School Run (39 page)

HARRIET

‘And at eleven fifteen, this morning, Kirsty Young will be presenting a repeat series of Desert Island Discs . . .’

Harriet made the bed up with fresh sheets, as she always did on Sundays, listening to the preview for
Desert Island Discs
(a programme Charlie deplored but which she adored – especially when guessing the castaway from the introduction). The pillows smelt of a new brand of conditioner. The realisation that they no longer smelt of her husband both saddened and relieved her.

Her first night alone – the first proper one, undisguised by the term ‘business trip’ – hadn’t been as bad as she’d thought.

The receipt had made it easier. It wouldn’t have been the same if they’d tried to start again. She’d heard of couples who had succeeded but only when one of them, usually the husband, confessed to making a mistake. Love was a different matter.

When had he started to love this woman, whose name he refused to divulge? What had Harriet been doing at the time? Had it been a day when one of the children had been at home ill? Their first day at school? Sports day – he hadn’t made it last year? All those late nights when he’d been ‘working’, had he really been in some seedy car park somewhere or a hotel room or
her
house? Harriet wanted to know, but at the same time she didn’t.

The children had been upset last night, asking why Daddy had to go away again on business, but this morning they’d seemed almost normal when they’d come in to kiss her, then gone down to watch breakfast television.

Harriet tucked in Charlie’s side. His old side. Last week there’d been a piece in the
Mail
about predatory women who stalked men at work, not caring if they were married. Had
she
done that? That was what she wanted to ask her husband. That was what she should have asked him, when he was still at home. But now he was gone, leaving her to mop up the mess.

She remembered how she’d felt when her father had left, closing the front door with a quiet click, leaving her mother weeping at the kitchen table. Suddenly
Desert Island Discs
seemed irrelevant.

She turned off the radio and padded downstairs to sort out breakfast. Empty crisps packets and KitKat wrappers were strewn on the sitting room carpet. ‘I’ve told you before, if you’re going to help yourself to breakfast, have some cereal, not snacks. Bruce, listen to me. And you, Kate.’

Both children remained glued to the television – well, at least that was normal behaviour. She got out the vacuum. Since Charlie had left, she’d become almost obsessive about cleaning. She’d once heard someone on the radio who had been the same after a family tragedy and the psychologist had said it was the one area of her life she could control.

That was better.

‘Would you like some bacon, you two?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes,
please
, Kate.’

She went back into the kitchen and put the bacon under the grill. No, stupid, not eight rashers. Just six.

‘Why are you crying, Mum?’ asked Kate, coming up behind her.

‘It’s the onions, darling.’

‘You’re not cooking any.’

Harriet turned the bacon over. ‘Go back into the sitting room and I’ll bring it in.’

Eating in front of the television was a strict no-no when Charlie was at home. But he wasn’t at home, Harriet told herself, as she took two trays in and instructed them not to drop the ketchup on the carpet. Then she made herself a cup of Earl Grey in her favourite Emma Bridgewater mug. Hopeless trying to eat – her stomach was still churning with the momentous repercussions of the last two days. Only an hour to get ready for Sussex, before Pippa arrived. Only the rest of her life ahead, quite possibly on her own. But others had done it. And so could she. She had to be positive, for the children’s sake.

EVIE

‘And now for your last record . . .’

Evie had missed the name of the celebrity, which was always annoying. Not that it was important today. Lunch would be burned if her guests didn’t get here soon. Twelve, she had said. Early, to fit in with Jack’s nap. The beef was perfect and the smell was making her hungry.

I must be mad, thought Evie. It had been her idea to feed Rachel and her lover. Usually Rachel knocked at the door to pick up the girls, flaunting herself with the latest tan. But something had made Evie tell them that when their mother rang to make arrangements for picking up they must invite her to lunch. With Chris.

She should have known they would be late. The joint would be ruined (she must have miscalculated the cooking time) and Rachel would have the satisfaction of reminding the girls of those summer barbecues they used to have when Dad was at home. She’d tell it in such a way that an onlooker would assume Robin had left rather than her. Only Evie would know it was done for effect: Robin would be too busy talking to the girls, prolonging contact.

No, that was unfair. She could understand it now. It must be terrible to have your child taken away from you, not just once but again and again, while the person who had made that child with you decided when – if – you could see them again. When Jack was snatched away she had been in agony. Now she saw that her husband had gone through similar pain for years. No wonder he was slightly crazy.

‘They’re here! They’re here!’ Leonora ran to the door and something like jealousy twinged in Evie’s chest. Since Friday the girls had been so nice to her. She was almost sorry they were going. If Rachel wasn’t around, she might be able to get quite close to them. As it was, she hardly stood a chance. How could a step-mother ever make it work when she had only a weekend here and there to forge a relationship? Still, the last week had helped more than any other time since she had known the girls. Could they have turned the corner? There was the sound of excited voices. Evie took off her apron and stepped into the hall.

‘Hi, Evie, how are you doing? I hear you’ve had quite a week. Thank God the girls were OK. I hear they let those boys out on bail. Typical!’

Rachel, skin glowing from the sun, airkissed Evie’s cheek.

‘This is Chris, everyone. Chris, this is Leonora, Nattie, Robin, of course, Jack and Ella—’

‘Evie,’ corrected Robin.

She always did that, thought Evie, grimly. You had to hand it to her: she knew how to make an entrance – this time more than ever.

Chris had the sunniest, whitest smile she had ever seen. Evie tried, without success, to stop staring. So, too, did the girls and Robin, although Jack was too young to twig. Chris had a better tan than Rachel. She also had a better figure and a kinder smile. And just in case there was any doubt about her role, she was holding Rachel’s hand in a very flamboyant manner.

Evie looked at the girls. Their faces were horror-stricken.

‘Come on in, both of you. I’m so glad you could make lunch.

It will give us time to talk for a change. Nattie and Lennie, do you want to come into the kitchen with me and get some nibbles?’

The girls followed her. ‘What is she? A dyke?’ hissed Leonora.

Evie held her shoulders. ‘Listen, both of you. There are times when parents don’t do the kind of things you expect.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Your mother has had some rough times. She seems happy now, so maybe we should try to be happy for her, even if Chris isn’t what we expected. All right? Now, go out there and take the olives and nuts with you. Don’t eat too many because lunch is ready.’

Robin came in with glasses for a refill. ‘I’d never have thought it,’ he said palely. ‘Do you think it was because of me?’

Evie laughed. ‘I’m the one who’s meant to have Jewish guilt. No, I just think Rachel looks happier than she has for years.’

Robin shrugged on his way out with the tray. ‘Possibly. But I still find it really weird. Oh, hi Chris.’

‘Hi.’

Chris rewarded him with a look of bemusement as he almost collided with her on his way out of the kitchen as she suddenly came in. Evie turned, embarrassed by Robin’s faux pas. To be honest, Chris also made her feel confused. She didn’t have a deep voice and she seemed perfectly normal. Serena at work, who was definitely that way inclined, had looked very masculine, down to her collection of embroidered waistcoats, which she wore over striped black trousers. But Chris was beautifully dressed – she could swear that was a Stella McCartney outfit – and her face was made up like that of an Yves St Laurent model.

‘I hear Robin’s in a bit of trouble.’

Evie took in the cloud of perfume. Poison? Chanel? ‘Who told you?’

‘The girls, when they spoke to Rachel. Can I do anything to help?’

Evie narrowed her eyes. ‘Why would you want to do that?’

Chris drained her G and T and sat down at the kitchen bar. ‘Look, Evie, my parents were divorced too and I know what it’s like to be handed from one parent to another. Robin borrowed that money to spend it on the girls. I know that too. I’m a wealthy woman, Evie. I can afford to bail you out.’

‘We wouldn’t want that.’ They both turned as Robin came in. ‘I appreciate it, but it wouldn’t be right.’

Chris flashed him a dynamic smile. ‘I don’t mean for free. You could pay me back. I need a good accountant for a new venture I’m about to set up. I’m in shipping. I expect Rachel told you.’

Robin was frowning. ‘Why would you need an accountant? You must have people already.’

‘Of course. But I don’t want them to know everything about me. No shady stuff, though, for me or you. I want an honest accountant.’

Robin’s neck coloured. ‘I am. Basically.’

Chris nodded, satisfied. ‘Good. Then that’s settled. I’m basing it on the other side of the river but we can talk details on Monday.’ Her eyes travelled to Evie’s chest where they settled, unashamedly.

‘In the meantime, let’s just get to know each other, shall we? By the way, did you read all that stuff about Simon and Sally Pargeter in the paper?’

‘I’ve been too busy cooking to look at the papers,’ said Evie, pointedly.

Chris touched her arm. ‘Well, you must read this. It’s riveting. Rachel says you do a school run with their au pair. Well, it’s her who spilt the beans. You could have got an exclusive with her for your magazine.’

‘Maybe.’ Evie was strangely unwilling to look at the feature. It was smut, that was all, and after all her years in journalism, it was losing its appeal.

‘Evie, Evie!’

‘Yes?’

Leonora stood there, panting with importance. ‘We’ve just been watching cartoons with Jack on Nickelodeon. And guess who we saw?’

Evie was frantically trying to baste the beef. ‘Who?’

‘Bad Ron! He’s a new kid in the series – always naughty. Jack is riveted by him. Come and look. He’s wicked!’

Chris raised her eyebrows.

‘Sometimes,’ said Evie, giving up on the beef, ‘there’s no accounting for children’s tastes.’

45

KITTY

‘And that was the Beatles with . . .’

Kitty pulled off her headphones, and stared at the driver as the bus pulled up twenty minutes late. ‘Good morning! I didn’t know you worked Sundays.’

Clive shrugged. ‘Only one in four. And I get time and a half so it’s worth it. How’s the book going?’

‘Finished it. It was amazing. If I’d known I was going to bump into you I’d have brought it with me. You won’t be seeing me for a bit because it’s the holidays.’

‘Going away, are you?’ Clive’s eyes swept over her approvingly. ‘I thought you looked all dressed up.’

Kitty flushed. ‘Actually, I’m just off to a christening in Richmond.’

‘Well, you look very pretty. I hope the baby appreciates it.’

Kitty smiled and sat down on the empty seat almost opposite the cab. There was no one else on the bus, which made a pleasant change from the crush during the school week.

‘You’re running late,’ she said conversationally.

‘Yeah. We thought we’d emulate the trains.’

‘Very funny.’

He glanced sideways at her. ‘Are you the godmother, then?’

‘How did you guess?’

‘I just thought you might be. You look the type.’

‘Is that a compliment?’

He grinned. ‘Maybe. You get out of the habit of paying compliments when you drive a bus. That reminds me. That thing you asked me, about coming in and talking to the kids about my job, do you really think they’d be interested?’

‘Absolutely.’ Kitty sat forward. ‘The head’s doing a big drive – excuse the pun – on road safety. It would be great if you could tell them about crossing the road and watching out for traffic and that sort of thing.’

‘And will you be there?’ asked Clive, eyes straight ahead.

‘Should be,’ said Kitty carefully.

‘Good. Then I’ll do it.’

‘I’m so glad,’ said Kitty. ‘Shall I ring you?’

‘No.’

Her heart plummeted.

‘Write down your number and I’ll ring you. My mum always said that a man should call a woman and not the other way round.’