Chapter 11
I might be a smidge drunk. Although to be fair it was definitely the lamp-post’s fault for getting in my way just now, not mine. Who puts a lamp-post right in the middle of a pavement anyway? I must write to the council immediately, I think, rubbing my bruised forehead and turning to give the offending streetlight a hard stare. On second glance it does seem that the streetlight is not in the middle of the pavement after all.
Oh dear.
One champagne with the new clients turned into several – okay, fine … three. Or four. I might have lost count? This is unlike me. I got carried away with their enthusiasm and now, well, I am a disgrace. Gingerly, I walk up to Joe’s house and try to manifest myself sober. It’s definitely working. I round my shoulders back, gulp some fresh air and am about to ring the doorbell when I freeze. What if Sidney’s gone to bed already? I don’t want to wake him up and upset Joe right when I’ve made a new friend at school. I know I hate it when Lila’s just settled and some buffoon makes a modicum of noise on the street outside.
I do not want to be a buffoon.
Abandoning plans to ring the bell, I decide that throwing a small pebble at the window will be a better way of announcing my arrival. I scan the front garden for a nice round stone, picking one up and checking that it’s smooth.
Perfect.
I’m taking a step back, about to launch the stone at Joe’s window when I hear the front door open.
Joe is leaning against the frame, hands tucked into jean pockets, with one eyebrow raised.
‘May I ask what you’re doing?’ he asks, looking amused.
‘How did you know I was here?’ I frown. ‘I’m being as quiet as a house.’
‘As quiet as a … house?’
I think on this.
‘Mouse,’ I deduce. ‘As quiet as a mouse. Squeak squeak.’
Joe appears thoroughly entertained. ‘You triggered my doorbell sensor. And then I saw you on my phone crawling around outside as if you were looking for something?’
‘Yes! A stone! I didn’t want to wake the kids,’ I whisper, my brilliant plan suddenly feeling slightly less brilliant as I take in the scene from Joe’s eyes.
‘So you thought you’d stone my house instead?’
I glance at the pebble. Drop it.
‘The kids are still up.’ Joe still has that amused smile across his face. ‘It’s only just gone seven.’
‘Which is exactly the time I said I’d come to get Lila,’ I recall.
‘Precisely. And I also said that Sid doesn’t go to bed until around eight p.m. so …’
‘So we’re good.’ I hiccup.
‘Good night?’ Joe practically smirks as he ushers me inside.
‘Excellent,’ I say. ‘Very … celebratory. I’m a lightweight and I don’t usually have this many champagnes, especially with clients. But the drinks kept flowing and now my head feels a bit swirly.’
‘I’m glad you had fun.’
I squint at my fake boyfriend. ‘Oh GOD. Do you think I was palming Lila off on you so I could go on a piss-up? Because that is not the case. I’m usually extremely professional. Professional is my middle name. Are you cross with Sophie Professional Rogers?’
Joe hands me a glass of water which I slurp in one go. ‘Paranoid when tipsy. I’ll add that to the list of Sophie quirks I’m keeping a note of. What happened to your head?’
I reach up to feel an egg shape rising up around where I walked into the lamp-post. Mortification sets in.
‘Bit of a hump. A jump!’ I say. Joe’s eyebrows have shot skywards. ‘Wait, what? Bit of a bump. That’s it! Just a bump, nothing major.’
Joe starts wrapping an ice pack in a tea towel. ‘May I?’
He sits me down and presses the cool pack against my head, at which point two things happen.
One: the injury almost instantly hurts less.
Two: I close my eyes and inhale his earthy scent and feel the warmth of his proximity.
I was not expecting two.
He lifts the ice pack and I watch as he examines my forehead.
‘Did you just say that you’re keeping a note of my quirks?’ I ask, in need of some kind of distraction from whatever this feeling is.
‘You’re going to have quite a bruise there,’ he murmurs. ‘Could you hold this in place while I grab you some paracetamol?’ I do as I’m told while he reaches into another cupboard. ‘And yes, I am. Paranoid when drunk, quite blunt all the time, absolutely terrible tea-maker.’
‘What?’ I squeak. ‘My tea-making skills are second to none.’
‘You put the milk in first,’ he says with a look like he might be sick just at the thought of it. ‘It’s a travesty.’
The cheek of Joe.
I shake my head at the insult then quickly stop doing that because, ouch!
‘I can’t have the quality of my tea challenged without fighting back!’ I protest. ‘Did you used to run a chain of cafés, Joe Kitson? No, you did not. Though I only ever made the coffees … But that’s not the point! I will take your paracetamol and then you prepare yourself for the best brew of your life. Unless … actually, I should probably round Lila up and give you some space. But mark my words, this slur will not go unchecked.’
Joe regards me with a lop-sided grin. ‘There’s no need to rush off. The kids are really happy.’ He nudges the living room door open and I see Lila and Sid sitting cross-legged on the floor next to empty plates, a jigsaw in front of them.
‘Hi, Lila!’ I call enthusiastically.
‘Hi, Mum,’ she responds, not bothering to look up from the puzzle.
‘So she missed me desperately then,’ I quip, preparing to cup-of-tea the shit out of Joe. ‘Where are your mugs?’
He hands me three.
‘And I thought I was the drunk and disorderly one … There are only two of us.’
‘Mum! Perfect timing,’ Joe says, grinning as the kitchen door opens behind me. I spin round (ouch – my head!) to see a tall woman with striking grey hair walk in, a tray in her hand. ‘This is my friend Sophie. Sophie, my mum Denise.’
I make a squawking sound which I try and style into a hello. I can’t meet Joe’s mum while still tipsy and sporting an egg-shaped drunken bruise on my head! What will she think of me? Her son’s been looking after my child while I head out and get drunk on a school night …
I get on and pour milk into the mugs, add teabags and wait for the kettle to boil.
‘Sophie,’ she says in a broad Irish accent, a smile sweeping across her face. ‘Your Lila is divine. She’s eaten two of my cookies and was campaigning for a third but I thought her mam might not approve of too many treats at teatime.’
Denise brings a cosy energy into the kitchen and I immediately feel like I want to sit down at the table, let her cover me in blankets and sing me a bedtime song. This is an odd and vaguely inappropriate thought I suppose, but I can’t put my finger on if it’s the champagne or actually Denise that is doing it to me.
‘Would you like one?’ she asks, seeing me eye up the remaining cookies. ‘They’re a new vegan recipe I’m trying out. Apple crumble flavour. They’re gluten-free too, naturally. I suppose you’ve heard about my Joe’s issues?’
Joe looks quite miffed at this and starts muttering about it being ‘no big deal’.
‘I’d love one, yes please,’ I say, plonking myself back down.
One mouthful later and I remember how blooming good these were the last time around, when Joe handed me some after the bake sale.
‘Mrs Kitson, you can bake.’
‘Dear god, it’s Denise.’ She grins.
‘Perfect with a cup of tea,’ Joe says, handing out the brews I just made.
Denise takes a sip. ‘Jaysus, what’s that? Dishwater, Joe! Did I not teach you better?’
Joe is absolutely beaming while my toes curl in mortification. Is my tea really that bad?
‘I made that,’ I confess. ‘Joe was quite rude about my tea-making skills earlier so I thought I’d prove him wrong but …’
‘This proves that your tea does, in fact, taste like shite,’ Joe announces, triumphant.
His mum shoots him a look that could kill small animals.
‘Joseph! Don’t be so rude.’
‘You’re the one who called it dishwater,’ Joe points out, affronted. ‘Sophie puts the milk in first.’
For a micro-second a look of horror flashes across Denise’s face before she recovers herself. ‘Don’t argue with your mother! Sophie made the tea and the tea is delicious.’
‘But …’ Joe folds his arms across his chest and I feel a bubble of laughter building deep in my stomach.
‘Thank you, Denise.’ I grin. ‘I’m so pleased you’re enjoying it.’
‘Now you’re just ganging up on me,’ Joe huffs.
‘Us women have to stick together, am I right, Sophie?’
‘So right.’ I nod, picking up the last of the cookie crumbs with my index finger.
‘Now, I’m going to warm some milk for the little ones before bed, I take it you’re staying over?’ She looks at me.
‘Oh, crikey no! I’ve just come to pick Lila up.’
‘But sure, look at that head injury. You can’t leave. Joe’s got plenty of space. Anyhow, it’s howling out there.’
‘Is it?’ I ask, looking out of the window to see the rain now lashing down.
‘Look, Sophie, it’s raining and you hadn’t noticed.’ Joe grins. I narrow my eyes at him.
‘You’ll catch your death,’ confirms Denise.
‘Er …’
‘You’re very welcome to,’ confirms Joe. ‘Sidney has bunks and I’ve a spare bedroom for you.’
I glance from Joe to Denise and back again. I know I shouldn’t stay but I’m feeling too drunk to go home and put Lila to bed. And I’ll have to be Sensible Sophie again when I’ve had such a fun night and it’s lovely to be surrounded by adults who are easy to talk to. And it feels so cosy here. The smell of milk warming on the hob. A faint hint of what I suspect was spaghetti bolognaise for tea still lingering in the air. I can’t remember the last time I agreed to a spontaneous sleepover but Tipsy Sophie isn’t completely against the idea.
‘If you’re really sure?’
‘Wonderful.’ Denise beams, and it’s a done deal. She grabs her coat and adds: ‘See you soon, son.’
‘Hang on, you can’t leave in the storm if I can’t!’
Denise regards me with a twinkle. ‘I used to walk six miles to school and back come rain or shine. I’ll be just fine. I’ll be back in the morning to take the kiddies to school.’
‘Wait!’ I call before she leaves. ‘I could do drop-off tomorrow? It would save you the journey and I’ll be here anyway, so I might as well.’
Denise mulls this over.
‘It would be my way of saying thanks for the cookies and the tea solidarity.’
‘Go on then.’ She smiles. ‘Thank you, love.’
The kids have gone to sleep (a miracle considering how thrilled they were that Lila was staying for a sleepover) and I am pretty much completely sober by the time Joe shows me the spare room where I’ll sleep (surprisingly tidy). Joe potters off to find me some makeshift pyjamas for the night and then presents me with a pair of long johns and a ginormous Red Hot Chili Peppers T-shirt.
‘This is quite the look,’ I note as I emerge from the bathroom in my new get-up. ‘May I ask why you own long johns?’
‘From a ski trip many moons ago, before I realised that I’m a hot-blooded Irish man and that salopettes are quite warm enough on their own. I’d only been in a cable car for ten seconds before I steamed the whole thing up, I was that hot. Haven’t worn them since.’
‘You have washed them though, right?’
‘Nope. Left them good and sweaty.’
Assuming he’s joking, I lunge around the room to emphasise the gaping crotch area. ‘Roomy.’
‘It’s definitely a look.’ He laughs as I collapse down on the sofa.
‘Joe? How old’s your mum, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Sixty-three.’
‘She seems so … capable. Who insists that a woman in her thirties has a sleepover at her son’s house while she herself intends to walk home in a storm? Shouldn’t we have made her stay? I feel bad.’
Joe chortles. ‘You cannot make Denise do anything. She grew up on a farm in rural Ireland surrounded by rabbits and she looked after her many, many siblings while my Grandma and Grandad were out working the land. Honestly, if you ever try telling her to do something can you let me know first? I’ll come and watch, for the crack.’
‘She’s great. And those cookies!’
‘Are you angling for another?’
‘I mean, obviously.’
‘Right, I’ll fetch the cookies and make us another drink, you see if there’s something for us to watch on TV.’
‘And here I was thinking we’d share a bottle of wine and our thoughts on Chekhov,’ I tease.
‘It is still too soon to make jokes like that, Rogers.’
I stretch out on the sofa and observe Joe’s lovely eclectic house. There are paintings on every wall in the living room, from Banksy-style graffiti to watercolours of Bristol. In the middle of the room is a brightly coloured rug, a sofa and an armchair lined up around it. He has a log-burner on one side of the room and an enormous stack of well-thumbed books on the bookshelf next to it. There are postcards and Lego spaceships on the mantelpiece and a teepee in one corner, where Joe shoved all of Sidney’s toys once the kids had gone to sleep. Clever!
I get a text message from Mum:
Hi darling! Decided to message as it’s late.
Oops didn’t mean to send that!
Your father and I had a lovely meal at Royal Oak tonight.
Met the new landlord, Akoni Jones.
Very nice chap. Dad embarrassed us all by complaining about lack of “simple food” on menu.
Oops again!
Anyway Akoni told Dad he’s on the hunt for someone to help with branding so I mentioned you!
He’s got your number and will get in touch
I splutter at the aubergine.
What’s with the aubergine emoji, Mum?
She replies with a string of other veg emojis, a final ‘oops’ and two kisses.
Joe comes back in with a couple of hot chocolates and we settle on a travel programme where a celebrity couple visit luxury hotels around the globe. We’re quiet for a while as we watch the camera cut to an infinity pool with far-reaching views of the Caribbean Sea and I find myself nestling into the sofa, crossing my legs.
The move means that my left knee is now pressed into Joe’s thigh but he’s either too polite to grumble (unlikely) or he simply doesn’t mind.
‘Pair of lucky bastards,’ Joe tuts towards the TV. ‘Jetting about on an all-expenses-paid trip around the world and calling it work. Look at that man, peacocking around in his skin-tight T-shirt. And why’s his girlfriend wearing such high heels around the pool?’ Joe rubs his forehead. ‘Surely that’s a hazard?’
‘It’s a whole thing.’ I chuckle.
‘Do you wear heels at the beach?’ Joe asks, confused.
‘Chance would be a fine thing. Last time Lila and I went for a trip to the seaside I ended up caked in a sand, ice cream and sun lotion mix that was very hard to get off.’
‘Same.’ Joe smiles at the common ground. ‘I wouldn’t say no to a trip there, though.’
‘You must write to Netflix immediately,’ I reply, grabbing a cookie. ‘Offer yourself as a replacement for these two.’
‘Don’t think I quite have the celebrity status. Or the other half, for that matter.’
Joe touches on the subject I want to ask him more about – but I’m also worried that I might upset him by doing so. Instead I stuff more cookie into my gob so I don’t have to say anything.
‘Claire would find this hilarious, you know? She’d be telling me to start dating properly rather than piss around creating a make-believe romance.’
‘Consider it a dry run?’ I suggest. ‘You can practise your dating technique on me. Maybe I’ll even give you feedback and pointers along the way.’
‘I’m sure the offers will come flying in after that,’ he teases.
‘Oi! There’s no need to be rude. Tip number one, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’
‘You’re absolutely right.’ He grins. ‘Please accept my sincere apology.’
‘You wouldn’t know a sincere apology if it bit you on the butt.’
Joe shifts so that he’s facing me on the sofa and I turn to mirror him.
‘Sophie, what happened with your ex-husband? Does he not see Lila? You said there was a “whole drama” there when we went out for pizza.’
‘That wasn’t a practice chat-up line, was it? Because I’d say you’re missing your mark by a loooong way.’
He gives me a look which makes me laugh before I resettle.
‘Ex-husband? Oof.’ I exhale. ‘“Whole drama” is kind of an understatement.’
‘Tell me to get lost if this is too personal,’ Joe says.
‘No, it’s fine,’ I reply. ‘My sister Poppy calls Mark a “complete turd” and she’s probably not wrong. We met at university. I’d started selling toasties on campus to make some cash. The toastie stall got really popular, especially the vegan ones I made, and one of my regulars was Mark. He offered to throw in some seed money to help grow the brand outside of uni and it snowballed. It was my idea and my business acumen that built it up, alongside his contacts and the start-up cash from his family. It was flying by the time I got pregnant. We now have – or rather he now has – a handful of cafés called Mylk It across London.’
‘But it didn’t work out?’
‘Mark didn’t want kids.’ I shrug. ‘Most parents talk of the love they felt for their child from the moment they were born but for me, it happened nine months earlier. Those two unexpected lines on a pregnancy test changed everything. My marital status. My career. The city I lived in. That tiny bundle of cells become my new centre of gravity and I’ve been basically obsessed with Lila ever since, to the point where she will probably need therapy when she’s older.’
Joe grins knowingly.
‘Obviously I’m less obsessed with her when she wakes me up at five a.m. but you know what I mean, right? When I got pregnant I also found out he was being unfaithful and I knew I just had to get out. Completely out. My lawyer thought I was mad not to ask for financial support from him but I was insistent. All I wanted was sole custody because if Mark wasn’t going to support us emotionally then I didn’t want any money from him either.’
I pause. Joe’s watching me with a sort of brooding intensity.
‘So I sold my shares in the company, kept a stake for Lila to secure her future, moved back to Bristol and started working as a consultant for other businesses instead.’
Joe lets out a low whistle. ‘You’re a tough cookie, Sophie.’
‘I have a bit of a stubborn streak.’
‘And where is he now?’
‘Still in London running my old business.’
Joe looks put out on my behalf. ‘That’s a lot to give up.’
I pause to take another sip of hot chocolate. ‘I don’t feel like I gave it up, more that I chose to move forward. It was all on my terms. I’m incredibly proud that I built something successful but that business is tinted with bad memories for me now, and I have a much more balanced life these days. I choose my clients, I work flexible hours and I’m home on time to see Lila most days. I couldn’t ask for more than that.’
Joe nudges my mug with his. ‘Cheers to that.’
Emboldened by the flow of conversation, I find the questions I’ve been so keen to ask come pouring out.
‘Do you want to find love again, like those two?’ I nod towards the TV.
‘I mean, I’m not sure I could handle all the manscaping involved in that guy’s incredibly smooth appearance. And I have a feeling Stilettos at the Pool might be a bit intense for me?’
‘What? I bet she’d love it if you sang love songs to her on your guitar.’ I grin.
Joe smiles, briefly catching my eye. ‘To answer your question, for a long time I thought that was it, you know? Claire was the love of my life. But I don’t like to picture myself going through life alone. It’s weird, Claire and I had a discussion about this before she died. She said: “If I’m not around, I want you to seek happiness. I want you to live.”’ He pauses, nods. ‘I’d said exactly the same to her but it’s easy when it’s hypothetical, isn’t it?’
‘Do you mind me asking how she died?’
‘Hit by a drunk driver,’ he says, eyes cast down.
‘Jesus, I’m so sorry.’
‘Thanks. Me too.’
‘I … I don’t know how you get through something like that.’
‘I’ve seen first-hand how fragile life can be,’ Joe says. ‘It made me vow to make the most of it. And I had our son. I can see so much of Claire in Sidney. The way he cannot stop laughing when he gets the giggles. His absolute delight when he spots any small, fluffy animal. The way he is incredibly particular about what he wears. She’ll always be with us.’
To my horror, my eyes start swimming with tears and I find myself blinking furiously in the hope that Joe doesn’t notice, but it’s too late.
‘I need to lighten the mood,’ he says.
‘No, please,’ I insist. ‘It’s just … so sad.’
Without a word said we both change positions, and sit normally again on the sofa and stay there beside each other silently, me pretending to watch the show while really my heart breaks for Joe and Sid. When an ad break begins I realise I’ve still got tears rolling down my cheeks so I very swiftly make my excuses and head to bed. The last thing Joe needs is to see me getting upset over his pain.