated spot.
*
Angie
Nick indicates left and pulls the car into the sweeping driveway, drawing up behind a long queue of cars. Why is the zoo so busy on a weekday in December?
I’ve taken the day off work by calling in sick. Nick has taken the day off. I feel guilty; Nick doesn’t.
‘The zoo?’
He nods eagerly.
‘In eighteen years, we’ve never visited Twycross zoo and yet live fifteen minutes away,’ he explains.
‘We just never got around to it, that’s why. There was always something more important to do. Life on your doorstep is never important during the holiday seasons… so, why now?’
Nick draws the car forward, chasing the bumper of the car in front.
‘Why not?’
‘Because we didn’t even bring Alfie here – the school brought him on an away-day trip in primary school.’
‘Well, that was wrong, Angie. Parents should take their son to the zoo, not the bloody school. It’s not their job to raise our lad.’
I watch his side profile; he’s staring ahead, having disappeared back into yesteryear. My yesteryears revolved around SATS, chicken pox and endless play dates. Is this the new Nick or a hidden remnant of the old?
‘What?’
‘Nothing, just thinking. What else have we missed over the years, Nick?’
‘Loads… we got lost along the way, I think.’
I reposition the seat belt across my breastbone and stare from the passenger window. Did we?
Nick steers towards the beckoning hand protruding from a fluorescent coat standing on the grassy car park area. He drives in as directed and pulls the handbrake on before killing the engine.
We walk the short distance to the payment kiosks, Nick rummages in his pocket for his debit card.
‘Morning, two adults, please?’ Nick offers his card to the young lady.
‘Any children?’
I watch as she glances over the kiosk ledge at the empty space between us, expecting to see little ones.
‘No.’ Nick laughs.
We’re about twelve years too late on that parenting duty. Nick enters his pin code into the hand-held machine as I wonder what we did instead with our toddler. Probably sat at home, snuggled on the sofa watching animated crap on TV. A wave of guilt snags in my throat. Would Alfie be more forgiving if we’d taken more family day trips? Were we always destined to fall apart as a family?
‘Cheers.’ Nick takes the offered receipt from the attendant, and unfurls the offered map as we walk through to the entrance.
‘Were we happy when Alfie was a toddler?’
‘Bloody hell, Angie – you know we were.’ His voice is soft, caring and sure.
I nod. I honestly can’t remember.
‘I just remember how rushed we were. Like ships in the night, dashing here, there and everywhere and yet we never did the things that mattered to him… or us. And now…’ My voice fades.
‘Angie… you can’t beat yourself up about stuff from sixteen years ago.’
‘Can’t I?’
‘No, love, you can’t.’ He glances at my puzzled face. ‘Seriously, just focus on the here and now.’
I look up to view his intense gaze.
I nod; he’s right.
Here and now. That’s all we ever really have, isn’t it?
*
Nina
It takes four hours to build the new festive grotto. Whenever I watch DIY programmes on the TV, nothing takes longer than ten seconds to build. Several times during the morning, I’m tempted to ask Old Bill if he can rattle a nail gun as fast as Tommy Walsh, but I suspect he’ll answer with: ‘Who?’. So, I help where I can and fetch tools from the truck or hold wooden panels at right angles, where necessary. I watch intently as his weathered hands bring the jigsaw together. Eventually, a large shed made of used pallet wood, painted white and topped with the cutest apex roof, is free-standing amongst the Blue spruce. Old Bill starts to erect a tiny rope-and-post fence to organise the queuing customers and I add suitable decoration inside our two-roomed creation to imitate an icy igloo. I nail-gun swathes of white wadding to every interior wall and ceiling in the hope that it looks like compacted snow. Strings of sparkly fairy lights and a collection of wrapped fake presents are stacked high as a fitting backdrop for Santa’s chair. I’ve even added a set of shimmery, sparkly door ribbons leading from the foyer area into Santa’s throne room, purely for effect, and I like the way the colours twinkle in the fairy lights.
‘There, that looks grand,’ I mutter as we stand back to admire our handiwork.
‘Are you happy now?’ grunts Old Bill, collecting his tools from the surrounding earth patch. ‘Suitably decorated for single occupancy to meet and greet his visitors – when I get time, I’ll deliver his throne and organise a larger generator.’
‘I am and I’m sure the boss will be too,’ I say, chivvying him along. ‘You’ve got until Saturday, so don’t worry.’
‘Good, because that’s taken far longer to build than necessary and I don’t need to remind you that we have a second, identical one to build on the south side of the farm.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘Yes, surprise, surprise, we’re having two grottos.’
It was my clever suggestion said in jest, when our panel couldn’t choose between two identical roly-poly Santas. Surely two Santas would halve the queuing time, which would be a bonus for any family with excited children, resulting in a more memorable visit rather than the rush-and-push visits witnessed in most Santa’s grottos. The only downside would now be the number of elves descending on the farm. I hope this plan pays off, otherwise I can wave goodbye to my Christmas bonus.
*
Angie
‘Nick, Alfie hates me,’ I moan as we stare at the empty gorilla enclosure. There’s no sign of a majestic silverback and his mate, just tree trunks and plastic bottle crates. Obviously, the pair have more sense to be cosy inside their indoor enclosure, unlike us.
‘Angie… he doesn’t hate you. He’s trying to come to terms with what has happened. What did you expect him to do? Fling his arms around you like a three-year-old?’
‘Err, yeah – he used to.’
‘He used to wet the bed too but, hey, that ceased years ago.’
‘You didn’t even tell him it was me you went to dinner with the other night. Do you know how embarrassing it was to listen to my own son telling me the details of your mysterious date, knowing it was me?’
‘Angie?’
‘Nick… seriously, he was playing games with me, suggesting he was OK with you bringing back some bit of stuff for the night.’ My voice has risen three octaves so I am glad that we’re the only folk viewing the empty enclosure ‘And then—’
‘Stop, Angie.’ His voice is edgy and cold. ‘Alfie’s got his own opinions. He’s finding his own way in the world and sussing out the boundaries. What do you expect me to do?’
‘Talk to him, Nick, make him understand about us, me and you…’ Instantly I feel stupid defining ‘us’. ‘That we’re trying again. He needs to stop with these ideas of you and another woman… Nick?’
‘Don’t you think that would be pushing it a bit fast given we’re only on our second date?’
‘Nick?’
‘I think it’s best for everyone concerned if we leave things as they are for now… See how we fare first before telling him that we’ve decided—’
‘Nick!’ I can’t believe he’s saying this. I thought this was what he wanted. What he’s hoped for, for months and months, and now I’m some sordid secret kept from my own son.
‘What?’ He sounds tired again.
‘I think I’ve paid the price for my decision back in January. I’d like Alfie to know.’
‘I’m not saying you haven’t but… you weren’t here, Angie. You haven’t seen what the lad’s been through and I don’t want to raise his hopes in case we… don’t make it for a second time. I’m putting Alfie first. That’s what we need to do.’
I am fuming. I wish I hadn’t called in sick to spend the day with him.
‘We need to focus on us, Angie. If we take our time, make sure we’re sure… then telling Alfie will be the best thing ever. He’ll understand. He’s not a kid any more.’
Obviously not, given his relaxed attitude as regards his father’s potential sleepovers.
*
Holly
‘Are you OK with your dad dating?’ I ask as Alfie grabs bags of crisps from their kitchen cupboard. Their dog, Rolo, watches him intensely as if he’s anticipating a treat.
‘Oh, yeah. He hasn’t left the house for months, yet today he was singing in the shower.’
‘Ah, that’s sweet.’
‘It is from a middle-aged guy. Seriously, I haven’t got an issue with it but I think my mum will go spare.’
I frown.
‘Surely, she has no say.’
‘You think?’ He laughs, leading the way to their lounge, which is as neat and tidy as their kitchen. ‘Take a pew.’
I look around at the large leather couches in warm creams with contrasting mocha cushions, surrounding a glass coffee table complete with an array of remote controls.
Rolo follows us and flops onto the floor before the fire hearth, his big brown eyes noting our every move.
How lovely to have a choice of seat from which you don’t have to pick up and move a pile of plastic: baby dolls, jelly shoes or bricks. I choose the sofa opposite their large plasma TV and sink into the plush cushions – it takes me by surprise. Alfie flops down beside me and offers me a choice of crisp flavours.
‘Cheese and onion or salt and vinegar?’ He holds the two out.
I like both but want to be generous.
‘What’s your favourite?’
‘Cheese… but you can have them.’
‘Nah. I’ll take the salt and vinegar ones, please.’
‘You sure?’
I snatch the bag and open it before he can play the gallant gent. He laughs, a sound that I’m beginning to enjoy hearing. We sit crunching crisps, which gives me chance to eye their lounge and him time to play with the remote controls, flicking from channel to channel. They haven’t any decorations or a tree yet and it’s halfway through December.
We don’t talk, just munch crisps. Even with my sisters this would feel weird, as if one of us had to speak or joke to fill the silence, but this feels right. It feels nice to be beside Alfie, saying absolutely nothing.
I spot a wedding invite card on their mantelpiece exactly the same as we have at home.
‘Are you invited to a wedding on Christmas Eve?’ I ask.
‘Yep, the bride’s father was my dad’s uni lecturer – it sounds weird but dad was such a good student that they kept in touch and remained friends.’
‘Us too! Isabella and Luca?’
Alfie nods, but scowls.
‘I’m bridesmaid, if that makes you feel any better about attending.’ I laugh.
‘It’s not that… We’re supposed to be going as a family, Mum included.’
Oh, I see.
Silence lingers.
‘Would your mum return, given the chance?’ I finally ask, unsure if that conversation has truly finished.
‘Nah! It was her decision to leave… She wanted out. Dad was gutted when she left. He’d have taken her back but reckons she’d met a guy at work and then shacked up with him until…’ His voice fades. I can’t imagine how it must feel when parents go their separate ways. ‘He probably dumped her after having some fun.’
‘Oh. You don’t know for certain, then?’
‘Not exactly. I think she’d met someone else but when he ditched her she had to figure out how to save face so stayed as she was.’
‘And is she happy?’
‘Nope. The other night she stared at me when I said that Dad had finally plucked up the courage to take someone out. It’s not as if he’s not tried to win her back, he has, but she’s turned him down each time. Then I’ve been the one lying in bed at night knowing he’s downstairs drowning his sorrows with whisky.’
I listen in silence. The words flow from him without thinking or effort.
‘It got quite bad when she’d been gone for a month or so, then he picked up, but then when the divorce papers came through the post he was back to square one. She hasn’t a clue what she’s done to him, she really hasn’t.’
‘Maybe she was hurting too?’
‘Doubt it. She hasn’t called me in ages, months, and then out of the blue she wants to go on a mother-son date… She expected me to drop everything. I said no way, but still she phoned again for pizza, so I agreed to go.’
‘Maybe she’s realised how bad it looked?’
‘Maybe.’ He falls silent, and stares at me. ‘You’ve got a crisp.’ He picks at the corner of my mouth.
He flicks the crumb onto the carpet, and leans forward. My breath stalls. His face nears mine; his eyes have tiny flecks of yellow amongst the blue. Such white eyes, such huge pupils… His lips are on mine. I can taste the cheese and onion crisps. I wonder if he can taste salt and vinegar. His right arm lifts up, over and around my shoulder as our lips work, pulling me slightly closer towards him. I can’t believe this. I’m sitting in Alfie Woodward’s lounge, kissing him in the middle of the afternoon, when I’m supposed to be grounded.
*
Angie
‘Sorry.’ It seems the only feasible thing to say as Nick quickly indicates and pulls into the busy traffic just after four o’clock.
‘No worries. We’ve had a good day. We didn’t get to see many animals in their outdoor enclosures, given the turn in the weather, but it makes a change from The Rose.’
‘What do you expect in December? The poor bloody animals had more sense than us.’ We visited every outdoor enclosure and the majority were empty; only the Amur leopards, the two female elephants and the playful baby Orang Utan were obliging to brave the elements, like us.
‘Things are freaking me out… How can we go behind our son’s back and date without there being a shadow over the beginnings of this new relationship?’
Nick nods.
‘I thought we were going for honesty here, Nick. I really did.’
‘We are. We both need to learn from our past mistakes but if I were dating someone else, which I’m not, I wouldn’t have introduced her to Alfie after the first or second date, would I? Or is that the norm nowadays – meet, date and immediate contact?’
Is he actually asking me? Or was that hypothetical?
‘Angie?’
Oh, he is.
‘No, but I’m his mother!’
‘I know. That’s why we are trying again after a separation, a costly divorce and several months.’
Is he never going to let that drop?
I smile.
‘Angie… don’t give me that look. I get that it’s difficult, but think about Alfie. If we say we’re back together he’ll assume you’re moving back into the house… and that’s not how we’re playing this.’
I shake my head. I can’t speak for fear of an outburst of tears.
‘It’s best this way until we are one hundred per cent sure that we both want the same things, the same life, the same goals and the same—’
‘Did we ever have that much in common?’ I ask, without thinking.
Nick shrugs.
‘So, why’s it necessary the second time around?’
‘Because the first time around we both wanted to start a family, finish our degrees and find a lasting relationship. Second time around I think some things have possibly changed, Angie.’
I stare at his profile before asking.
‘What is it you want, Nick?’
‘I want happiness, security with someone that loves me, and I want to embark on the latter part of my life with a strong foundation. I know I don’t want the upset I’ve had this year reappear in my later years.’
Good answer.
‘And you?’
I take a deep breath.
‘I would like… no, I want my independence, the space to follow my goals in life and…’ I hesitate; my nerve has gone.
‘Yes?’
‘A better sex life than the one I had when we were previously married.’
‘You weren’t satisfied?’
‘Satisfied with what I knew about but… but…’ Why do I keep doing this? I know exactly what I want to say in my head and yet the minute my mouth is brought into gear the words fade.
‘But?’ encourages Nick.
‘I tried to say this the other night, but… I’ve realised how little I knew about life or relationships.’ There, it’s out in the open and Nick can make of it what he likes.
He nods and remains silent. Clever tactic. You can’t make a false move whilst silent, or put your foot in it and ruin stuff.
I watch as his expression deepens and the cogs turn.
‘Nobody we know, was it?’ he finally asks.
‘Good God, no!’ I retort. ‘Nick… what do you think I am?’
‘Just asking… I always thought Phil held a candle to you over the years.’
‘Phil and Carol, Phil?’
Nick nods.
‘Really? Oh, no.’
A smile cracks upon his taut features.
‘You honestly thought that Phil Clarke, with his huge hands and bandy legs swathed in Bermuda shorts, is the kind of fella I’d go for?’
Nick smiles.
‘Nah!’ A small gallery of men flickers through my recent memory – I won’t be divulging the full details but Phil Clarke isn’t amongst them.