Bella Summer Takes a Chance (30 page)

‘So we agree that The Dad is lovely. Based on his ex-marriage he’s not afraid of commitment, and he’s a devoted dad. He’s also sexy and fun and interesting.’

‘He sounds perfect,’ Clare said. ‘Except for the sex.’

I sighed. ‘I think there’s a bigger issue that might explain that.’

They looked like those dogs in the park, intent on their owners about to throw a ball.

‘Last week we were at his house having dinner and his ex-wife rang. That’s not unusual because of the kids and sharing custody. But they chatted on and on. He obviously doesn’t think this is weird because he did it in front of me. He mentioned that I was there for dinner when he was talking to her. But they were really friendly. Is that normal? Kat, you and James wouldn’t call each other every day to chat about your day, right?’

‘No,
Liebchen
. We talk every day, or almost every day, but that’s because of the children. And the lawyers.’

‘Right, exactly. I don’t want him to hate his ex because that’s not nice either. But the chumminess bothers me. Faith, Clare, thoughts?’

Faith said, ‘What’s your gut tell you?’

‘It’s odd. They act like best friends, but that’s something you give up when you break up. You’re supposed to lose that level of access to the person. It’s the forfeit you pay for ending the relationship.’

‘But he’s not furtive in any way?’ Faith asked.

‘No, quite the opposite. Which makes me think I’m overreacting. I just can’t shake the feeling that it’s weird. Maybe I’m being paranoid.’

Kat said, ‘I’d pay attention when they talk and if any alarm bells ring, don’t ignore them. You’re seeing him next weekend, right? Talk to him about it.’

The door buzzer rang through the flat. ‘Oh, Clare, that must be The Shag,’ Faith said. ‘It’s show time everybody! Choose your weapons.’

Clare was letting us, the coven, inspect him. ‘Jesus. Promise you’ll be nice!’ She said, running to the door and leading him back into the kitchen to meet his fate.

He looked nervous. Of course he did. Facing such an inquisition without a worry would show a gross underestimation of the power of a woman’s friends. Luckily for him, he was a known quantity after so many years of wine-fuelled discussion. I wasn’t sure if knowing that would make him feel better or worse.

He kissed each of us, actually making lip-to-cheek contact. I appreciated people who did that rather than treating me as infectious by air-kissing at arm’s length. He hovered behind Clare, stroking her shoulder while he complimented the cooking smells wafting from Kat’s pots. Clare was clearly aggravated by his stroking. In his affectionate zeal his hand displaced her bra strap. She kept poking it back up into her short sleeve. I wanted to tell him to stop but that would only call attention to him. Unfortunately, my telepathic skills were on the blink.

‘Oh, this is an easy meal that I make a lot,’ Kat said, clearly pleased by his compliments. ‘Do you like to cook?’

She wasn’t wasting any time. It always surprised me when men didn’t recognize this question for what it was. A litmus test. Didn’t the answer to those five little words speak volumes? Do you like to cook? Yes. Yes, I will make you romantic meals over shared bottles of wine. Yes, I care about the creature comforts. Yes, I can look after myself, and look after you too. Yes, I will share the burden of making a lovely home. No. No, I don’t care what I stuff down my gullet, and by the way, you’ll find mouldering takeaway containers under the sofa. No, I haven’t overcome the stereotypes of gender roles in society. No, I think I’m too busy/important to bother. Oh yes, one little word spoke volumes.

‘I love cooking, but there’s so much more to learn. Actually, I took a few classes last year. It’s harder now that I’m not at the bike shop but it’s something I want to do more. I was lucky. My mum taught my brother and me when we were children. I’m a dab hand at a Sunday roast, if I do say so.’

Right answer. ‘How’s your new job going?’ I asked.

‘Actually, it’s really good, thanks. The people are nice and it’s a laugh. Someone brings treats in almost every day. I love working in an office! At the bike shop we were lucky to share a packet of crisps. There are the usual council bureaucrats so there’s a definite pecking order, and lines that aren’t crossed. That’s fine with me. The work itself is okay. I’m surprised that I like it so much, though I am still working at the bike shop on Saturdays. I’ll stop when the baby is born.’ He turned his smile on Clare while the rest of us got a bit puddly at his statement. ‘Not long now, eh? I can’t wait,’ he said.

‘Not nervous?’ Faith asked.

‘Of course I’m nervous! Even though I know complications are rare at our age, Clare’s healthy and there’s no reason to think it’ll be anything but smooth. I’m terrified about her health being at risk.’

‘Well, we’re all concerned about that, but I meant about being a father.’

‘Oh. No, not really. I mean, obviously we’ve never done this before but we’ve been reading–’

‘He means he’s been reading,’ Clare said.

‘Don’t be modest.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘Clare’s just as prepared as I am, trust me. I know it’ll be hard. Everyone promises us that no matter how hard we think it’s going to be, it’ll be ten times harder. I’m not looking forward to that. But then you’ve got this little person that’s come from you both, and you get to see him, her, it, every day, see the changes every day. That’s going to be incredible. We’re very lucky.’

It was hard to believe he was only twenty-seven and up until a few months ago rode a skateboard to work at a bicycle shop. I wondered if he’d always been this level-headed and Clare just hadn’t given him credit. It was tempting to judge outward appearances, or to peg people to the point in time when you first met instead of seeing their evolution. And if I
were
to judge by outward appearances, I’d have seen a man who by all accounts lived a Peter Pan existence. He loved spending summers at festivals and winters weekending in ski bum hostels in the Alps. He was more adept at Xbox than most sixth formers, wore his jeans so low he was constantly at risk of being pantsed, and he didn’t even try passing off week-long stubble as anything other than what it was – an aversion to the razor’s function. And yet outward appearances also told me how devoted he was to Clare and the imminent arrival of their child. I didn’t think those appearances were deceiving.

‘B.! B.!’ Faith shoved her mobile at me. ‘Here, it’s Frederick, he needs to talk to you. You really need to get a new phone.’

‘I know, I know, but it’s only another month till I can upgrade.’ My phone had become temperamental of late, refusing to accept calls. My friends had become temperamental as a result.

‘Darling, are you sitting down?’ He sounded panicked. ‘You need to sort your phone.’

‘Yes, I know, I will. What is it, Fred, is everything all right?’

‘No, no, nothing bad. You’ll never guess what.’

‘What?’

‘Guess!’

‘Fred!’

‘Fine, spoilsport. Oh, I’m so excited,
I
need to sit down. I just went online and there’s been a bit of interest in you on YouTube. B., your video has… wait for it… over five hundred thousand views!’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means you’re famous. B., it means you are bloody well fucking famous.’

I sat down with a thump.

Chapter 25

‘I still can’t believe it,’ I said, propped against the arm of The Dad’s squishy linen sofa with my legs scissored between his, newspapers spread around us. He’d earned serious points for remembering that Faith’s front page article came out today. He had to go to a couple of newsagents to find it (it wasn’t exactly a national paper). How thoughtful was that?

‘The video has had more than eight hundred thousand views now. It’s gone viral, which makes me sound infectious. But Fred says that’s a good thing.’

He reached over, held my face and tenderly kissed me. He was such a stellar kisser. ‘Incredible. You are incredible, B., and not just because you sing. So what happens now?’

‘Well, Mum says they’re talking about re-releasing her CD because of all the interest. That’s great, isn’t it? Not that she’s past her sell-by date, but it’s got to be a wonderful feeling to see your music appreciated by a whole new generation. I guess that’s what makes a classic. People like to use that word so much that it doesn’t really mean anything. Like genius. Everyone gets touted as a genius, but we won’t know for years, decades, whether someone’s work will stand the test of time. Everybody’s a genius in their own mind.’

‘You included?’

‘Oh, absolutely. I’ve got delusions of grandeur you can’t even imagine. I give Grammy speeches at my bathroom mirror, have fantasies that an A&R man shows up at a gig and offers me a recording deal. It’s crazy, but I guarantee we all do it. If we didn’t have such stupidly optimistic hope, there’s no way we’d keep writing songs that nobody listens to. I think that’s the real trick to making a success of an art form. It’s not talent, though that’s obviously important. It’s an overinflated belief that you’ll be the one who gets discovered. And we hear about the Justin Biebers of the world,
The X Factor
winners, and it just spurs on that blind optimism. Honestly, we’re a deluded bunch.’

‘Maybe not so deluded. You’re good, B. Why shouldn’t you be the one who makes it?’

‘But that’s the point. A lot of us are good. Hundreds, thousands in London alone. Everyone is trying as hard as they can, being as good as they can. It’s not just about talent. That’s what I’m saying. There’s a lot of luck involved, being in the right place at the right time.’

‘Not just luck, though. You make a lot of your own chances. If you’re writing exceptional music but not showing it to anyone, then you’re not going to get far. It’s the ones who make a big noise who have the best chance of getting noticed. Like your YouTube video.’

‘That was Frederick’s doing. And that’s a lucky break. Let’s be honest, if it hadn’t been for
X Factor
picking my mum’s song, that video would have exactly as many hits as I have friends. Maybe fewer.’

‘I’m just glad you didn’t have to work this weekend. This has been so nice.’

It was. Our sofa Sunday was just the icing on an entirely romantic weekend. When he suggested the beach on Saturday I’d been reluctant. Not for any bikini-shy reasons, but because I wasn’t much of a beach person. I needn’t have fretted, though, because it turned out it wasn’t much of a beach. To watch everyone frolicking in the freezing September sea, eating ice cream in gale-force winds, you’d have thought they were in the Seychelles. All I got out of the experience was windburn and gooseflesh that lasted into the evening. The Dad wasn’t a natural beach person himself. He was just ever-so eager to show me the nice side of Essex. It wasn’t all hair extensions, footballers’ nightclubs and spray tans.

I levered myself off the too-soft cushions to kiss him, feeling like a woolly mammoth escaping a tar pit as I did so. To cover my embarrassment, I said, ‘I loved dinner last night, thanks again. You know, it’s not too bad out here.’

He laughed. ‘My heart belongs to Essex.’

‘That sounds like a reality TV show. Are you here for evermore, then?’

‘Definitely, especially with Libby and the children here.’

My skin prickled. It was odd to refer to one’s ex-wife as a reason to stay in a place. Of course he wanted to stay near the children; that was perfectly understandable. But why mention Elizabeth? A tiny alarm bell rang in my head. It wasn’t a blaring fire alarm next door, but definitely a car a few streets away. ‘So your ex-wife is here to stay too?’

‘Oh yes, she was born here. It’s home. That’s why we relocated in the first place, to be close to her parents. My in-laws, ex-in-laws, live just over in the next road.’

Now the alarm was in the next road. ‘I see. Isn’t it nice to stay so close to your ex-family.’

‘Oh, it is,’ he said. Clearly he didn’t expect irony from a North American. ‘Would you like another coffee? I’m just going to make another pot.’

‘Yes, please.’ I’d developed a caffeine habit with The Dad. I liked that he didn’t reach for a bottle whenever we were together. Not that I drove men to drink. But a decade of friendship with Faith taught me that the English did like a tipple or two. That was fine with me, though my ambition and ability were out of alignment. At my age a large glass of wine gave me a hangover before I’d finished it. On the plus side, my boobs had started to sag and I no longer made it through the night without needing to wee. Yeah, nearing forty just got better and better.

I heard The Dad talking to someone. Not on the phone. I hoped it was just a Jehovah’s Witness come to talk to us about Jesus for a few hours. I feared it was worse than that.

A smiling woman followed The Dad back into the living room. ‘B., this is Elizabeth. Libby, would you like some coffee? I’ve just made a pot.’

‘Sure, thanks. Hi, B., it’s nice to meet you.’ She towered over me, trapped, prone and bra-less on the sofa.

‘Hi, nice to meet you too.’

‘Libby just came over to pick up Amanda’s gym kit. She’s in a peculiar phase at the moment. If she doesn’t wear her ohmygodalltimefavourite T-shirt, she’ll
just die, Daddy!
’ He rolled his eyes. ‘It’s in the dryer, I’ll just get it.’ He disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving me to breathe coffee breath all over his ex-wife. I’d barely left the sofa since we woke this morning. I was a vision. ‘So, er, you live close by, don’t you? That’s nice.’

‘Mmm, it’s convenient.’

She wasn’t very pretty and I wasn’t just saying that because The Dad had made babies with her. Her face was too short, for one thing. She had bottle blonde hair and a suspicious tan that aged her. And she had fat ankles. All right, I couldn’t see her ankles. It didn’t matter. He obviously worshipped her, short orange face, cankles and all. ‘Have you had a nice weekend?’ I couldn’t think of anything else to ask her, and our staring contest was getting old.

‘Quiet, thanks. Did you?’

Was this where I told her I’d probably been wined and dined at her favourite restaurant or spent the weekend giving her ex-husband an erection? Probably not. ‘Yes, we went to the beach on Saturday which was nice, though a bit windy.’