MAY
HE’S GOING TO BE here any minute. My God, I’m excited. It’s not natural to be this excited at this age but honestly, this is more exciting than the time Dad gave me thirty quid to blow in Toys R Us (he won it on the dogs; Mum would’ve gone mad if she’d known he’d had a flutter, so we went into the toyshop, bought whatever we fancied and said I’d won it at the church raffle. To this day she doesn’t know the sordid measures taken to get that game of Hungry Hippos).
The whole house is immaculate, I’ve dressed in what I consider to be yummy-mummy wear – a soft jersey maxi wrap skirt in mustard, a white long-sleeved tee, brown sandals and a denim jacket. I’m going to jazz it up a bit with a statement necklace, va-va-voom lipstick and sunglasses, but I don’t want him to know I’m putting any effort in right now. I’m going to play this day so cool, I’m practically frozen. Lyla decided to dress herself, and rather than start the day with a battle of wills that would inevitably have ended in tears (mine, not hers), I’m letting it go. Very zen. Hopefully Theo will think it eccentric rather than completely batshit crazy. Much to my secret horror, Lyla has opted for knee-high Christmas socks, a tutu with a customised pom-pom trim (courtesy of Kath’s pom-pom phase last summer), a top with a sparkly dinosaur roaring on it and more hair clips than you could shake a stick at. She feels great. What can I do?
Lyla and I have had a little chat about it being a special day, meeting Theo, being on our best behaviour and being a good girl, but I’m not holding my breath. Hopefully I can style out any minor outbursts, and Theo will be entirely won over by our sweet family, fall in love with us both, propose, buy a house in Primrose Hill and we’ll live happily ever after. Not that I’m getting carried away. I’m keeping expectations realistic. Cool as that cucumber.
A few more spritzes of perfume (is Lyla coughing at the fumes, or just because her throat tickles?), one more whizz round the house to check I haven’t left anything hideous out and oh my God I can hear his car pulling onto the drive. It’s a big day. Deep breaths, deep breaths. I’m so thrilled he agreed to come up, I could burst.
Maybe slightly too keenly I’ve opened the front door before he’s even out of the car, and I watch him come over to greet me. He looks completely divine, and says hello. As usual, he is ready to sit on the front row of London Fashion Week, wearing perfectly cut tan chinos, a very pale pink casual shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows (it takes a man with a strong game to pull off a pink shirt well, and, of course, he can) and brown suede lace-ups. His face is stubbly in a ‘relaxed for the weekend’ way, and his hair looks like it needs my fingers running through it imminently. If I smile any more widely I might lose my mouth off the sides of my face.
‘Darling, you look gorgeous!’ Theo steps into our little hall, pausing on the squeaky floorboards, kissing me on the cheek and validating everything I wanted validating.
He steps over to Lyla, who’s hopping from foot to foot and has suddenly gone shy, and says, ‘Robin, is this beautiful lady your sister?’
‘Oh no!’ I say, looking shocked and playing along. ‘This is Lyla!’
‘Surely not! I thought Lyla was a little girl, but this young lady is so grown up and beautiful she can’t possibly be only six years old!’ Theo says with a faux surprised look on his face that is totally fooling her.
Lyla giggles, and I know he’s won her over. ‘No, silly! I’m Lyla and that’s Mummy, and she hasn’t got a sister!’
‘Good grief, you’re right!’ he mock-exclaims, bending down and offering his hand for her to shake. ‘Hello, Lyla, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Theo and I think your mummy is very beautiful.’
Lyla takes his hand and they shake cordially as though this is a very important business exchange. Lyla is grinning from ear to ear at this extravagant grown-up treatment.
Excuse me while I just die at how perfect his introduction is.
‘She is! Mummy is perfect! And she’s so happy today because she hasn’t shouted about her “fucking keys”, or run around in her knickers saying “where are my bloody jeans! Where are my jeans!”’ Lyla responds seriously.
I want to die again, but now because I’m so mortified.
‘Lyla! Don’t say those words! Those are grown-up words! Theo doesn’t want to hear language like that from you.’
Thankfully, Theo just looks amused. ‘I don’t know, I’d quite like to help you in a game of “where are my bloody jeans” one day,’ he says quietly to me.
‘Sorry Mummy,’ Lyla says sweetly, but with a wry smile on her face, knowing she got off lightly for saying ‘bad’ words.
‘Ahh, she’s such a polite little girl,’ he says, defusing any potential upset and putting his hands on his hips. ‘Now, Lyla, I heard you’re taking Mummy and me out today, but I wondered if you wouldn’t mind me driving us in my car?’
Lyla giggles, loving all the attention, and nods her approval. She’s so easily charmed. I can’t think where she gets that from.
In the car I feel dreamy. It’s like the car is a bubble (a BMW-flavoured bubble) and I’m enveloped safely in it. Beautiful, madly dressed child sat on her booster seat in the back, gorgeous man deftly weaving through the country roads, one hand on the wheel and one hand on my knee, and me feeling so blissful. This is what it was meant to be. Man, woman and child having a perfect day out. I notice in the wing mirror that I’m wearing the diamond stud earrings Lacey’s lent me and feel pleased with myself. Theo’s girlfriend would wear diamond studs. Glamorous yet understated. I’m so contented in this car. I almost don’t want us to arrive.
We do arrive, though, and as I open the back passenger seat door I notice that Lyla has scuffed her shoes all the way up the back of Theo’s cream leather front seat. Aghast, I just shut the door gently behind her and remind myself to clean that up later somehow when he’s not looking. Perhaps tonight, while he sleeps. Shit.
‘Just need to grab my sweater,’ Theo says as he opens the other passenger seat door to pick up his navy cashmere jumper. Of course it’s cashmere, and of course he’s going to see the shoe scuffs.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
‘Oh,’ he says, an octave higher than usual.
‘Mmmm?’ Going to just pretend I don’t know what he means. That’ll make this go away.
‘I think perhaps Lyla has a bit of mud on her shoes.’ He nods towards the scuffed-seat situation.
‘I’m so sorry! I didn’t realise, and I can absolutely get that off. It happens all the time in my car. I’m ever so sorry … You’re not angry, are you?’
‘Nooo. Absolutely not. Let’s just crack on, shall we?’ The vein on the side of his head twitches as he clenches his jaw and I can tell that, actually, he is quite angry, but I fall for him all the more for pretending it’s no big deal.
‘Auntie Kath says life is for living, Theo. We don’t need to worry about a bit of mud,’ Lyla pipes up. I love her free spirit; I would love it even more if she didn’t share it at this precise second. That’ll no doubt push Theo over the edge.
He’s walking round the car to us, and I mentally brace myself for the fallout, but to my surprise, he scoops her up, swings her onto his shoulders and says, ‘You are exactly right, Miss Lyla Blue. Let’s enjoy the day and worry about that later.’
Wow, I’m impressed. He was very calm about that. Also, I’m amazed he’s remembered her middle name. I think I only mentioned it once. I love him, I love him, I love him.
We meander through to the great courtyard of the magnificent stately home, Thropnon House (think huge pillars encasing the front steps, ivy crawling all the way up the stone walls and multiple chimneys attached to multiple fireplaces that the wealthy inhabitants enjoy sherry by at Christmas). We’re visiting for their Spring Family Day, and I can’t help but feel smug. At last, I, Robin Wilde, am sauntering around gorgeous grounds with my beautiful little girl, the light of my life, and a handsome man in tan chinos. I never thought I’d be this woman. I’m currently being the sort of woman I tend to look at and feel jealous of. I look like the kind of woman who has it together and has a happy and balanced life. We could be in a magazine, for fuck’s sake.
‘This is great, isn’t it?’ Theo muses. ‘Reminds me of being a boy and going shooting with my father.’ I’m secretly impressed that Theo spent his youth doing country pursuits on grand estates.
The courtyard is dotted with world food stalls selling every delicious thing you could want. Stone-baked pizza slices, tortilla wraps, hog roast rolls, fish and chips, steak-to-go and far too many treat foods to have near a small child. Cake pops, cupcakes, scones with cream and jam. It’s too much to choose from.
Almost reading my mind, Theo says, ‘Shall we go crazy and just get a bit of everything?’
‘Are you my dream man?’ I shoot back, laughing at the idea of all that deliciousness.
‘Aha, quite possibly! Let’s grab a selection and take it through to the lawns,’ he says, striding off towards the first food stall.
And so we do, and it’s glorious. I let him choose everything because I don’t want to seem like a glutton, but I do insist on a box of cupcakes because Lyla loves them.
We leave the courtyard and find a spot on the great lawns near the trees. This garden is so stunning. It makes me wish we had even a little patch of grass. Everything is carefully planted and precisely pruned. Tulips, peonies, perfect delphiniums, fat hyacinths and pink camellia flowers are all in full bloom and adding some much-needed colour to the day after months of grey nothingness.
‘Lyla, look at all these cherry blossoms!’ Theo calls excitedly to her. Unfortunately she gives zero shits, because I’m holding the box of cupcakes. She’s more puppy than child sometimes. I give a little celebratory ‘wow, so pretty!’ to Theo, though, so as not to leave him hanging, and he looks satisfied with my acknowledgement at least. Look at us, being happy for cherry blossoms in the sunshine!
We set all the food down and, like the domestic goddess I’m pretending to be, I pull a little blanket out of my giant slouchy bag and lay it on the grass.
‘Wowee, it looks like your mummy has it all, Lyla,’ Theo remarks. I pretend to look bashful but don’t manage it.
‘Mummy has everything in her magic bag!’ Aww, she’s so sweet. ‘Her phone and sweets and hair bobbles and money and toys and blankets and Tampax for her grown-up lady times.’ Oh my God, of course she remembers that one throwaway answer I gave her when she asked if my yellow-wrapped tampon was a sweet!
‘Oh!’ he laughs back. ‘Well then, she’s prepared for absolutely everything, isn’t she!’
I laugh too, but deep down I’m slightly miffed that our perfect moment has now been tarnished by a flipping tampon. Next she’ll be bringing up the wax salon visit.
We lay out all the boxes and containers of food and slip straws in drinks (which also distracts Lyla from any further chat about things I don’t want her to remember). I’m glad we’re sat by the trees, slightly hidden from the main crowd, because we actually look a bit deranged with this much food on a blanket. I love that Theo doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable about enjoying my food. I wouldn’t say I’m especially conscious of my figure; it’s a good average size, but working with models all day does take its toll, and sometimes I find myself feeling really guilty for treating myself. Taking a hold of my thoughts and reminding myself that skinniness and happiness do not correlate, I’m more than happy to have a bit of everything and enjoy it. Lyla clearly has no issues either, sticky hands in every packet.
‘I never get to do things like this in London – this is so great,’ Theo says, looking into my eyes.
‘Well, that’s the joy of not living in London. Fresh air, open skies, I love it. I loved hanging out with you in London, but there’s no way I could live there. I’d feel like I was suffocating. It feels so good to breathe deeply, you know?’ I say, instinctively inhaling the sweet scent of the nearby flowers.
‘And to breathe it in such good company too. I can be so relaxed with you,’ he replies, lying down on the grass with his head resting in my lap, looking up at the sky (and, I hope, not my nostrils). Man, he’s smooth.
‘Well, I’ll say cheers to that!’ I say, raising a can of lemon fizz in the air.
We chink our cans (I reach over and chink his where it’s sat next to his thighs), and turn our attention to the falconry display that’s just about to start. This is supposed to be the highlight of the day, so I’m interested to see just how amazing it is.
‘Oh, I love falcons!’ Theo says, sitting up and looking over at them. I can’t actually tell if he’s being sarcastic or if he really does love these birds.
‘Mmm, yeah … they’re … really good.’
‘They’re such powerful birds, soaring through the air, spotting their prey and going for the kill. Efficient and ruthless,’ he says, gesturing more animatedly than he has done all day.
‘Like you?’ I laugh.
‘Ha! Maybe!’ he laughs, leaning back onto his elbows now that his initial falconry excitement has passed.
Sadly, the falconry display leaves a lot to be desired. Out of the three birds performing, one saw something on the roof of the manor and has camped out there while the work experience boy stands below waggling a flaccid mouse about to try and tempt it down; the other flew to the nearest tree, perched on a branch and hasn’t moved since, and the last one did three laps of the lawns (semi-impressive) and then just went back to its enclosure, sort of giving up. I kind of get it; I’m not sure I’d make a good falcon, unlike Theo. Lyla thinks the flaccid mouse-wiggling is part of the show, though, and is utterly captivated by it, as though it’s some sort of avian thriller. Theo seizes his chance to move his hand from its respectable spot on my knee much further up, sliding it under my skirt and across my inner thigh before I brush him off, laughing, ‘Down, boy, you’ll put the falcons off.’
‘I’ll turn them on, more like,’ he whispers calmly. I blush, because he’s so right.
‘I used to hunt with my dad when I was younger,’ he says, changing tack somewhat.
‘Do you still hunt? I saw you as more of a charm-every-woman-in-London man rather than a shoot-animals-in-the-country kind of a guy,’ I say, smiling and leaning in for a tiny kiss while Lyla’s engrossed in the mouse debacle.
‘Not any more; Dad’s put his guns away now – at Mother’s insistence – and none of my work friends shoot,’ he says with the slightest hint of sadness, maybe about his dad.
‘I’d love to meet your friends,’ I say, putting my hand in his and tickling his palm nonchalantly.
‘Yes, I’m sure; I’ll introduce you,’ he says, not looking at me but squinting into the distance at the guy putting the birds away.
We carry on with the picnic, and I pull Lyla onto my lap for a cuddle (Theo’s hands are safely back where they should be), and gaze dreamily at the flowers and at other people. She smells gorgeous. Every mother thinks that about her own child, I know. They smell like love and sweetness, and it makes my heart squeeze for her. If I could bottle this comforting scent and keep it forever, I would.
Theo looks a bit disappointed. Maybe he really was into the falcons.
‘You OK?’ I ask, with a hand on his toned arm. ‘You’re not upset about Colin the falcon, are you?’
‘No. No, no. I just don’t like thinking I’m going to get something and then it not happening.’ He frowns, a little sulkier than I’d have expected. ‘I thought that was going to be really cool, that’s all.’
‘It was RUBBISH!’ good old Lyla yells with her perfect timing. The work experience boy never did get the falcon down. Instead he just shrugged, threw the dead mouse back in a Tupperware box and climbed into the main guy’s Land Rover and got on his phone. All a bit of a let-down, really.
‘Shall we pack all this up, have a mooch round and head back, then?’ I offer as a consolation. I just want to move on from the display drama, and we’ve eaten so much food I feel a bit sick now.
‘Yes! I want something from the shop, Mummy! Can I pick something?’ Lyla says, jumping off my lap and dancing about.
The craft marquee is the stuff of dreams. A huge tent filled with trinkets and gifts and handmade fudges that smell divine. The sun is streaming in through the vast open doors; men and women are holding hands looking happy and vendors are chatting merrily about their creations.
Theo has mellowed about the slightly shit birds, and has slipped his hand into mine. Lyla is dancing about in front of us and I want to stop time and stay here, in this perfect little moment. This is exactly how I wanted this day to be – it can’t get any better.
Theo spends rather a lot of time looking at granite models of sniper planes, and I pretend to be really interested in how the propeller really does turn and Lyla is being good.
Lyla is in her element, having a play with everything, and finally settles on a painted black and yellow bumble bee wooden jigsaw to buy. She’s been good so I decide to treat her.
The lady behind the stall looks up smiling and says, ‘You must have been a good girl for Mummy and Daddy to buy you such a nice present!’
Lyla barely registers (she’s just been handed a bag with a toy in it) but Theo and I do. We both stand stock-still, and I can feel my cheeks burning. I must look insane.
Calmly, Theo squeezes my hand and says to the woman, ‘She has,’ and we walk away.
Just like that, he’s solved everything. He’s amazing. Does he see himself as a father figure? I think this rather cements us.
After twenty more minutes of mooching (and rather a lot of vanilla-fudge-purchasing), we walk slowly back to the car.
In bed, later, after very quiet but very satisfying sex, I lie there listening to Theo gently snoring. I can’t believe how beautifully this day has gone. If it were possible for me to be floating, I would be.