Chapter 12
So this is what the walk of shame feels like when you’re a single mother in her thirties. Not that I approve of the phrase ‘walk of shame’ ofc. What is there to be ashamed of? Every once in a while I like to imagine a different past for myself, one where I didn’t meet Mark and get into the only long-term relationship of my life at aged nineteen. In this alternate reality I’d have spent my university years exploring bodies, dipping in and out of relationships. There’d be walks home after nights out that lasted long into the next day, the scent of someone new still on my skin. There’d be fun and adventure. But you can’t regret the decisions you made in the past, what’s the point? I created a business, I built a career. And I made Lila, who’s skipping ahead of me now with Sid. The other parents at the school gate are openly staring as they watch me turn up with Joe’s child as well as my own, and yesterday’s clothes on.
Frankie is positively jubilant.
‘Sophie,’ she purrs, wide-eyed as she readjusts baby Helen in her sling. ‘Did you and Joe have a little sleepover? I can’t remember the last time I had s. e. x. with my husband. Probably this one’s creation.’ She jiggles the baby up and down. ‘Months and months ago. Gotta say, Sophie, and please don’t be offended, but you are one lucky lady.’
I let out a low rumble of laughter. There’s something about Frankie’s openness I really like.
‘I did stay over, it was such a laugh.’ It suddenly strikes me that Joe and I are meant to be in the first throes of romance. ‘Terribly exciting,’ I add as an afterthought. Terribly exciting? I sound like I’m discussing a new doughnut flavour not gabbing about my steamy love life. Joe’s right, I do need to improve my love language.
‘Tell me more.’ Frankie leans in.
‘What, now?’ I wonder whether school drop-off is the best time to share salacious details of my made-up sex life with a sex-starved mother-of-three.
‘Why not? The kids are all trying to climb the railings over there.’
Frankie’s right.
Okay. Sex life. Let’s see. In the latter years Mark and I tended to schedule sex around our calendars and, if I remember rightly, Thursday and Sunday mornings were the most convenient. Things were perfunctory at best. Well, there’s no way my imaginary new boyfriend and our fictitious sex life are going to be so dull!
‘We’re still in that adventurous phase,’ I say with a wink. Who even am I? ‘Joe’s a very … considerate lover. He’s so thoughtful, he always puts my needs first and he’s big into romance.’ He’s going to kill me if this gets out, I realise with a chuckle. The other mums have huddled around now, hanging on my every word, and I’ve never felt so included. ‘We’re very content,’ I add before I tip over into the downright indecent.
Frankie is trying to fan herself with a packet of wet wipes.
‘Yes, babe,’ Tally cheers. ‘So guys, as you know it’s my birthday in April and I’m renting a little barn by the coast for a weekend. I was wondering if you and Joe fancy coming, Sophie? So far we’ve got Celeste and Douglas, Frankie and Dave, and Olivia and Nish. Mel and Richard are down as maybes depending on whether Mel’s on call that weekend. Grown-ups only, I feel like we all desperately need a break from the kids. What do you think?’
‘Yes,’ I practically shout, delighted with the invite. This is the best drop-off yet. Obviously I’ll need to check babysitting etc but I’m hopeful we can make it work. ‘We’d love that. Thanks!’
‘It’ll be cool to get to know you better.’
That’s it. Surely Lila will always be included from this point on.
‘Mm,’ says Celeste, and I can’t tell if she’s agreeing with Tally or casting aspersions. ‘Now ladies, I’m working all weekend so I’m taking the rest of today off.’
‘From what?’ mutters Tally under her breath.
‘My cuticles are in desperate need of some tlc so I’m planning a spa day. I’ve got ribbon-cutting and meet and greets all weekend,’ Celeste continues. ‘Oscar’s nanny’s doing pick-up tonight. Anyway, this is just a gentle reminder to the Barnaby’s Babes that we have a meeting on Monday, okay? I’ll see you then!’
Back at home, I find Poppy in my garden wearing a giant duvet coat. She’s got her laptop resting on a wooden table out there, her trainers propped up on the steps leading to my small lawn as she types.
‘I wasn’t expecting to see you today,’ I call out from the kitchen.
‘The sun came out!’ she cheers. ‘I mean, I know it’s still freezing and we’re only in March but I wanted to get my face in the sun. And I couldn’t work at home because so much as a sniff of sunshine and Adam’s flat becomes a glass inferno.’
I head out to join her.
‘How is Adam?’
Adam is Poppy’s best friend from school. The two of them were so close growing up that when they didn’t get into the same university, she threatened to pull out of higher education full stop. Our mum, who’d never been to uni herself, was very keen for her girls to go and it was only after some stern words from her that Poppy flew the nest at all. When Poppy left London, she moved straight into his flat in Bristol. They’ve been living together ever since.
‘Same old,’ she says, burrowing deeper in the duvet coat. ‘Why he insisted on buying a penthouse in Stokes Croft I’ll never know. The seagulls wake us up at dawn every single morning. The whole thing is made of glass so from spring through to autumn it’s bloody boiling. And he still claims that I don’t know how to stack the dishwasher properly.’
‘That’s because you don’t,’ I say. ‘You could always move out, Pop? Find somewhere of your own?’
‘Christ no.’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m a social being, I need company in the evenings. And Adam has excellent taste in films. And a cleaner.’
Over a decade ago I made the grave mistake of suggesting that Poppy and Adam were actually very much in love, only to be met by an absolute barrage of abuse from my little sister. Some may say that she protested too much but not me, I knew not to push it. I haven’t broached the subject since, even though Adam is clearly devoted to her. I mean, he lets her live with him for a start and she is a terrible pig to share a house with. Clothes and make-up everywhere. Not an organiser in sight. She holds a Romantic Poetry Appreciation Society in his flat once a month and Adam joins in even though he once told me that he has no idea what Lord Byron was harping on about. And he’s the only person on the planet, as far as I can tell, who is actually able to stand up to Poppy when she’s at her most demanding.
But they’re definitely not in love.
‘Did you get the homework in on time?’
‘I did. How’s Joe?’
‘He’s good. I met his mum last night. She made these amazing vegan cookies.’
‘Ooh!’ Poppy jumps up. ‘That’s a big step. Are things getting serious? What’s his mum like? I need to meet this guy properly soon, Soph, because …’
‘Because?’ I prompt.
‘Because … you know.’ She suddenly looks sheepish. ‘Just to double check.’
‘May I remind you that you have already met?’
‘Yes but that was before you two started boning.’
‘Can we please stop calling it that?’
‘I just want to make sure he’s acceptable.’
‘He is extremely acceptable,’ I retort. ‘He’s kind and thoughtful. He returns lost ducklings to their mummy ducks. He applies ice packs to drunken fools when they’ve banged their head. He’s adorable with Lila. I mean, sure, he’s a bit rude sometimes and he has made me paranoid about my tea-making skills but—’
‘You can’t make tea for shit.’
‘But,’ I press on, ‘other than that, he’s lovely.’ I realise with a jolt that I wasn’t making any of that up. I meant it. Joe is surprisingly acceptable after all. Quite annoying at times, of course, but still.
Poppy watches me closely. ‘Hoo boy. Are you smitten already? You sound it!’
I can’t figure out what to say. Joe is actually pretty cool?
‘What’s his mum like?’ Poppy asks.
‘So sweet and funny too. They have a really cute relationship. We haven’t told her that we’re dating just yet,’ I add, remembering what Joe and I discussed. ‘There seems like a lot more at stake when you start dating as a parent. And you know I haven’t told Mum either.’
‘I won’t say anything until you’re ready,’ Poppy says, shading the sun from her eyes.
‘Thank you,’ I say, relieved. ‘It’s—’
‘Early days. I know, I know. And I am happy for you, Soph. You’re smiling a lot more these days. And your wardrobe really has taken a massive turn for the better.’
‘Oh, thanks.’ I beam. ‘I’ve stepped into my colourful era. Do you fancy staying over tonight? We could get a takeaway and watch The OC like we did when we were kids.’
‘Can we do makeovers too?’
‘Only if I get to be Marissa?’
‘Yes! I’ll bring the shimmery lip gloss and the hip-hugging denim.’
‘It’s a date.’
Naturally Lila wanted in on the makeover action and she’s now gone to bed wearing a vintage Juicy Couture hoodie that Paris Hilton would have been proud of. I’m still wearing a silk scarf masquerading as a top and an extremely low-slung denim miniskirt while Poppy is tottering around in a floaty dress over jeans. Combine that with our bright pink eyeshadow, shiny lips and big hair and we look very early Noughties.
‘This is nice,’ I say as Poppy tips the remnants of a bottle of white wine into our glasses. ‘Hanging out, just the two of us. You not pestering me about my love life.’
‘You should invite Joe to Sunday lunch with Mum and Dad. Royal Oak?’
‘Crikey Pop, give us a minute, will you?’
‘What? It’ll be a nice way to get to know him.’
‘Well, yes, I agree. I’ll, er, think about it,’ I say, not wanting to be pinned down to a date. We’re only a month into the plan and I’d hate to do a big family meal before we felt ready. I’m also starting to feel a bit guilty about lying to Poppy about this whole thing, though I keep reminding myself it’s for the best, and it won’t last forever.
‘Speaking of The Royal Oak, did I tell you that Mum has found me a new client? She went there for dinner a while back, met the new owner, you know the rugby star?’
‘Mum did mention something.’
‘Turns out he’s looking for business advice so I’m doing some work for him.’
‘Nice,’ Poppy says before conversation turns to more pressing matters of the day. Like how Seth’s dad is conflictingly hot now that we’re watching The OC twenty-plus years on. We’re interrupted when my phone rings. It’s Joe on video call.
‘Everything okay?’ I ask, accepting the call before my face pops up on screen and I’m reminded that I look like a teenager from 2002.
‘Sophie?’ He peers at his phone. ‘You look … different. Very shiny.’
‘Hello, Joe!’ Poppy butts in, practically knocking me out of shot. ‘I’m Sophie’s sister Poppy. We’ve met a few times at school.’
‘Nice to see you again, Poppy.’ He squints at his phone and clears his throat. ‘Are you wearing any clothes, Soph?’
I realise it’s just collar bones in shot. ‘We’re doing makeovers,’ I explain. Joe’s eyebrow twitches in delight. I lean back to prove I am actually clothed. ‘Look, a scarf-top.’
‘She looks fit, right?’ Poppy says. ‘Still got it, my sister.’
‘Very fit,’ Joe agrees and as Poppy prods me in the ribs, out of shot, my cheeks go pink again. ‘Sorry to interrupt. I forgot to check earlier if you’re going to the parents meeting next week?’
Poppy jerks her head back in my direction, her heavily sprayed quiff nearly knocking me out. ‘What’s this now? I thought you thought the school parents were a like the cast of Mean Girls?’
‘I did, but Joe and I joined together and they’re less mean when he’s around. It’s a nice chance for me to get to know them better. Joe’s officially a Barnaby’s Babe,’ I tease.
‘Oh I love how you call your boyfriend a babe,’ Poppy says.
I go pink and Joe barks a laugh.
‘The least said about the Barnaby’s Babes the better,’ he growls. ‘So you’re coming, Soph?’
‘Of course!’
‘Great. Mum’s babysitting Sid and can take Lila too?’
‘That’s really kind but I already feel like she’s done enough.’
‘She gave you one cookie.’ Joe laughs. ‘Where Mum’s from, that’s borderline awful hospitality when you meet a new friend. She won’t be happy until you’ve moved into her house and eaten everything in her fridge.’
I agree and thank him, but I’m not sure he can hear me over the noise of Poppy cooing at how sweet his mum sounds. And when I hang up, she simply says: ‘Too. Cute.’