17
The day after her night of passion with Max, she walked to work with a spring in her step and a Minnie Ripperton song trilling away in her head. She wouldn’t have been at all surprised if zip-a-dee-doo-dah bluebirds had landed on her shoulder. It was amazing what an irrefutably splendid shag could do.
‘You look fantastic!’ said Donna.
Polly gave her a broad grin.
‘You haven’t!’ said Donna – looking as if she was busting for a squeal.
‘I have!’ declared Polly, causing her assistant to release The Squeal.
‘Eeeeeeeee!’
I mean, Oh My God , thought Polly, as she squealed back at Donna. Five times! Five glorious again-and-again shags. Three last night, and two this morning! That had to be a record.
Polly looked up as Max strode into the shop, just as she was serving two schoolgirls who were in the process of buying a vintage teacup filled with lavender-scented wax. Max sidled up behind her to place a kiss behind her ear. ‘Max!’ she admonished him. The girls shoved each other, giggling. He gave them a wink, which made them giggle even more.
‘Sorry,’ Polly said to them, pushing Max away with her hip. He feigned interest in a rack of baby clothes as she placed the fushsia-pink-crepe-paper-wrapped girls’ purchase into a bag stencilled with her shop logo.
Nudging each other, the schoolgirls made their exit.
‘Right, I’m all yours,’ Polly said, then half wished she hadn’t as it caused Max to pull her towards him – much to her embarrassment.
‘Excuse me, why don’t you?’ announced Donna as she emerged from the basement where they kept their stock, carrying a mug of coffee in her hand. ‘I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone, shall I?’ and she moved to the back of the shop where she did a bad job of pretending not to eavesdrop.
‘You smell divine,’ Max whispered into Polly’s hair. Polly was feeling much like a giddy schoolgirl herself and, before she could tell him to behave, Max had pulled her in for a full kiss on the mouth. When he finally let go, she felt rather giddy and unsteady on her feet but could see Donna giving her the thumbs-up behind his back.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he said.
‘Don’t be daft,’ she said, pushing him away. ‘I only saw you just last night – a few hours ago.’
‘I had to come in and see you,’ he said, turning and giving Donna a wink and then making a sad face at her. ‘I also have to impart some very sad news. No, listen. I’m off filming for a couple of days.’ That was sad, she thought, especially as he was now stroking her arm and causing all her little hairs to stand on end. ‘You must stop being quite so delicious, Polly,’ he murmured, now running his hands down the length of her body. ‘You know how much you turn me on, you minx.’
‘Stop it,’ she mouthed.
‘Stop it yourself,’ he said. ‘And now look,’ he added, peering down at his obvious erection. ‘See what you’ve done to me?’ Mischievously he stared into her eyes. ‘I can’t go yet, can I? Not until this bad boy has gone down.’
She had to admit that it was pretty spectacular, and even though smutty, she couldn’t resist feeling smug at the effect she was having on him, or being pleased that her allure had returned. Donna – not missing a thing – gave her a mock shocked face then threw up her hands, before moving behind the curtain at the back of the shop.
‘I’ve got a brilliant idea,’ he said, his face all close and blurry. ‘How’s about me, you and the kids all get together on Sunday? Hmm? You could meet my son, Ben.’ He took a step back. ‘Will Sunday afternoon suit you? And Rowan? Even better – how about lunchtime? That way we can combine a walk with a picnic.’ (What was it with weekend fathers and picnics?)
‘Sounds lovely,’ she said, beaming at him, because she was feeling – hang on, she did a quick check – yes, she was actually feeling happy. This could work; me, Max and our children. I don’t need Spike. Who’s Spike, anyway, but a ghost from the past?
As Max backed out of her shop, camera bag held in front of his crotch area, he gave her a cheeky salute, just as Donna came out of hiding to stand alongside Polly. ‘He’s like a dog with two dicks, that one,’ she said, causing Polly to snort with laughter.
‘So?’ said Donna. ‘How was he in the sack, eh?’ Looking her up and down, she added, ‘Ooh, you dirty mare,’ then pulled her to the back of the shop. ‘Right, come on, madam. Spill the beans.’
On her drive home, Polly saw her mother – yes, it was definitely Suze – crossing the road and heading into the Nuffield Hospital in Clifton Village. Bit weird. Because if Suze was in town, why hadn’t she arranged to meet up with Polly? Or arrange to see her granddaughter? Maybe Suze was booked in to have more work done on her face and didn’t want Polly to know – as Suze knew how her daughter disapproved. She’d been vocal on more than one occasion about the fact that her mother was beginning to get that pillow-face look from too many fillers and Botox.
I suppose I should ring her and check that nothing untoward is happening , she thought, as she indicated right to turn down the hill. And then immediately forgot all about it.
*
Polly made a start on tidying up. New boyfriend/ new start/ tidy house. Right. Things are going to change – for the better – starting with this mess.
Enlisting the help of Rowan to put away her toys in the gaily painted pine chest, they made a start, but Rowan was soon distracted by the Fisher Price garage she’d discovered on clambering inside the chest. ‘C’mon, Ro Ro,’ Polly said, reaching down to lift out both Rowan and her prize – firmly grasped between Rowan’s pudgy fists. ‘Oof. You’ll have to cut down on those Jammie Dodgers, young lady.’
She decided it was probably best if Rowan was left to quietly entertain herself with her garage and toy cars. At least it might distract her from posting bits of paper into the DVD slot on the side of the television, or down her favourite gaps in the floorboards – into which she was particularly fond of slotting pieces of Lego, or even a whole book! She blamed Rowan’s favourite TV character – Postman Pat. The theme tune started to play in her head, just when her mobile rang.
Phone, phone, where did I put my phone? Ringing coming from the direction of… hall… inside bag… scrabbling around inside… Why don’t they ever ring long enough? she thought, as it rang off the very moment she located it. Caller ID said “Vanessa” and she rang her voicemail.
‘Hi, it’s Vanessa here. I do hope you’re free next Wednesday as we want to film you at home – at your house, yes? We’ll see you then – round about eight o’clock. Great. Okay. Bye.’
Honestly, that woman.
Back in her sitting room, Rowan was banging a plastic skittle on the feet of Cap’n Jack. Polly sighed and, abandoning her tidy, mooched over to the dining table, where she fired up her laptop as Rowan vroom-vrrooomed a newly found toy pick-up truck across the floor. Logging onto her Facebook account, Polly told herself she was merely going to check the shop’s site, that’s all. She was not going to check her old boyfriend’s Facebook account. Oh, who was she kidding? She clicked onto Spike’s page where his status read “In a relationship with Bam Tyler”. Of course it would. What did she expect? His cover photo of Spike and Bam sitting at a beachside bar sipping cocktails while smiling happily in front of a glorious sunset. Slowly she closed the lid shut. Enough , she told herself. Enough already .
*
Max sent her flowers from Manchester – where he was filming – and they now took centre place on her kitchen table. A good and constant reminder that she was part of a couple too. So there , she thought, emphatically nodding her head.
Over the course of the next few days, Max sent her text messages when he could, and they even indulged in a naughty phone conversation late one night. It was exciting – it was wicked, and more importantly it did a good job of driving silly thoughts of Spike from her mind. Plus, there was the picnic on Sunday to look forward to, she reminded herself. Frequently.
*
Saturday, the day of Spike’s access visit with Rowan, arrived. All afternoon Polly was on tenterhooks in the shop, knowing that Mel or Daisy would have done the handover and that Rowan was now with Spike and Bam. As time wore on, she couldn’t help but worry about how things were going, and especially whether Spike had remembered to keep tight hold of Rowan’s hand if they should walk anywhere near traffic. She’d sent him a long text that morning reminding and giving him instructions (again), and since then a couple more text messages (just to be on the safe side and) to check that nothing untoward had happened. In return she’d received his cheery assurances. Would phoning as well be too much? Yes, she decided, it would.
Finally, it was time to shut up shop for the day and her phone beeped as she was locking up. We’re all at Daisy’s house , the text read. Rowan fine. Come right over. Laters. Mel xx
It was Bam who greeted Polly at the door; kissing her on both cheeks as if they were best buddies. ‘Come in, come in.’ Turning her head, she shouted, ‘Hey, everyone, Polly’s here! Rowan! Mummy’s here!’ Then addressing Polly, added, ‘I think the kids are out in the backyard. C’mon through, hon.’
Well, she’s certainly made herself at home , thought Polly, as she stepped over the threshold. Bam was wearing a light blue jersey dress which clung in all the right places and ended just above her knees. Angular boy-like knees; the sort Polly wished she had instead of her hated round ones.
Daisy called, ‘We’re in the kitchen!’
Daisy’s house was two doors down from Polly’s. It had bigger proportions, with a longer tiered garden, and the kitchen expansive enough to house a welcoming and well-used kitchen table, an Aga cooker, plus a breakfast bar at which Daisy sat, cutting fresh-out-of-the-oven brownies into squares. ‘Fancy a cuppa or a glass of wine?’ she asked as she glanced up at Polly. ‘Can I tempt you with a brownie? The kids made them, so I have no idea what they’ll taste like!’ Daisy gave one a sniff – ‘Smells all right.’
Bam headed for the French doors – ‘I’ll let the others know you’re here,’ she said with a smile to Polly.
‘Come on…’ said Daisy, passing her friend a tall glass ‘…have a Bellini.’
Polly took a sip of its smooth peach juiciness mixed with Prosecco bubbliness and immediately felt better. ‘Cheers,’ she said, plonking herself down on a stool opposite her friend. ‘I’ve had a pig of a day, full of awkward customers, and I’m trying my best to be all cool about Spike’s first access visit with Rowan.’
‘Poor you. I’d have been worried sick all day,’ said Daisy. ‘Still,’ she dropped her voice to a whisper, ‘I hear it all went fine. No dramas. And Rowan seems to have really taken to Spike.’ Daisy made large beckoning signs to her husband, Phil, who Polly could see was in the garden swinging a giggling Morwenna around by her arms, her feet narrowly missing Spike, who was coopied down next to Rowan. Spike got to his feet as Bam approached. Still absorbed, and clearly oblivious that her mother had arrived, Rowan was poking dandelion leaves through the bars of the hutch of Dexter – the psycho-killer rabbit (so called because he tried to bite the children whenever he was picked up). Polly watched Bam slip her arm through Spike’s and then indicate towards the kitchen. Spike gave Polly a wave and tapped Rowan on the shoulder. But Rowan was having none of it. She shook off his hand, muttering something. Probably insisting that Nothing Means No, thought Polly. Spike gave a Gallic-type shrug at Polly then bounded into the kitchen to envelop her in a hug. Unprepared, she flushed a deep rosy colour.
‘I’m afraid Rowan’s more interested in Dexter than you,’ he grinned, standing back to look at her, as Phil bustled past Spike and delivered a peck on the cheek. ‘Hey, Polls. How’s tricks?’
‘Give the poor girl a drink,’ ordered Daisy, fingers chocolately from the brownies. ‘I’ve nearly finished dividing these up.’
‘Righty-ho,’ said Phil, full of his usual bonhomie, as befitted his restrained boarding school upbringing, thought Polly – as polite and cheerful were two words that would spring to mind if she ever had to describe Phil.
Spike was watching Polly rather too intently for her liking; for Bam’s too, she surmised, as Bam moved in to whisper something – clearly intimate – into his ear. Spike placed his arm around her waist, and Bam leant into him. Polly turned away, wishing Max was there. She’d never felt like such a spare part before, not even when Mel was in a couple. By the way, where was Mel?
‘Filthy Lidl plonk, okay?’ Phil waved an already opened bottle at her.
‘Yes please,’ she said, thankful for the cold glass and the wine’s crisp chillness. ‘Cheers!’ She lifted her glass as if toasting her two pairs of friends. ‘That’s better,’ she said, after taking a large sip then wiping her brow with the back of her hand.
Determined to put a brave face on things, she was glad she’d applied lippy and zhooshed up her hair in the car. And also that earlier – after Mel’s text announcing that Bam and Spike would still be at Daisy’s – she’d popped back to her shop and borrowed one of the frocks newly in from a tea dance range: a floaty if not flighty little number, with pretty flower pattern, capped sleeves and low-cut bodice. She’d thought it cute, but now – next to Bam – she felt more frump than fab.
Taking another gulp of wine and pulling her pink angora fluffy cardigan around herself, she thought, Stop it – you’re having a lovely time .
With a deep breath, she turned to Spike. ‘So, did everything go all right with Rowan?’
‘Grand. We all got along swimmingly, didn’t we, Bam?’
‘We sure did.’
‘Although…’ he said, looking a tad worried ‘…and I hope you’re not going to go off the deep end here, Polly… but there was that incident when I took my eyes off Rowan for a minute there, and she ran right out in front of a bus…’
Her face was a picture of horror mixed with outrage and a touch of I knew it .
Then Bam guffawed. ‘Honestly, you are awful, Spike. Look at poor Polly’s face. You’ve scared her half to death with your teasing.’
Polly goggled at Bam, her brain having not yet caught up.
‘He’s pulling your leg, Polly.’ With a broad beam she turned to Spike. ‘You truly are a terror.’
‘Sorry, Poll,’ said Spike, doing his best to look contrite. ‘I didn’t mean to give you a heart attack. I was just playin’ with ya. Honest. She was fine. Better than fine. She was a little angel.’
‘We had loads of fun,’ said Bam, refilling her glass and reaching for a handful of crisps.
‘I promise you I took good care of Roly Poly,’ he continued. ‘We made sure she could see our faces when we spoke to her, didn’t we, Bam?’ Bam nodded; her mouth full. ‘And I held tight to her hand, just as you instructed. I tell you what, though, she can’t half run, can’t she? When she’s a mind to. Maybe we should train her up for the hundred-metre dash.’ He noted Polly’s face. ‘In the park is where she was running, Polly. She had a race with me in the park.’
Before she could say anything else, Daisy was offering up a plate of flapjacks. ‘Sorry. Bit burnt,’ she said. Both Spike and Bam took one, just as Rowan bowled into the kitchen. ‘Mummee!’ she squealed, running to grab both her mother’s legs.
‘Hello, darling.’ Polly rubbed the top of her precious daughter’s head. ‘Hi, Tiggs,’ she added to Tiggy, who’d followed in Rowan’s wake and suitably rewarded Polly with a teenage grunt.
‘Up, up,’ demanded Rowan, as she bounced up and down on her sturdy legs.
‘Here we go.’ Polly reached down. ‘Ups-a-daisy!’
Pulling her daughter onto her lap, she asked, ‘Did you have a good day, Ro Ro?’
‘’Ess,’ Rowan emphatically declared. Then, looking up from underneath her long eyelashes, said, ‘Mum? Bam says Spike is my daddy.’ Rowan beamed at her mother, who in turn stared in shock at Bam. ‘Is he my daddy?’
‘Sorry, mate.’ Bam offered an apologetic shrug. ‘It just sort of popped out.’
‘Right then,’ said Mel, as she waltzed into the kitchen, clapping her hands together. ‘I’d leave that toilet for ten minutes, if I were you. Hi there, Poll.’ Then she clocked everybody’s faces. ‘What? What did I miss?’
*
Daisy, Mel and Polly lounged on wooden steamer chairs in Daisy’s pretty backyard, which was planted with a myriad of the sort of plants more commonly found in a Cornish garden: terracotta pots gay with geraniums, hardy palms and perennials, and semi-tropicals brought back from the Scilly Isles, where they holidayed each year on the Isle of Bryher. In the summer these plants would burst forth in a profusion of reds, yellows, blues, purples and oranges. Now all was green and lush, with the occasional white flower poking through here and there: the ones with thrusting sharp leaves, which would have orange flowers in the summer, were out ( whatever those are called , thought Polly, who knew nothing at all about gardening). Daisy’s back wall was hedged with ornamental grasses and bamboos, and a couple of sturdy evergreen bushes. White gravel covered the ground. On a sturdy table, opposite the back door, pots of herbs – carefully labelled – were within easy reach for cooking. No wonder Daisy’s kitchen was so full of heavenly aromas, whereas hers exuded the stench of burnt oven chips. Polly admired Daisy’s skills in all things domestic – oh, and she had a good eye for timeless classic clothes… and tasteful internal décor – okay, Polly admired Daisy on many levels, full stop.
She suspected her own culinary prowess – limited as it had always been – had diminished in direct proportion to her own mother’s rise to television celebrity chef stardom. Suze’s shows were practical and down to earth, specialising in utilising the sort of ingredients that could just as easily be bought in Aldi as Waitrose. That was her USP. Common-or-garden recipes for cash-strapped mums. It went down a bundle in these times of austerity, when even the well-heeled baulked at the idea of trying to track down truffles from the foothills of Kazakhstan, or bottled dragon’s breath, or whatever other exotic ingredients seemed to pepper celebrity chefs’ books. Like most daughters (she reckoned, and herself even more so…), Polly dreaded anyone saying she was “just like” her mother. She determined to steer a different course in life – even if she did on occasion use her mother’s recipes. Thinking of Mum now, she remembered she’d meant to ring her. What with Suze not getting on top of Donna’s plumbing problems, and then that unexplained sighting of her in Bristol. Hmm, Polly was starting to wonder if something might be afoot.
‘You okay?’ asked Daisy, evidently referring to Bam’s indiscretion about blabbing to Rowan that Spike was her father. ‘Look, maybe it’s for the best,’ Daisy continued, sitting up and shielding her eyes from the sun, now low in the sky. ‘Rowan had to find out sooner or later.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Polly, who’d decided not to cause a scene, there being nothing she could do faced with this fait accompli . ‘But it should have been me who told her. Not Wham Bam in there.’ She nodded towards the kitchen, hopefully far enough away that they were unlikely to be overheard.
‘Well, I like her,’ announced Mel.
‘Hmm.’ Polly could see Bam with the two men, throwing back her head to laugh at some joke, swigging from a bottle of beer, touching Spike ever-so-lightly on the arm.
‘Bam is very down to earth, actually,’ said Mel, as she swatted a fly. ‘Good fun too. You should have seen her when we took Rowan to the rock slide up on the Downs…’
‘You took Ro to the rock slide?’ The ‘without me’ hanging unsaid in the air. Because she was decidedly put out, having wanted to be the one to take Rowan there for her first time. Mel knew full well that it was on her list of must-dos, for when she wasn’t so busy. The rock slide being a Bristol institution!
‘Yeah, well, Bam was great, clambering over rocks, going down the slide with Ro, chasing her all over the play area.’
Getting on the good side of Spike, I’ll be bound , Polly thought ungenerously, and feeling rotten about it too.
‘Made me exhausted just watching them.’ She shielded the sun from her eyes. ‘I guess that’s being twenty-three. While she dashed around after Ro Ro, me and Spike sat on the grass eating ice cream like a right pair of old age pensioners.’
‘How cosy.’ Polly could not stop herself from sounding snippy.
‘Don’t be daft.’ Mel reached out to touch her friend’s hand. ‘I do get it, you know,’ she said, giving Polly’s hand an extra squeeze. ‘It must be very difficult for you, hon. Having your old boyfriend back – and with someone else…’
Before they could discuss it further, Phil came over to join them. ‘Thought we might fire up the barbie in honour of our guests. What d’you think, Daise?’
‘Sounds lovely,’ she said, giving him an affectionate smile.
‘I could eat a scabby horse,’ declared Mel.
‘Seeing as the burgers are from Asda, that might very well be what’s in them,’ he said, grinning away.
‘I expect the kids are hungry too,’ said Daisy.
‘Righty-oh.’ He bent over to give his wife a kiss. ‘I’ll get right on to it once I’ve popped along to the Spar shop with Spike. We’re running out of beer.’
‘Okay, better get more buns for the burgers while you’re there. Sausages too.’
‘Man go hunt, man light fire, wo-man stay home with children,’ said Mel, in a fake Neanderthal way.
Spike called out, ‘Anyone need anything from the shop?’
Polly stood up. ‘You couldn’t grab me a pint of milk while you’re there, could you? Only I’ve run out,’ she said, guiltily regarding her friends.
‘What?’ she said, once the men had left. Both of her girlfriends were giving her a quizzical look. ‘Well, he did ask.’
The men returned and the barbie was in full swing when Daisy’s friend Annabelle arrived. Tall and blessed with Swedish blonde good looks from her mother’s side, she waved two bottles of Cava above her head. An Adele CD blasted out from the sound system. ‘I come bearing gifts. Let’s have something lively on, shall we?’ She clocked Spike and Bam outside in the backyard and stage whispered, ‘That the child bride, is it?’
‘Yep. Although not bride,’ hissed Mel.
‘Hmm. Give her time…’ said Anna, interrupted by Spike seeing her, waving hello and then hurrying inside, holding Bam by the hand.
Anna flung both arms around his neck. ‘Hello, handsome. I heard you were back in town. Causing mayhem, as ever, I expect.’ She winked at Polly, who promptly reddened. ‘Ah, and you must be Bam. Good to meet you. Be a love and change the music. This lot’s dead dreary.’
Bam rooted around Daisy’s eclectic horde of Mark Ronson, R Polly carrying a now sound asleep Rowan over her shoulder.
As Daisy held the door open, she said, in a low voice, ‘By the way, Polly, this Spike and Bam. It won’t last.’
Polly turned and seemed about to say something when Daisy continued. ‘I’m not at all convinced that they’re love’s young dream. I was watching them carefully tonight, and it’s clear that Bam is more keen on Spike than he is on her.’ She held her hand up. ‘I’m just saying.’
‘You don’t know…’ Polly began.
‘You must have noticed,’ Daisy said, as she quickly looked back over her shoulder, ‘how he couldn’t take his eyes off you. All evening.’ She leant forward and added, ‘There’s clearly something still there. You mark my words.’
You couldn’t be more wrong , thought Polly, as a gust of wind blew her hair about her face.
She was wondering whether she ought to come clean with her friend when she heard Mel shout out from behind them, ‘Out of the way! Lesbian coming through!’ as she dashed past Daisy to envelop Polly in a huge hug.
‘Mind the kid,’ said Polly with a smile.
‘Ta ta, you old tart. I do love you, you know. Even though you can be a right muppet.’
‘I love you too, you old lezzer.’
Behind them Fen stood, in the background. ‘Bye, Polly,’ she called out.
*
Rowan safely tucked up in bed, Polly couldn’t resist one last check of Facebook. Nothing fresh on her shop page, but there was a new Max status update: “In a relationship with Polly Park”. She sat back staring at this, not sure if she was all that keen on his declaring their status to all and sundry. After all, they’d only just started seeing each other. Wasn’t it too soon for them to be boyfriend and girlfriend? She didn’t know the dating rules anymore.
Her mobile rang. Max. She let it go straight to voicemail, not bothering to analyse just why she didn’t want to have a chat with Max. (Shouldn’t she if he was her boyfriend? Remember – you’re not going to analyse. Not tonight .)
Like giving into the inevitable, she clicked on Spike’s Facebook profile – not at all stalkerish, she told herself. ( Yeah right , said that annoying voice in her head that always sounded like Mel.) She clicked on Photo Album of Picnic with Rowan and began trawling through. There was Spike with Rowan on his shoulders; Spike swinging Rowan upside down, by her legs; Spike throwing Rowan up in the air; Spike, Rowan and Bam sitting at a wooden table grinning at the camera; Spike chasing Rowan in and out of the climbing frame with Mel watching and pointing; Spike plonking ice cream from a cone into the laughing face of Bam; and Bam giving Spike a kiss on the cheek as he held onto Rowan’s hand – looking for all the world like… well, like a happy family, thought Polly, miserably.
At the bottom in the Comments box was written Spike’s cute daughter. We heart Rowan. Bam xxx
That night she dreamt of the sea, of swimming through weeds, trying to escape a giant clam that opened and shut its jaws. Open and shut. Open and shut. She woke, drenched in her own salt sweat.