Chapter 10
A few weeks into our faux romance and I get this fantastic email from the Bath clients …
To: Sophie Rogers
From: Arnaud Alec
Subject: Contract
Hi Sophie
Thanks for sending the contract over, we’ve signed and scanned it back to you. Are you free on Thursday evening? We thought we’d come into Bristol for after-work drinks to celebrate.
I hit reply with a ‘yes please’ and then tap out a message to Poppy to double check that she can babysit after pick-up this Thursday. She actually can’t, so I try Mum.
‘Hello, Mum!’
‘Darling! How are you?’
‘Good thanks. Remember the Bath people I went to meet? They’ve just signed up!’
‘That is good news. You’re doing very well, Sophie. How’s my Lila?’
As per usual with conversations with my mum these days, we don’t linger long on me because she’s desperate to hear more about her only grandchild.
‘This morning Lila told me that she was never going to listen to me ever again when I asked her to put her school shoes on. And then she was so completely recovered that she wouldn’t let go of my leg while I tried to get us out of the house.’
Mum laughs. ‘Ah, those were the days. Lila has definitely got some of my exuberant genes, just like Poppy. You were always much calmer when you were little. Wouldn’t say boo to a goose!’
‘Mum, I’ve been invited by the new clients to celebrate on Thursday. Is there any chance you can you do pick-up and babysit? Poppy can’t.’
‘Oh I’m afraid I can’t make Thursday either. Dad has decided to take me out for supper. He’s taking some new tablets which really have put a spring in his step, if you see what I mean.’
Eep.
‘Okay, no problem, Mum.’ I rush to fill the gap before she gives me any more information. ‘I’m so pleased you’re going out. What’s the plan?’
‘You know The Royal Oak?’
‘The village pub?’ It’s not the most romantic venue. Last time Poppy and I went in for a drink they were serving local teens alcopops and the whole place smelled like stale cider and sweat.
‘It’s had a makeover. Rumour has it that the new owner is an international rugby star. Used to play for a big team, apparently. Fiji? Or New Zealand? I don’t know. Anyway, the builders have been working on it for months and Thursday is the grand reopening. Apparently there’s a new menu and your father’s a bit concerned that they won’t have chicken in a basket any more. I’ve told him he can’t live in the Eighties forever.’
‘Poor Dad.’
‘What will you do about Lila? Please don’t say you’ll look for a babysitter?’
Mum abhors the idea of babysitters. She’s convinced that their sole purpose in life is to traumatise her progeny.
‘Actually,’ I say, an idea forming, ‘there’s a parent at school I could ask.’
Maybe Joe wouldn’t mind taking her for a couple of hours? I think she’d love to see Sid again, unless they’re still arguing over tooth fairy millionaires.
‘That’s what the other mums and I used to do when you and Poppy were at school. We’d take it in turns to help each other out with pick-ups or ferrying children to parties at weekends. I’m still good friends with a few of them now.’
Even my sixtysomething mother has a more thriving social set-up than I do! At least I’m working on it, I remind myself.
‘Not a mum actually, a dad.’
‘A dad?’ I can practically see my mum’s ears pricking up. ‘Well I never. Is he single, this young man?’
I decide it’s best to sign off hastily before I get a grilling or, WORSE, hear any more about Dad’s tablets.
‘Better dash, Mum, love you!’
Right then, no time like the present. I compose a possibly long-winded message to Joe in which I ask him if he’d mind terribly picking Lila up from school on Thursday and suggesting that she’d love to have a playdate with Sidney and would it be super inconvenient if he also gave her some tea because I’ve agreed to early drinks with clients but I’ll be back before bedtime and apologising profusely for having to ask.
His reply:
Sure no prob.
Huh. That was easy. This fauxmance is coming in very handy.
‘Guess what,’ I say to Lila over dinner that night.
‘Guess what.’ She grins.
‘I’ve made a fun plan for you,’ I say, spooning a bit more cottage pie onto her plate.
‘I’ve made a fun plan for you,’ she replies.
‘Oh not this again.’ I sigh.
‘Oh not this again.’
‘Lila, could we stop the copying game just for a minute?’
She repeats my sentence back to me.
I eat a mouthful of pie and give her a look which sends her into total hysteria. They say you can catch a yawn but I swear I catch the giggles off my daughter. She has the most infectious laugh. Thankfully I manage to compose myself first and while Lila is still snorting into her plate of food I blurt out my plan before she has a chance to play parrot again.
‘Would you like a playdate at Sidney’s house?’
‘YES PLEASE,’ she booms, cheeks pink from giggling.
‘Great! On Thursday, Mummy’s going out for work drinks so Sidney’s dad Joe says he can pick you and Sid up from school and take you back to theirs for tea.’
‘Are you going on another date?’
‘No, thank goodness. Auntie Poppy’s realised Mummy doesn’t like those.’
Lila eyes me suspiciously. ‘Will it be burger and chips?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Can I make a card to say thank you?’
‘That’s a lovely idea. Usually we say thank you after we’ve been for a playdate. Perhaps we could make a card together once I’ve picked you up?’
‘Yes,’ she agrees. ‘Sidney’s funny.’
‘I’m glad you like him, sweetheart.’
By the time Thursday rolls around I’m feeling excited for a night out with my new clients. I pack Lila up with a change of clothes in case she wants to ditch her uniform at Joe’s house and enjoy the buzz of achievement for simply having wrangled my daughter out of the house on time for drop-off.
Celeste is looking even more beautiful than normal, I notice as we round the corner to the school gates, and I remember that today is Thirsty Thursday. Their weekly dose of Joe. She’s stood right next to him, completely ignoring the fact that Oscar has decided to moon people passing by.
I don’t want to be territorial but I do want to make sure Joe’s getting his side of the bargain, so I put my hand on his arm as I approach. Nothing overt, we’re at the school gates after all, but hopefully an obvious marker of my ‘affection’. He flashes me a grateful look.
‘Look at you two,’ says Celeste with what I feel is a flicker if irritation. Ever since the fauxmance has been public knowledge I get the distinct impression that she’s not exactly pleased for Joe and I. She tosses her hair and addresses me directly. ‘Sophie, I have some recipes I want to Airdrop over to you.’
She’s not expecting me to cook for Joe, is she? The man can bloody well cook for himself!
‘I don’t get all that much time for cooking …’
‘Oh but these are delicious. I’ve been meaning to share them with you ever since your little slip-up with Oscar at the park a few weeks back. You know, about the ants?’
It’s too late, my mouth has dropped open. She cannot be serious?
‘Celeste,’ I begin as calmly as possible, knowing full well that I’m going to have to err on the side of diplomacy given that I’m on a friend-making mission right now. ‘I wouldn’t call it a slip-up? I don’t think school would have been thrilled if I returned six kids with insect-related tummy bugs.’ I let out a little laugh which I hope diffuses the situation, and glosses over the fact that I’m really having to keep a lid on my actual thoughts.
She’s looking towards the skies as if seeking guidance.
‘Just take a look,’ Celeste says, dropping the links on my phone with an insincere smile on her face. ‘You’ll see that the Scandinavians really are very forward thinking in terms of cuisine.’
‘I am Scandinavian,’ I say. Obviously I’m making a rather sweeping claim to my genetics à la Poppy, but it would be less impactful to add ‘one-eighth’ or whatever it is at this point.
‘Oh! How chic!’ Celeste eyes me up and down. ‘I suppose you do have that Nordic air about you. Your hair really is lovely when you wear it down, much nicer than the dreadful up-dos you often go in for.’
‘I think Sophie’s hair always looks great, up or down,’ Joe chimes in, instigating a series of ‘awws’ from the other mums.
Even so, my hand shoots up to my hair without thinking. I have been wearing it loose more recently and find myself blind-sided by that backhanded compliment. Part of me would love to put Celeste in her place and tell her that I do not appreciate the insinuation that I am not as cosmopolitan as her four-year-old child. I spent a week at a coffee expo in Copenhagen before Lila was born and it was the best research trip of my life, thank you very much! And yet, on the other hand, I am on a mission to make friends here and I don’t think having an insect face-off with Celeste will help.
‘We’ll all be eating insects soon, what with the climate crisis,’ Celeste ploughs on.
‘Ugh, not me.’ Tally wrinkles her nose. ‘Vegan.’
‘It’s very important that we all do our bit for the environment,’ Celeste insists.
‘I totally agree. Are your family vegan, Celeste?’ Tally bats back.
‘Gosh no! Oscar could not be without his fillet steak, could you, darling?’ At this point she notices that her son has his butt hanging out and she scoops his trousers back up without a word. ‘We have fillet Fridays every week, don’t we, Oscy?’
Oscar pouts, displeased to find himself fully clothed.
Tally looks revolted. ‘Think of the methane!’
‘I’d rather not.’ Celeste purses her lips.
At this point Joe steps in to ease the rising tensions between the mums. ‘Oh look, the gates have opened. Right, Sid and Lila, I’ll pick you up later!’
‘Are you having a playdate? How sweet,’ says Olivia.
With all the kids gone I can fully embrace our new ruse, reaching around Joe’s waist and beaming up at him. His arm reaches around me and I nestle in, feeling no awkwardness whatsoever. This is great. Maybe if we were actually dating it would be different? That first physical contact should be charged with hormones, shouldn’t it? Snuggling into Joe feels more like settling into a comfy sofa, somehow familiar. God, we’re evil geniuses. And Mother Nature must be too because, as it turns out, we’ve been designed so that I fit perfectly into Joe’s chest. What a stroke of luck.
Joe leans down and kisses the top of my head.
‘You guys are adorable,’ announces Frankie. ‘We should get something in the diary with my Jack too.’
‘I’d love that,’ I reply quickly.
Jesus H! This is actually working!