24
Back at the house, and Polly was busying herself in the kitchen. She’d hardly said a word to Max since their return from the picnic.
‘Do you want me to go?’ said Max.
She turned to face him. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Of course not.’
He gave her a hangdog look, and George slunk over to lick Polly’s hand.
‘I’m sorry I suggested Rowan’s hearing might be selective,’ said Max. ‘That was insensitive of me.’
‘Yes… well…’
‘I feel as if I’m in the doghouse, never mind poor George here,’ he said, looking down at George, who was now sitting on the floor gazing up adoringly at Polly. ‘Say you forgive me. Hey? Girlfriend?’
She stopped unpacking the picnic things and looked up into his contrite face. ‘I’m sorry. I guess I’m a big touchy where Rowan’s hearing is concerned.’
‘Perfectly understandable.’
About to throw the sandwiches in the bin, she turned to Max and said, ‘Should I give these to George?’ She didn’t know what dogs could and couldn’t eat.
‘Best not,’ said Max. ‘Claire would go mental. She’s got him on expensive dried dog food. No treats or snacks allowed. Isn’t that right, boy?’ he said, scratching George behind his ear.
‘Raaaaarrrr!’ Ben bowled in, a nudely dishevelled Barbie clutched in his hand, and Rowan chasing after him. ‘Give me! Give meeeee!’ she screamed. Max grabbed Ben’s arm, causing him to stand stock-still.
‘Give Rowan her Barbie, Ben.’
‘No,’ said Ben, the Barbie held aloft in his hand while Rowan jumped up, trying to reach it.
Polly shot Max a look. ‘Okay, okay,’ he said, then physically took the Barbie off Ben and handed it back to Rowan, who grasped her dolly tight to her chest and hid behind Polly’s legs. Ben aimed a kick at Max’s shin. ‘Ouch!’ And Max smacked Ben on the back of his legs.
Smacked! He’s actually smacked his child , thought a horrified Polly. Rowan was stock-still, her saucer-like eyes trained on Max, mouth agape. Max had smacked his much-smaller-than-him five-year-old child.
Ben, now clearly incensed, was lashing out at Max, who in turn exerted an even firmer grip on him. ‘Ben! Stop it!’
‘Aaaaarrgh!’ screamed Ben. George, now beside himself, ran at them, barking and bouncing up and down, while Rowan had tight hold of Polly’s legs. And now Ben was trying to bite Max’s hand.
Max turned to Polly, giving her a look that signalled he was out of his depth.
‘I know!’ said Polly, clapping her hands together. ‘Why don’t you kids go and watch The Lion King ?’ Ben shot her a glance. Clearly she’d piqued his interest. ‘I’ve got popcorn,’ she added.
‘Yesss!’ shouted Ben, as he wriggled free from his father’s grasp.
‘Mummy?’ said Rowan.
‘It’ll be fine, Rowan. Now you run along and get the DVD down and Mummy will come and put it on. Yes?’
Ben gave Max one final look – which reminded Polly of the way a caged lion might eye its tamer were it determined to bide its time until the trainer’s back was turned and then have him!
‘For fuck’s sake, Max,’ hissed Polly, as soon as the children had left the room. ‘You actually hit Ben!’
At least he had the decency to look shame-faced.
‘It was only a tap. He’s not hurt, so no harm done.’
‘No harm done? Did you see the way he looked at you? I think you’ll have a lot of ground to make up there. Plus,’ she continued, as she reached up to her cupboard and fetched a large bag of popcorn, ‘Rowan was terrified.’
‘Okay, okay. It’s not like I make a habit of it. I’ve never smacked him before. I’m sorry if I scared Rowan. Is there anything I can do to make it up to her?’
‘Nothing. Right?’ she hissed. ‘I don’t approve of smacking, Max. I really don’t.’ She emptied the popcorn into a big bowl and took it through to the sitting room, where the two children sat cross-legged on the floor.
‘Here you are, Mummy,’ said Rowan, clambering up on her feet and handing her the DVD.
‘Thanks, hon.’ Polly slipped it into the television slot just as Max sauntered in, lowered his large frame onto the sofa and held out his arms to Ben who, without a word, clambered up onto his father’s lap.
‘That’s it, big man,’ said Max, giving his son a cuddle.
‘Ahh, better now,’ said Rowan, not minding one little bit that George was snaffling most of the popcorn from right under her nose.
Polly watched as Max settled into the sofa, Ben sucking his thumb as he snuggled further under his father’s arm. ‘Sorry,’ mouthed Max to Polly. Rowan was stretched out flat on her tummy, bowl of popcorn under her arm, while George sat patiently, looking from Rowan to Max to the popcorn, and back. Polly sighed, and returned to tidying the kitchen. She didn’t know what to make of things but decided in the end to think about all that later.
*
As Polly opened the door to let them out, Max leant in to kiss her on the cheek.
‘Better take these two back home,’ he said, indicating to Ben and George. ‘I’ll ring you later, yeah?’
‘Yes. Fine.’ Polly still wasn’t in the mood to let Max off lightly.
‘Look, I promise I’m not some child beater.’ He gave her an apologetic smile.
‘I’m tired, Max. It’s been a long day. Let’s just leave it at that.’
Max had his hand round the back of Ben’s head as he ushered him out of the door. George was trying to lick Rowan’s face, but Max held him tight on his leash.
‘At least George was a hit – I mean, success,’ Max said, trying a half-smile at her.
‘Yes,’ said Polly, recognising Max’s attempt to lighten the mood. ‘George can come again.’
‘Is that with or without me?’
Polly tried for a smile, but it came out lukewarm.
‘Poll?’
‘Yes?’
‘Oh nothing.’ He turned to go. ‘I’ll leave you to ring me, shall I?’
‘Yes, okay,’ she said, already starting to close the door.
Max put his hand out to stop her. ‘Have you never made a mistake, Polly?’ he said, and then headed down the path, Ben skipping by his side and George trotting along behind them.
Have I ever made a mistake? Well, of course I have , she berated herself as she paced up and down her kitchen. What on earth is wrong with you? You’ve made tons of mistakes! Remember that time when Rowan dashed out in front of a truck and you’d been so scared that you shouted in her face and smacked her bottom? Inwardly she cringed as she recalled how a couple walking past had tut-tutted at Polly’s behaviour.
And let’s face it. Ben’s behaviour would try a saint!
Yes, but that smack was an angry one.
So what? Aren’t they all angry ones? You know you don’t hold with all that “smack your child with love”. That whole ridiculous toddler-taming approach. And – c’mon – Max did seem genuinely sorry, didn’t he?
Yeah, but only when I took him to task.
Oh, shut up!
Polly rubbed her head, took two ibuprofen, texted Max to say she hoped things were fine with Ben and that she’d call in a couple of days.
You moose, Polly , she told herself. You have a not-quite-perfect-but-right-age-single-father-sexy-good-company-boyfriend. So what’s the problem?
But deep down, she knew that for her and Max to stand a chance, she had to get a grip, because – at the bottom of it all, way down deep as if on a bed of a weed-infested ocean where sea monsters lurked and Davy Jones kept his locker, was the truth – Max just wasn’t Spike.
Outside it was that in-between time. That time of day when the sun’s not quite set, and the birds are returning to their roosts for the night, or else out on a late hunt for flying insects. Lights in harbourside apartments were flicking on, curtains not yet drawn, as their occupants moved about doing their evening chores, watching television, getting changed for a night out, not yet conscious that they could be seen by an outside world.
And down below, the river – kept constant and hemmed in by the gates of the harbour locks and the roads lined with houses – moved back and forth, like a caged and silent presence, biding its time.