The Trouble With Love

19

Zak, Daisy’s tall and clearly-going-to-be-handsome-once-he-grows-into-his-looks son, was clattering out of the house with a guitar case when Polly and Rowan arrived. He held the door open for them. ‘Mum’s in the kitchen,’ he muttered, in that embarrassed teenage boy way.

‘Cheers, Zak,’ she said, backing Rowan in through the door. ‘You got band practice? How’s it all going?’

‘Fine, thanks,’ he said with a cheery wave.

Daisy looked up from where she was about to push the plunger on her cafetière. ‘You’re just in time for coffee.’ Daisy took Rowan by the hand and, bending down, said directly to her – ‘Morwenna’s up in her room. Do you want to go and find her?’

‘Ess pees,’ and she charged out of the room. Soon they could hear her call ‘Morwenna! Morwenna!’ and then thumps and squeals from above.

‘That’s them settled for a while. How’s tricks?’

‘I need some advice, Daise.’

‘Oh yeah? Mel’s been bending my ear too. I ought to start charging,’ she said. ‘Coffee?’ proceeding to pour them both a cup.

‘Is everything all right with Mel?’ Polly asked, wondering why whatever it was, Mel hadn’t confided in her .

‘Oh, just something about Fen wanting them to go visit her mother. That sort of thing. So,’ said Daisy in a lighter, more breezy tone, ‘what can I do for you? Is this about Spike?’

‘Spike? No! God no! And you’re wrong, by the way, about there being something – anything – there between us.’ She didn’t fancy telling Daisy about the whole kissing- Spike thing. Far too mortifying.

‘Hmm,’ said Daisy, passing Polly her cup. ‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much.’

‘Trust me,’ said Polly, giving what she hoped was an earnest look. ‘There’s nothing. Apart from affection, of course. After all, we do share a child.’ She added milk to her coffee. ‘We’ve all moved on, and I’m very happy with Max.’ (“Moving on” seeming to be the theme of the week.)

‘If you say so,’ said Daisy, throwing her an I’m-still-not-convinced look. ‘So go ahead, what else would you like my advice about, if it’s not Spike and his obvious crush on you?’ Polly poked her tongue out at her.

‘Mum! Mum!’ Morwenna came charging in, holding Rowan firmly by the hand. ‘Can Ro Ro sleep in my bed? Can she? Can she?’ Morwenna had her perfect little rosebud mouth pursed as she waited for her mother’s verdict.

Daisy turned to her friend. ‘That’s up to Rowan’s mum.’

‘Peeeese,’ said Rowan, jumping up and down on the spot.

‘Please,’ begged Morwenna.

‘I couldn’t possibly, Daise. You’ve been doing far too much babysitting for me.’

‘Nonsense, we love having Rowan. She’s an absolute delight.’

Polly smiled her thanks then turned to the girls. ‘All right. Rowan can stay over.’

The girls excitedly shouted ‘Yay!’ and dashed out of the room before anyone could change their mind.

Once the women were both sure the two girls were well out of earshot, Daisy turned to Polly. ‘I’m glad you’re getting on well with Max. And now that you’ve got the evening off, you can invite him round to yours, can’t you? Do whatever you want – swing from the chandeliers or re-enact Fifty Shades of Grey – without being interrupted by a little girl. Oh, and don’t worry about the morning, either. I can take them both to the Montessori nursery, and that way you won’t have to worry about collecting her until after work tomorrow. How’s that suit you?’

‘You are a saint,’ said Polly – and with Daisy’s light brown hair framing that fine cheek-boned face, Polly thought she did bear more than a passing resemblance to the plaster Saint Barbara that Polly had on her landing table, just outside the bathroom. But Saint Barbara was kept in a tower or something waiting for her lover to return, wasn’t she? Whereas Daisy was more like a saint to the rescue – Wonder which one that was.

‘Mel tells me that Max has a reputation for being quite the stud!’ said Daisy, giving Polly a suggestive look. ‘You lucky girl.’

Polly paused. ‘God, yes, okay. He is actually.’

‘Good for you! You could do with some fun.’ She gave Polly a steady stare. ‘Is it just fun or do you think it might become something more serious?’

‘Truth? I just don’t know. It’s not like he’s being cool or anything. Quite the opposite. He seems pretty keen. But you know me, I’m rubbish at relationships.’ She pulled at her cardigan. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if Spike –and this whole fantasy thing I’ve got going on about him being the one I could have loved, but sadly he’s always out of reach? Perhaps it’s some sort of get-out clause. You know, a good reason not to get involved with anyone else.’ She reached for a chocolate biscuit. ‘I’ve been giving it some thought and was starting to come round to the idea of giving Max a chance: having a real go at being a couple… But now the fly in the ointment appears to be his kid. Ben the devil child. Or am I making Ben a new reason for not getting involved? I can’t tell anymore. And I feel like a right cow for feeling this way about a small child. I could do with some advice, Daise.’ She looked at her friend. ‘Basically I need to pick your brains about boys.’

‘I see.’ Daisy went to the fridge and pulled out an opened bottle of Prosecco. ‘Reckon this still has bubbles in it? What the hell, we’d better finish it off. To hell with coffee – what we need is a proper drink while you tell me all about it.’ She indicated that they sit on the more comfortable and rather tasteful armchairs, covered in a white with large vibrant purple lilies pattern. ‘Go ahead,’ she said, handing over a full glass. But before Polly could begin on her day with Max and Ben, and the no-pants incident, in wandered Tiggy boy in tow. A tall, skinny one in skinny jeans, Converse trainers, bedraggled jumper and floppy hair almost covering his face.

‘Ignore us.’ Tiggy gave a fulsome smile to the women. ‘We’re after food. Studying, you know.’

‘Yes, of course. Studying,’ said Daisy, fixing her daughter with an I-do-know-that’s-not-all-you’re-getting-up-to stare.

‘Shut up, Mum!’ said Tiggy. She turned to the boy. ‘Don’t mind her. She’s being annoying,’ and then pulled open the fridge door as the boy smiled sheepishly at the two women.

‘Hello, Mrs Hyde.’

Tiggy, head in the fridge. ‘White, you mentalist. I’m Hyde, she’s White. Stepdad! Duh!’

The boy blushed.

‘Please, call me Daisy,’ she said, proffering her hand, which he gave a firm shake as Tiggy stuck her head out long enough to raise an eyebrow.

‘Duh, Mum. Handshakes? Well lame.’

Daisy ignored her child. ‘And this is Polly.’

‘Right you are, Mrs – umm – Daisy – Polly,’ smiled the boy – or young man. Polly thought he looked like that serial-shagger floppy-haired boy from that famous boy band.

Tiggy emerged with a plate piled high with leftovers from the party: cooked sausages, barbecued drumsticks, pizza slices – and a large bottle of Diet Coke in hand. ‘Here,’ she said to the boy-band lookalike, thrusting the drink at him.

As he headed for the door, he paused, ran his fingers through his luxuriant brown locks and said, ‘Dolphin.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Polly. ‘I thought you said Dolphin.’

‘He did, duh,’ said Tiggy, in typical teen adults-are-so-thick voice. ‘Because that’s his name. Nuh.’

The boy-man smiled. ‘No worries. My parents are, like, total hippies – brother Ocean, sister Sky. Everyone calls me Fin. I just like to sometimes tell people I’m called Dolphin. It’s funny, like.’

‘Well, it’s very nice to meet you,’ said Daisy – completely unfazed.

The teenagers left in a clatter of plates and sniggers as Polly gawped at Daisy. ‘What on earth were his parents thinking? I’m surprised he doesn’t get the crap beaten out of him every day!’

‘Who’s this?’ said Phil – in his genial way – as he strolled in from another room, stopping to plant a kiss on the top of Daisy’s head. He sat on the arm of her chair – looking very uncomfortable in his not-very-bendy-looking rugby frame.

‘We were just discussing Tiggy’s new boyfriend,’ Daisy said, glancing up at her husband, who looked like he might topple over and flatten her at any moment. ‘You know. The one with the surfer-dude parents.’

‘Ah,’ was all he managed to say, before the eponymous Tiggy came bouncing back in – jiggling around Phil, much like her namesake Tigger.

‘Pops! Pops!’ He stood up. ‘Lend us a twenty, will you? Me and Fin want to go see a movie.’

‘Not one of those Final Destination slasher-type movies, is it?’ he said, nonetheless reaching into his wallet for a note.

‘Honestly, Phil, she hasn’t tidied her room,’ said Daisy. ‘You know the rules. No tidy, no money.’

Tiggy stamped her foot – ‘Mum…!’

Daisy turned to Polly. ‘Honestly, her room looks like someone emptied a skipload of rubbish all over it.’

‘Mu-u-u-u-m!’

‘Here’s an idea,’ said Phil, placing the note on the kitchen counter. ‘If you tidy it in – say – half an hour, the money’s yours and I’ll run you both to the cinema. How’s that?’

Daisy had already unpeeled one then two black bin bags from their roll. ‘Here you are,’ she said, before slipping them into the kitchen drawer.

Tiggy, looking from Phil to Daisy, accepted her fate. ‘Oh, all right,’ and hurried from the kitchen, clattering up the stairs, shouting, ‘Fin! Fin! Help me tidy my frickin’ room! Fin!’ Followed by a slam of her bedroom door.

‘Kids, eh?’ Phil collected up his newspapers and tucked them under his arm. ‘Leave you two to it, shall I?’

Tiggy and Phil clearly got on well. But it hadn’t always been so.

Daisy’s first husband, Steve – the father of Tiggy and Zak – had died tragically in a freak car accident five years ago. Tiggy was ten and Zak twelve at the time. Zak never talked about it, despite Daisy’s best efforts. She supposed he talked it through with his counsellor, which their Steiner School had arranged for both children. Tiggy, though, became full of rage; misbehaving at school, smoking, getting drunk. The school persevered, and Daisy – although numb – had a reason to carry on – her kids needed her. Phil, as Steve’s best friend, was increasingly there for her until – even though Steve was supposedly the love of her life – she fell for Phil.

At the time, both Polly and Mel were convinced that Daisy was settling.

But on the morning of Daisy and Phil’s wedding, less than two years after Steve’s death, Daisy – radiantly beautiful, and wearing a tastefully glorious ivory satin dress – had turned to Polly and said, ‘I know you think I’m settling, but I’m not. I’m truly happy. Oh, it’s okay,’ she added, grasping Polly’s hands in hers. ‘Don’t look so embarrassed. I know Phil isn’t as handsome or as witty as Steve. And that I loved Steve with a grand passion…’ she let go of her friend ‘…but… Phil is a good man, and he loves me. He makes me feel safe and I love him and I’m lucky to have found him.’

But Tiggy hadn’t felt the same.

Still, now witnessing the affectionate exchange between stepfather and daughter, Polly could see that Daisy’s conviction that all would turn out fine in the end had indeed been spot on. Phil’s kind and humorous devotion to them all had won over even Tiggy. Polly glanced at her friend, all happy and complete with her family, and for a split second she found herself wishing she too could find some of that.

‘So,’ said Daisy, once they were alone, ‘come on, spill the beans. What is it you need to talk about? Is it Max, or is it his child?’

‘Both.’

‘Oh dear. Do tell,’ said her friend, as she refilled their glasses.

Daisy snorted wine through her nose, she was laughing so much.

‘Is it funny, Daise? Only I didn’t think it was funny at the time,’ said Polly.

‘Oh, Polly, Polly, you are daft. Seriously, he was just being a boy. I’m sure Rowan’s fine and she’ll have forgotten all about it.’

‘I don’t think I handled it very well at all. And now Max might be off with me because I…’ she said, realising that what she was about to say would sound stupid ‘…because I more or less accused a little five-year-old boy of being a pervert!’

Daisy did another snort.

‘Don’t laugh. Max wants to “talk about it” later tonight.’ Polly slumped in her chair. ‘I don’t know. I guess I like my own way of doing things. Max and I clearly have different ideas about parenting. He’s too lax for my liking, and he thinks I’m a fusspot. But look what happened today when he took his eye off Rowan at the beach. She could have drowned, and he just shrugged it off!’

‘You might not want to hear this, darling. But relationships – real relationships – are all about compromise. If you care enough about each other then you’ll find some middle ground.’

‘And if you don’t?’

‘Then you hold out for someone who does share your values and who you do want to compromise with. Pass me that big knife, will you?’

Daisy began chopping veg to go into her large turquoise Le Creuset casserole dish. ‘You don’t mind if I carry on getting supper ready, do you?’ she asked. She was cooking some Nigella recipe which she’d adapted herself, she told Polly, who was more of a bung-stuff-in-and-hope-it-turns-out-all-right kind of cook.

Who on earth has the sort of ingredients Nigella insists on, in any case? Apart from Suze – and clearly Daisy .

Polly watched as Daisy moved about her kitchen; the glow from the dimmed lights, the smell of the food and the drawing-in of the night outside as it did its hug about the kitchen all served to give Polly a warm and cosy feeling.

‘I wish I could marry you.’

‘Shame you can’t stay for supper,’ said Daisy, giving her friend a peck on the cheek.

‘Yes, it is a shame.’ Polly’s voice had more than a tad of wistfulness about it as she moved across to Daisy’s Aga to inhale the yummy aromas emanating from inside its cast iron doors. ‘God, that smells delicious. So, you do think it’s worth my persevering with Max? Or should I cut my losses? There again, if we carry on, how am I going to deal with devil child and other myriad things involved…?’ Polly sunk her head into her hands.

‘Do you really want to know what I think?’ Daisy asked, as she smoothed her apron. Polly nodded. ‘Okay then, for what it’s worth, I think you should give Max a chance. He seems like a nice man, he clearly likes you, though goodness knows why…’ she added, grinning away.

‘Oi. Thanks a lot.’

‘Max doesn’t understand yet that you’re extra careful with Rowan because of her hearing loss. And you’ll see, things will settle down with Ben. Boys are different to girls; that’s all. Ben probably feels a bit weird about his dad dating. He sounds like a lively little chap, and a typical boy. At that age, they’re all fascinated by the fact that girls don’t have willies.’

‘Not just at that age! Ha ha. Seriously, you really don’t think there’s any cause for concern?’

‘I really don’t.’ She narrowed her eyes at her friend. ‘You could do a lot worse than Max, you know. He ticks a lot of boxes, doesn’t he? First, he’s a single dad – which means he knows what it’s like to have a child. Second, he’s attractive – oh, and bright. And I hear he’s a very good bonk…!’

Polly sighed. ‘You’re right, you’re right.’

‘Of course I am. I am always right.’ She opened her oven door, checking on the pot inside, before adding, quietly, ‘I know he’s not Spike.’

‘No. Well. That boat’s well and truly sailed.’ Polly picked up a raw carrot and waved it about as she continued. ‘Even if I was interested – which I’m not. I… I dunno, Daise… maybe I’m just wired up differently to everyone else.’ She took a bite of carrot.

‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘When I try not to fall in love with someone – yes, yes, okay, with Spike – then I go and fall head over heels. But I’m not now, okay? And when I meet someone who, as you say, ticks the right boxes and should be someone I could easily fall in love with, then I’m – well – just not. That’s the trouble with love, I guess. Not bloody convenient but bloody contrary.’ She gave a wry smile.

‘It can indeed.’ Daisy reached to give Polly a reassuring touch on the shoulder. ‘Just give it time. You probably would have been well away with Max if Spike hadn’t turned up. I’m right, aren’t I?’

‘Suppose so.’

‘Take me and Phil. Who’d have thought a few years ago that we’d end up together? But our love grew – on my side, anyway. And who’s to say that yours won’t with Max, too? Why not give him a chance? Stop analysing everything and instead take things as they come. Love might very well blossom.’ She leant back against her Butler sink. ‘Have you ever thought it might be difficult for you to trust – because of your mum?’

‘Not you too. That’s the sort of stuff Mel comes out with. I hate all that self-help psycho-babble shit.’

‘But she might have a point. Or, you could have a go at proving her wrong?’ Daisy gave her a devilish look before lifting the casserole from the Aga. ‘Mmm. This smells great, even though I say so myself. Are you sure you don’t want to stay and join us for dinner?’ But Polly shook her head.

‘I hope you don’t mind my asking. But don’t you ever get lonely? Being a single parent must be tough. I don’t know how you do it, because I couldn’t manage if I didn’t have Phil.’

Did she get lonely? Polly wondered. She’d always considered herself a free spirit who didn’t want to get tied down and considered that was why she didn’t want to commit, to compromise, or to settle. She’d always been happy with her own company… But now that Rowan was in bed fast asleep by 8 pm every night and the evenings tended to stretch before her, then, well yes, there were times… And having Mel to stay had reminded and given her a glimpse of how things could be – with a significant other. Maybe a little loneliness was no longer a price worth paying for her freedom.

Then a small voice inside reminded her that there was one other person – beside Mel – whom she could have imagined sharing hers and Rowan’s life with. But there again, perhaps she only thought that because he was “safe” because it would never be an option because he was either moving to Australia or had a girlfriend. Overanalysing again, Polly. Overanalysing.

*

Once she was back home, she rang Mel.

‘Mel? It’s me.’

‘Hello, you,’ Mel whispered down the phone.

In the background, Polly could hear Fen call out, ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s okay, it’s only Polly,’ was Mel’s reply.

Charming. Only Polly. No one important. Oh, do stop being a ninny.

‘So what is it?’ Mel said, not unkindly.

Polly briefly filled her in on her conversation with Daisy.

‘Daisy said you should compromise? Well, she would say that, wouldn’t she? She’s Mrs Middle Class Smug Married. I’m sorry – you know I love her, but she is… Why didn’t you ask me ?’

‘You weren’t around.’

‘Just answer me this, Polly. Who would be doing the compromising? With you and Max, eh? It would be you, that’s who, and you know it. Anyway, darling, Fen’s calling and I must go. Love you.’

All her life, Polly had done things her and Mel’s way – and look where that had got her! Ditched for the new girlfriend, that’s where. Well, now she was going to give Daisy’s way a try.

*

Max came over, and before he could say anything at all, Polly pulled him inside by his lapels and gave him a big kiss, which promised a lot, lot more.

‘Let’s forget about today, shall we? I’m really sorry. I overreacted,’ she said, rather breathlessly.

‘I expect you can make it up to me,’ he said, pulling her tighter into him, with the sort of smile you’d normally associate with the twiddling of moustache and flourishing of cape.

‘We’ve got all night,’ she said.

‘We have?’

‘Yes. Rowan’s on a sleepover at Daisy’s… so… let’s go down the pub, get well and truly bladdered and then have lots of filthy, dirty sex. You can stay over.’

He couldn’t get her out of the house quickly enough.

They had a great night at the Nova. Polly thought there might well have been some singing of sea shanties in the bar – involving her and a couple of sailors – at some point, but she couldn’t be absolutely sure as she’d drunk too much scrumpy. Much, much later, what she was sure of was that the next day she’d be walking like John Wayne minus his horse, because sex with Max proved Epic – with a capital E.