Chapter 19
Everything Coming Up Primroses
As far as love is concerned, the week is a disaster.
We have snatched kisses and brief touches, enough to leave me wanting more.
Certainly not enough to put my lustful daydreams to sleep.
Even when I hassle Effie out of bed a half hour early so I can get into work well before my start time, I find Anders fully occupied.
The problem with having a new venture in a time zone eight hours ahead, is that breakfast is the only time for them to communicate.
When our scheduled Friday meeting rolls around, there is so much to cover, neither of us has the time to do more than French kiss for five minutes before we need to move on with work.
I have a brief fantasy about wanking my boss off with my left hand while taking notes with my right, but the truth is, I’m not that coordinated.
Just as we’re finishing up, Anders says, “Can I see you tomorrow?”
I grimace. “I have Effie all weekend.”
“Perfect,” he says. “I’ve not forgotten my promise. We can go to the museum.”
“I’ll have to check that’s okay with Effie,” I say cautiously, although I’m fairly certain she’ll be ecstatic.
She hasn’t reminded me about Anders’s suggestion again, but I can guarantee she hasn’t forgotten it.
But she’s used to men not following up on their promises, so she has learnt not to trust in them.
I mention it to her before Dana and Max come over. Her eyes light up. “Really?” she asks. “We can go to the museum? With Anders?”
I’m almost certain Anders won’t flake out, but I caveat it because it’s an awful lot of trust to put in him at this stage. And he probably doesn’t even realise it. “If he’s not too busy.”
“And Smaug’ette? Can she come too?”
I shake my head. “It wouldn’t be safe for her. You heard what Anders said on our visit. She’s more delicate than she looks.”
Effie considers, then nods. It’s that simple.
We wait until Dana and Fiona collect Max in the morning.
As they head out of the door, Dana gives me a knowing wink.
Effie and I are still in our pyjamas as I scoot around our home doing the housework.
I normally shower in the evenings, after Effie is safely asleep in bed but this morning, I risk a quick two-minute shower with the bathroom door open.
Effie is particular about her clothes, so I let her choose her t-shirt and shorts before I spend far too long deciding on my own dress.
I leave my hair down. I’m about to add make-up when I drop the tube back onto the dresser.
I have to wear it all week at work. Weekends, I normally go au naturelle.
If Anders goes off me because I’m not wearing mascara, then he isn’t worth my time.
We meet him at the exit from the underground station.
I almost don't recognise him. It's a warm day, and he's wearing a white linen shirt, grey cargo shorts, and Converse low-tops.
A baseball cap and black shades complete his transformation.
It's like he stepped off a Rhode Island ferry.
This is a side of him I don't know. It's something I've never seen before.
“Hey, how's it going?” He presents Effie with a fist bump.
She stares at it for a moment — she is not one of the cool kids — then forms her hand into a fist and holds it up.
Lightly, he touches her, knuckle to knuckle.
It strikes me this is a good salute for a child like Effie; a greeting but with minimal physical contact.
“Wow,” he says as he leans in to give me a light peck on the cheek.
He does it casually, naturally, like this is how we always meet.
But I feel the sensation of his lips on my cheek long after they've gone.
His hand slides down my arm to wrap around mine.
Effie's eyes track the movement. She is standing by my side, but she shrugs her hand out of mine, walks over, and places it in his.
Neither Anders nor I say anything about it. “This way,” I nod in the right direction, and we set off.
There's a queue waiting for entrance, but we skip it.
Anders had the foresight to reserve spaces online.
But as soon as I enter the building, I know this visit is a mistake.
The place is heaving. Tourists shoulder to shoulder with families, children in pushchairs, older ones crying, calling out, running around.
The grand old architecture, the stone surfaces, the soaring ceiling only act to magnify the sound.
It is hot, and the mass of sweaty bodies is not helping.
Even I find it unpleasant. For Effie, it must be stretching the bounds of her tolerance.
I feel awful because I know Anders must have gone to some effort to arrange this, and Effie has been looking forward to it since I told her.
She will force herself to stay long past her ability to endure the sensory overload, and it will only end badly.
If this thing with Anders goes any distance, he will eventually see an Effie meltdown. But I'd much rather he got to know everything that is marvellous about my daughter first, before he is confronted with the downsides.
“We need somewhere quieter,” I whisper, although the noise level is such that I could have spoken in a perfectly normal voice and Effie would not have heard.
I put an emphasis on need, hoping he understands, as I look down at Effie meaningfully.
He nods, consults his map, and leans down to my daughter.
“We'll do this bit another day, when there are fewer people,” he says. “Let's go and see the specimens. I wonder if they've got a tarantula.”
Oh God, I hope not.
But Effie nods eagerly, and we set off.
We spend our time in quieter spaces. They do indeed have a tarantula.
I hang back, trying not to look into the cases, while the two of them exclaim over the treasures they find.
From time to time, he lifts her up so that she can see better.
I watch them interact with a little catch in my heart.
If only she could have this with her own father, she would be so happy.
But he treats her interests with a complete lack of curiosity, all the while expecting her to take part in his own: football, music, pubs.
At the end of two hours, Effie is wilting. We find a café and Anders fetches ice cream. Effie's choice is vanilla. It's always vanilla. The adults opt for coffee too. Effie has apple juice.
Anders is not stupid. I'm sure he's aware the whole day is a million little tests.
Will he insist on seeing the famous sights, like he's collecting stamps, or will he go with the flow?
Will he try to talk her into a more adventurous ice cream flavour, or will he accept her choice?
Will he prioritise attention to me and my happiness, or will he realise that I'm happiest when my daughter is enjoying herself?
Anders passes them all. He doesn't try to kiss me when Effie isn't looking, nor pull me into a darkened alcove for a quick touch somewhere inappropriate. Nor, I'm pleased to see, does he split his time between his phone and us. There is only one moment when he takes his phone out of his pocket.
“It's my mom,” he says. “Give me a second.” He takes a few steps away, answers the call, and returns within the minute. A man who always answers the phone to his mum. Tick, tick, tick. I can only presume he has his own list. But I’ve not the slightest idea how well I’m doing. Perhaps I’m falling at every hurdle.
We finish up in the café and make our way back to the underground station.
Our departure is the reverse of our arrival — except this time, when he leans in for a kiss, his hand slides along my waist and his fingertips land on my spine.
I can feel the heat of them through my thin summer dress.
I want them to stay there. But Effie takes my hand and starts to tug me into the station.
On the train, she sits on my lap, her foot shaking. “I like the museum,” she says. “Can we go again?”
“Maybe after summer,” I suggest. It’s always good to set her expectations. She nods.
“I like Anders. Can we see him again?” Her priorities are amusing.
“Maybe. He works a lot. He doesn’t get much time for fun.”
“That’s sad.” She chews her bottom lip. “Everyone needs fun. Maybe we can help him have fun? It’s good to help friends.”
If she only knew the type of fun Anders would like most.
I wait until Effie is in bed before I send Anders a message of thanks. The phone rings immediately.
“No, thanks necessary. I had fun.” He’s lying on his sofa, his shirt rucked up, one arm behind his head.
“Really?”
He laughs. “Not a fan of giant spiders?”
I shudder. “No.”
“Would it be better if we went somewhere else next time? What about tomorrow? We could do a picnic and the zoo?”
“I think you need to learn to pace yourself. At the rate you’re going, you’re going to burn out. Treats should be drip-fed.”
“But I want to do it all. I loved being a kid. Being a parent must be like getting to do it all over again, but this time you remember it better.”
“Those are some powerful rose-coloured glasses you’ve got there. Being a parent is like doing it all again, only this time you get to pay for it.”
“Maybe. But I still want to see you tomorrow.”
“Just a picnic, then,” I say because I want to see him too. Badly. “How are you finding all this time to play hookey?”
“I’m not sleeping much,” he admits, although I guess I knew it. The pace at Cerium at the moment is relentless. Almost everyone is working late. And he’s the boss. He works even later.
“I’ll let you go, then. I don’t want to distract you.”
“I’d kinda like it if you did.”
I suck in a breath. Is he angling for phone sex? Surely, that’s too soon. Please let it be too soon. I mean, we’ve never even seen each other naked. And what do you do for phone sex? Do you dress up? Do you take turns? What are the rules?
“But you’ve got stuff to do.” I hold my breath, panicking.