You Can’t Fall in Love With Your Ex (Can You?) Page 4

  Apparently time is meant to go into slow motion when something like this happens, but the reverse was true for me. Everything seemed to speed up, terrifyingly, to a blinding jumble of primary-coloured Lycra, and my hands on the buggy, frozen, receiving no command from my brain telling them whether to push or pull.

  He missed me, but he ploughed into the buggy, somersaulting, and landing on the pavement at my feet.

  To his credit, he didn’t start shouting at me straight away. The first thing he did, once he’d scrambled to his feet, before even surveying the buckled wheel and scraped paintwork of his racing bicycle, was to look inside the buggy, his face white with dread at what he might see there. But there was no child – Owen was at nursery. My only passenger was Green Rabbit, who Owen insisted must be allowed to come along for the ride to nursery.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said. “What were you… You stupid fucking bitch. You didn’t even look where you were fucking going. What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you drunk?”

  Mute with shock, I could only shake my head.

  “You – I could have killed your kid. What were you doing? I could have killed your kid because you weren’t looking where you were fucking going.”

  He was shouting now, his face no longer pale but almost puce with rage. In the face of his fury, I found I had nothing at all to say in my defence. My eyes and nose were streaming, and my hands were still clenched in front of me, my knuckles white, as if they were still gripped fast to the buggy’s rubber handle.

  “Don’t just fucking stand there! Say something!”

  I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

  Then I felt a hand on my arm, and heard a calm voice say, “Can’t you see she’s in shock? Stop shouting at the poor woman. You were going far too fast, you were riding like an idiot. Don’t you know this is a school?”

  “She needs to looks where she’s going. Stupid cow.”

  “I could say the same about you,” the voice replied frostily. “And I shall, when I take this photograph of you to the police.”

  “You…what?” The cyclist suddenly seemed a little less confident.

  I turned around to look at my rescuer. She didn’t look like your stereotypical guardian angel – unless guardian angels had changed their uniform to ripped skinny jeans, over-the-knee boots and pistachio-coloured leather jackets, and replaced their harps with iPhone 6s.

  “Yes, I intend to report this,” the woman said. “This road is a death trap, the way people drive and park. I live here and I see incidents like this all the time. It’s a wonder a child hasn’t been killed.”

  “Well, at least no one was hurt,” the cyclist said. “Look, I’m sorry, I probably was going a bit fast but I was running late for work, and…”

  “Best you get on your way then,” the woman said dismissively, then turned to me. “You look like you could do with a cup of tea. Want to come in?”

  “Yes, please.” I realised my knees were trembling violently, and if I didn’t sit down I’d fall down.

  “It’s this one right here.” She guided me through her front door and into a space-age kitchen, all stainless steel and skylights, and gestured to a canary-yellow sofa. “Here, have a seat and I’ll put the kettle on. Unless you’d prefer a brandy? That’s meant to be good for shock.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Tea would be lovely. I’ve done my bit of irresponsible parenting, I don’t want to start drinking before ten in the morning or someone will call Social Services on me for sure. God, what was I thinking? If Owen had been in the buggy…”

  “But he wasn’t,” she said. “No harm done. Would you rather builders’ with sugar or herbal something with honey?”

  “Herbal, please,” I said. “Thank you so much for this, I really appreciate it. My name’s Laura, by the way.”

  “Zélide. Call me Zé, all my friends do. Now, chamomile’s good for sleeplessness so I reckon it’ll do the job. I did a herbal medicine course ages ago but I’ve forgotten most of it, and I suspect it was mostly bollocks anyway.”

  If she didn’t quite look the part of a guardian angel, Zélide was stunning nonetheless. Her dark hair hung in two straight wings on either side of her oval face; her lips gleamed with gloss; her fluttery eyelashes were just too long to be real. She sat next to me on the sofa and crossed her slender, booted legs.

  “Thanks so much for this,” I said. “I’m really sorry to mess up your morning – were you on your way out?”

  “Just back from the school run,” she said. “Same as you.”

  “I wish I looked like that for the school run,” I said, glancing down at my own jeans, which the label had promised were ‘boyfriend’ but were really just shapeless, and battered converse.

  Zé laughed. “I have a fashion blog. I post every day, and include a selfie. Talk about making a rod for my own back! I spent less time getting ready in the mornings when I worked at Tatler. But now I’ve kind of got into the habit, and if I slack off I’ll lose readers. What about you – what do you do?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Well, being-a-mum nothing. We only moved here a few weeks ago. I used to work in PR as an account-handler. I expect I’ll look for temp work at some point but I haven’t got around to it yet – you know what it’s like.”

  “Hardest job in the world, innit?” She raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

  “You know what, it really bloody is. When I was working it was hectic juggling everything, but things seemed to just sort of work, somehow, amid the mayhem. And my husband wasn’t working such mad hours, which helped. But how, being with them all the time, it seems as if there’s just no let-up. Even when Darcey’s at school and Owen’s at nursery shit just appears to fill the time and then I have to pick them up again and I’ve got nothing done.”

  “Fab names. Darcey and Owen, lovely,” she said, and I felt a little glow of pride.

  “When I was growing up, I always said I wanted to name my daughter Darcey, after the dancer, obviously. I changed my mind later on, but I mentioned it to Jonathan when I was pregnant and he said he loved it and I hadn’t the heart to veto it. Owen’s after Jonathan’s dad; he died when Jonathan was a teenager, so that one was a given. And your daughter – Juniper?”

  “I suppose it’s pretentious as anything, but I don’t care,” she said. “It was a chance to wind up my bitch of a mother-in-law, and I love it, and Juniper loves it, so it works for both of us. Although Rick’s mother still passive-aggressively refers to her as June when we talk on the phone. Which, thankfully, doesn’t happen often. More tea?”

  The honeyed chamomile tea was actually pretty foul, but I realised I was enjoying Zé’s company more than I’d enjoyed anyone’s for a long time.

  “Yes, please,” I said, kicking off my shoes and tucking my feet underneath me on the yellow sofa. “You don’t mind?”

  “God, no. Shoes on, shoes off, feet on the sofa – whatever. Make yourself comfortable.” She switched the kettle on again and opened one of the sleek white cupboards, rummaging around a bit before producing a duck-egg blue tin of biscuits. “Elevenses?”

  It wasn’t yet ten o’clock, but all I’d had for breakfast was half a banana off Owen’s plate. “Yes, please,” I said.

  “So your husband works with Rick?” Zé said. “Small world. Rick went for promotion at the same time as he did, but he didn’t get it. He’s pretending not to be bitter about it but he so is, and it’ll mean him working even longer hours than usual. We barely see each other as it is.”

  She didn’t sound like she minded that a bit, I thought, intrigued.

  “How did you two meet?” I asked.

  “At a dinner party,” she said. “I’d been single for ages, my mid-thirties were slipping away and I wanted a baby. He seemed like a decent enough option.”

  She grimaced ruefully, took a second biscuit and ate it in two bites. “We’ll pay for this tomorrow, I suppose. But now, fuck it.”

  I reached for another biscuit too, one with a chocolate coating, and
caught her eye as I bit into it. The chocolate melted against the roof of my mouth and the buttery crumbs stuck to my lips. We exchanged a small, complicit smile, and I knew she was feeling just the same way I was.

  In return, I told her the relatively simple, humble story of how I’d met Jonathan when I was twenty-six and in my first job out of uni, because I’d been a mature student, and he’d come to do the annual audit at my work. I told her how all the women in the client service department had fancied the pants off him, and how elated I’d been when it was me he emailed a week later to invite out for a drink.

  “I didn’t think I was even in the market for a relationship,” I said. “But there was this whole rivalry thing going on between the other girls, and when I got that email I was suddenly the queen of the department for a day. So I couldn’t say no. And then he was so lovely, and made me laugh so much. And then I went out with him again a couple of times, and suddenly we were an item, and then we moved in together and a bit later he proposed and I said yes, and we had this amazing wedding and two years later we had Darcey.”

  I paused for breath and ate another biscuit.

  “You must feel very lucky,” Zé said, but the way she said it made it a question.

  “Oh, yes, I do!” I said. “I love him to bits. I love my children. I’m very lucky. I never expected to have all this.”

  “Why not, Laura?” Zé said. “You’re exactly the kind of woman who has all this – all that. Look at you. You’re so pretty, and you’re kind and bright. I bet Amanda Moss has had you over for her book group, right? They’re super-selective, they only pick the elite.”

  “Surely they must have picked you then?”

  Zé laughed. “I’m hardly the elite. I did go along a few times, but I never read anything. Then Amanda tried to rope me into the PTA, but I told her I can’t be arsed with committees, and she threw a strop and blocked me on Facebook, and now I’m persona non grata with her and her gang.”

  I laughed. “I’ll take that as a warning. She’s invited Darcey to her daughter’s party on Saturday, actually, but now Jonathan says he’s going out and I’ve got no one to look after Owen, who’s most definitely NFI, so I don’t know if she’ll be able to go.”

  “But you must let me look after him,” Zé said. “Juniper adores toddlers. God knows where she gets it from, but she’s the most maternal creature. Why not bring them both round in the morning, and your little girl can try on Juniper’s clothes – she’s got truckloads from when she was that age – and we can have lunch and then by the time you head off I won’t be a stranger any more. Owen will be fine with us for a couple of hours, and we’ll be just down the road if he needs you. Go on – you know it makes sense.”

  Before I realised I was going to do it, I leaned forward and gave her a hug.

  “Thanks,” I said, “I think I’ll do that.”

  “There,” Zé said, “Darcey shall go to the ball.”

  “Do you want to knock on the door, Pickle?” I asked Darcey, when we arrived at Zé’s at the appointed time on Saturday.

  Her excitement at the prospect of meeting Zé and Juniper, and the party that was to follow, seemed to have deserted her and been replaced by shyness. She shook her head mutely and put her thumb in her mouth.

  “Okay, I’ll do it.” But as I lifted my hand to the brushed stainless steel knocker, the door flew open and a child stood there who could only have been Zé’s daughter. I mean, it was obviously her because no other little girl would have come to let us in, but I could have picked her out of a line-up of dozens, so striking was the resemblance to her mother.

  She was very tall for eight, with a curtain of smooth hair the colour of black coffee, and brilliant green eyes. She was wearing dark indigo skinny jeans with a rip in one knee that I was pretty certain was supposed to be there, and not a result of falling over on her scooter. Her T-shirt had dozens of tiny sequinned stars on it, which Darcey would have picked off within about ten minutes. She looked like she’d been born stylish.

  Darcey stared at her, wide-eyed, and took her thumb out of her mouth very quickly. Owen hid behind my leg.

  Then Juniper smiled, the gappy grin of a normal eight-year old.

  “Hello. Are you Darcey? You’ve got a cool name, and you’re so lucky to have a little brother. Mummy’s outside in the garden, but we can go upstairs to my room and play on my iPad, or do dressing up. Gardens are boring, don’t you think? Come on.”

  She held out her hand and Darcey instantly took it, briefly turning to glance back at me, anxious for permission.

  “Off you go,” I said. “Owen and I will go and find Juniper’s mum.”

  I scooped Owen up and he buried his face in my shoulder. “Hello?” I called, closing the door behind us and walking through to the kitchen.

  “Hi,” Zé said. “I’m so glad you came. I’m just making us a bit of lunch, I thought you’d probably rather eat now than join the kids in whatever sugar-laden spread they’ve laid on for the party. And you must be Owen. What a cutie he is, Laura. Would you like to come and see the giant goldfish in my pond? Last time I counted there were ten, but it’s really hard to find them all. Maybe you can help me?”

  Owen squirmed to be put down, and said, “Yes! Fishes! I can count up to ten now, because I’m nearly three.”

  “And very clever,” I said, catching Zé’s eye and returning her smile. “Thanks so much again for offering to have him. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

  “Honestly, it’s no bother,” she said. “They’re adorable at this age. We’ll have a lovely afternoon here, and if he gets bored we can go to the park and play on the slide.”

  “I want to see the fishes,” Owen said.

  “All right, but you must be very, very careful and not lean too far over the water.” I had a sudden, horrible stab of anxiety, imagining a panicked phone call from Zé, a mad rush back to the house, Owen’s little body limp and sodden…

  As if she’d read my thoughts, Zé said, “There’s a net over the pool, Laura. Don’t worry. Not just for safety – last winter a bloody heron decided to feed her family for a week on my koi. I was gutted – but not as gutted as I’d be if anything happened to a child, of course. Would you like a glass of wine with lunch? Dutch courage before you face the party?”

  I vacillated for a moment, then said, “Yes, please. If you’re having one.”

  “It’s just a salad Nicoise,” she said. “With lots of olives. Do you like olives, Owen?”

  “I don’t think he’s ever tried one,” I admitted.

  But Owen said, “Yes! Olives.”

  We sat in the shade and ate and drank, while Owen made a series of forays into the garden, returning to chatter away about the fish and eat olives off our plates, and soon it was half past two and time to leave for Amanda’s.

  “Let me go and see what those girls are up to,” Zé said, calling up the stairs, “Juniper! It’s time for Darcey to go to her party.”

  Darcey ran downstairs, Juniper following her more sedately. Gone were her grey leggings and pink Barbie top, and in their place she was wearing Juniper’s sequinned T-shirt as a dress. Her hair was piled up in a messy bun that was clearly meant to be that way, not just inexpertly arranged the way I did it. A pair of heart-shaped sunglasses were perched on her nose.

  “Look,” she said, giving me a shy twirl. “Juniper said I could borrow it. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  “You don’t mind, do you, Mum?” Juniper said. “We tried on loads of my clothes but Darcey liked this best.”

  “Darcey looks gorgeous,” Zé said. “You’ll be the sparkliest girl at the party, and the prettiest too.”

  “Are you sure?” I said. “What if she spills something on it, or damages it? Is it dry-clean only?”

  “Don’t give it a thought,” Zé said. “Juniper has far too many clothes. PR people are constantly sending me samples and I never get around to eBaying them. If she doesn’t mind lending it, then of course I don’t either.”

&n
bsp; “And I’ve said I don’t mind,” said Juniper. “Keep it, if you like. It suits you.”

  “Say thank you, darling,” I said, admitting defeat.

  “Thank you,” Darcey said. “But I already said, loads of times, didn’t I?”

  “She did,” Juniper confirmed. “When can Darcey come and play again? It’s so boring that you have to go to this party. Can’t you stay?”

  Darcey looked down at her new outfit, then at Juniper, then at me. I could see her suffering agonies of indecision – part of her longing to spend the afternoon with her new friend, part wanting to show off her finery to her classmates.

  “We’ll come again soon, I promise,” I said. “It’s so kind of you to lend it to her, and to look after Owen, and the lunch…”

  “You’re so welcome,” Zé said. “Come any time.”

  “Come next week,” Juniper said. “You can see Carmen.”

  “Our au pair,” Zé said. “She’s in Romania this week, her sister’s just had a baby. But she’s back on Monday, thank God. We’ve missed her, haven’t we?”

  “Mmmm,” Juniper was losing interest in this grown-up conversation. “Do you want to come and make a castle in the sandpit?” she said to Owen, who agreed eagerly.

  I kissed him, and kissed Zé, and said we’d be back in a few hours, and Darcey and I departed.

  All the way to Amanda’s, she chatted non-stop about how cool Juniper’s clothes were, how many amazing toys she had, and when she could show Juniper her own bedroom and toys.

  And as I steeled myself for another bout of competitive parenting, I found myself thinking how much nicer it would be to still be sitting in Zé’s tranquil garden, sipping white wine and chatting while our children played together. It sounds mad, I know, but it felt like the end of a holiday, or like leaving a lover to return to a sour, unsatisfactory marriage.

  Chapter 5