28
The sky glowered darkly as she parked her car in the bay outside her front door. She so wanted to call Mel but she’d blinkin’ well promised not to call her while she was in Paris. She needed to tell her about Max doing Ms Ambulance Drawers behind her back, and that she’d finished with him for good. Spike was on her mind too. And Max’s passing shot. Polly had now gone back to thinking that it was too late – and in any case, if it wasn’t too late, why on earth would she want to put herself through the turmoil of getting close to him again, and him then leaving? Better if she was done with both Max and Spike. Far better to be on her own. Free of all the trouble – and alone with Rowan.
Polly slammed her car door and pelted down the road to Daisy’s to collect Rowan, just as the sky opened and rain bucketed down.
‘Phew!’ she said, when Tiggy opened the door to her. ‘Your mum and the girls in?’
‘Yeah, in there,’ said Tiggy, in her Kevin-the-teenager voice.
Walking through, she saw that there in the kitchen – as if she’d just conjured him up by thinking of him – was Spike, sitting at the breakfast counter, having a cup of tea and a chat with Daisy. Polly felt a quickening of her heart.
‘Hey, Polly,’ he called, with a little wave.
‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ she said in a voice that rang out in the echoey room, sounding more harsh than she intended it to.
‘Was totally my fault, Polly,’ said Daisy. ‘I saw him walking up to your door and it was raining, so I invited him round here to wait. I knew you’d turn up sooner or later to pick up Rowan.’
Polly turned to Spike. ‘You were coming to see me? Why was that?’ He gave her a look as if he could read what she’d been thinking of earlier, and – hating herself for it – she began to colour up.
‘Why, to see if I could spend some time with my gorgeous daughter. Daisy here took pity on me, invited me in. Yet as soon as I arrived, Rowan dashed upstairs and hasn’t been seen since,’ he said, with a questioning look in his eyes.
‘Is anything the matter?’ said Daisy. ‘Only you do look rather flustered.’
Polly’s initial desire to tell Daisy what had happened with Max was tempered by the presence of Spike. She also didn’t want him to know that she was thinking of travelling down to Devon. He might well raise some objections. She made a snap decision to wait until her trip was a done deal.
‘It’ll keep,’ she said.
‘Don’t mind me,’ said Spike, clearly guessing that he might well be in the way. He hopped off his stool and added, ‘I can always go and find Miss Nibs.’
Polly paused. Would it really hurt? She didn’t have to mention her trip – yet she was dying to tell someone about what had just happened with Max. ‘Oh, what the hell,’ she said. ‘I might as well tell you both. I’ve just had a bust-up with Max. On the way over here. We’ve split up. I was going to tell him anyway that I thought we should have a break…’ ( don’t give me that look, Spike Monaghan ) ‘…what with this and that. But then, well, let’s just say that something happened that convinced me it was never going to work.’
‘What?’ said Daisy.
‘Yes, what? You can tell us, Poll,’ said Spike, sounding eager to hear.
‘Oh okay,’ said Polly, who was – according to Mel – a world champion blabbermouth. Briefly, and without going into too much detail, she told them about catching Max and Sarah “at it”.
‘No!’ said Daisy.
Spike said nothing – although he seemed to find the towel episode amusing. Daisy had gasped, ‘No! Oh dear. That’s hilarious,’ and laughed a good deal.
‘So that’s it,’ said Polly. ‘Over. Finished. Finito.’ She flopped onto the small white leather sofa in the corner.
‘Oh dear,’ said Daisy. ‘Just when I thought he might be good boyfriend material.’ She cast a look in Spike’s direction, but his face was giving nothing away.
‘I dare say I’ll survive,’ said Polly, feeling much more cheerful now that she’d unloaded herself. ‘We were hardly a match made in heaven, were we? Done and dusted.’ She sat up straight. ‘Look, I hope you don’t mind. But now that I’ve bored you rigid, can we change the subject?’
‘Sure,’ said Daisy.
‘I’ll be shooting off soon in any case,’ said Spike. ‘Leave you girls to it.’
Polly gave him a steady stare. ‘No Bam?’
He raised his eyebrows at her. ‘No, Polly. She’s gone to visit her mother – in Kettering?’
‘Ah right,’ said Polly, having no idea where Kettering was. Geography and maps and stuff not being her strong point.
‘You have no idea where Kettering is, do you?’ said Spike, an ill-disguised smirk on his face.
Polly was not in any mood for verbal sparring. ‘Rowan around?’ she asked Daisy, ignoring Spike’s question.
‘She’s upstairs…’ both Daisy and Spike said together, and Daisy said, ‘Snap,’ smiling at him rather indulgently, Polly thought. Jolly cosy too. She looked at Daisy, who was casting coy looks in Spike’s direction.
‘Rowan?’ Polly said, reminding her.
‘Oh sorry,’ said Daisy. ‘She’s upstairs playing with Morwenna. Do you want me to give her a call?’ Daisy placed a beautifully crafted cup filled with tea in front of Polly.
‘Good idea,’ said Polly, as she lifted the cup to examine it – it was painted with pink roses and gold twiddly bits. ‘These cups are lovely.’
‘D’you like them? My friend Thalia made them at our pottery class. Gorgeous, aren’t they?’
‘Mmm. Yes.’
‘I didn’t know you were a potter,’ said Spike.
Daisy gave a soft laugh. ‘Oh God, not me. Mine are terrible! I daren’t even bring them home. Phil has threatened to have a Greek night where we all chuck my pots on the floor and down loads of Ouzo!’
‘Ah, c’mon, I’ll bet they’re not as bad as all that,’ said Spike, with his characteristic twinkle.
God , thought Polly. Daisy’s positively simpering! Spike ought to bottle it, you know, he’d make a fortune. Spike’s Irish Blarney!
Daisy rose out of her chair – but not before she’d twiddled with her hair, Polly noticed. ‘I’ll go tell Rowan her mummy’s here.’
‘So,’ said Polly, the moment Daisy left the room.
‘So yerself,’ said Spike. ‘You sure you’ve not come with a request from another of your friends for my sperm?’
‘I’m tired, Spike. Can we forget all that for the time being?’
‘Fine by me,’ he said, taking a slurp of his tea. ‘She does a fine brew, does Daisy.’
‘You can wipe that stupid grin off your face. She’s not after your sperm, either!’ Polly couldn’t help saying, and then mentally (yes, very mental) kicked herself.
‘A man never knows with you girls!’ His face broke into a dimpled grin.
‘Mummeee!’ Rowan came charging into Polly’s legs without engaging any toddler brakes.
‘Oof!’ said Polly.
Daisy followed behind, muttering, ‘Honestly…’ She turned to the others. ‘Sorry. Tiggy’s got boy trouble.’
Haven’t we all! thought Polly.
‘You know Tiggy and Fin have been having sex?’
‘What? No! She’s just a child.’
‘She’s sixteen, Polly.’
‘She is? Oh God, I’ve missed her birthday, haven’t I? I’m so sorry. I’ll get her a present. But… God. Tiggy having sex? How on earth do you know?’
‘We’ve been letting him sleep over.’
‘In her room, you mean?’ Polly’s mind was boggling. ‘In her bed?’
‘Shh, she’ll hear us.’
Spike was saying nothing. Daisy reached for the bottle of red on the side. ‘Anybody want one?’
‘No thanks.’
Spike shook his head.
‘Well, I hope nobody minds if I do,’ said Daisy, pouring herself a hefty glug.
Rowan still had hold of Polly’s legs while Polly fervently hoped – given the subject matter – that Rowan’s ears were well and truly bunged up.
‘Shall I take Roly to get her coat?’ said Spike.
‘Hanging up in the hall,’ Daisy said, waving her hand. ‘Thanks.’ She gave him a thin smile then turned back to Polly. ‘Just you wait until Rowan is older. It’s a nightmare knowing what to do for the best. Me and Phil talked it over and decided a long time ago that if she had a boyfriend and was going to have sex with him, better in our house where we can keep an eye on them than in the back seat of a car…’
What’s wrong with the back seat of a car? Polly was thinking. Wasn’t that, like, a rite of passage everyone had to go through?
‘…or in some alleyway, or the backroom of a club…’
‘Backroom of a club?’ said Polly. ‘God, I feel old. Is that what they get up to in their clubs nowadays?’
‘So, yes, Fin has been spending a couple of nights a week here.’
‘But… but… isn’t that, like, horribly embarrassing?’
Daisy took a slug of her wine. ‘You get used to it,’ she half shrugged.
‘Oh God,’ said Polly. ‘I’m going to make sure Rowan doesn’t have sex until she’s at least thirty! Tell me you haven’t heard them – you know. Doing it?’
‘Whoah, too much information there,’ said Spike, entering the kitchen with a Rowan suitably coated and booted.
‘Anyway,’ stage whispered Daisy, ‘Phil took her to the STI clinic this morning. Seriously, Polly. He wasn’t best pleased, either. And Tiggy’s furious with Dolphin. She insists he’s the one who’s given her crabs as she’s not slept with anyone else for months!’
‘Months?’ Polly’d understood that Dolphin was Tiggy’s first boyfriend.
Spike covered Rowan’s ears and then said to Polly, ‘Sorry to interrupt this chinwag. But shouldn’t this one be getting off home?’
‘Yes. Of course,’ said Polly, rising up off her stool.
‘All right if I come back with yous two, Poll?’ asked Spike. ‘Give this little monster – I mean cherub…’ as Rowan wriggled in his grasp ‘…her bath? Would that be okay?’
‘Hmm? Yes, I’m sure she’d love that,’ she said, distracted by Daisy’s tale of teen sex and pubic lice. She still found it hard to fathom… ‘I’ll call you,’ she said to Daisy.
As Rowan merrily skipped along the road, holding onto her father’s hand, she asked, ‘What are mabs?’ The rain had stopped long enough for them to get home and dry. ‘Why has Tiggy got mabs? Can I have some?’
‘Would you like to stay for something to eat?’ Polly called up the stairs. It seemed daft not to invite him.
‘Is it safe or is it something you’ve cooked yerself?’ he called back.
‘Cheek! Even I can’t go wrong with vegetarian chilli,’ she yelled back. He came to the top of the stairs. ‘I only have to boil rice, fry onion and garlic and bung in chilli powder, tinned tomatoes and tinned kidney beans!’ she added.
‘So long as you don’t boil the onion and fry the rice instead,’ he said, arms folded across his chest and his eyebrows joining in with his amused smile.
‘Very droll.’
A squealing and naked Rowan streaked across the landing behind his back, and he turned to give chase. ‘Come here, you!’
Polly retired to the kitchen and the task of wielding a can opener.
All was simmering away nicely as he entered the kitchen. ‘Rowan safely tucked up and fast asleep,’ he reported, with a salute.
‘How many times did you have to read her Meg and Mog ?’
‘Twice,’ he said.
‘You got off lightly.’
He came to stand next to her at the oven, took the wooden spoon she’d been using for the stirring and leant across her to take a taste – just brushing Polly’s arm as he did so – the little hairs on her forearm going ping!
‘Hmm,’ he said, as he stood back upright. ‘I’m getting tomato, I’m getting garlic, I’m getting burnt onion…’
‘Oi!’ Giving him a playful shove. ‘I have not burnt it.’
‘Guess that burnt flavour must be ingrained in the pan, then.’
‘Bloody nerve,’ she said, flicking a tea towel at him as he jumped out of the way and then fixed her with a glance.
‘Sorry about yer Max fella. Seems he acted like a right pillock. I’d—’
‘Yeah well,’ she interrupted, trying not to return his unsettling gaze. Instead she concentrated on the pan, hoping against hope that she could calm the flush threatening to rise from her chest and up over her face. ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she murmured, ‘if it’s all the same with you.’
‘Righty-ho, Polly. If you’re sure that’s what you want.’
Miserably she thought that what she might actually want – what she could see in her mind’s eye – was for him to throw himself at her feet and declare his undying love. But that wasn’t going to happen, was it? Not now. Not ever. God’s sake, Polly. What’s got in to you?
She began to plate up the food, setting out bowls of chilli and a small bowl of yoghurt to share.
‘So,’ she said, as she took her place opposite him. ‘Guess that’s me on my own again. You know. No Max. Oh, don’t give me that look. I like it. As Hugh Grant said, “I know that no man’s an island…”’
‘“…but if I have to be one then better make it Ibiza!”’ finished Spike. The pair of them not quite getting the quote word for word but close enough.
‘ About a Boy ,’ she said, as they both paused, remembering happier times when they used to stay in, snuggled up on the sofa and watch that very same DVD… one of their favourites back then… before Spike left… before Rowan… just before everything, she thought. Disconcerted, she gave a small cough. ‘Yeah well.’
He reached across to take her hand, and when she looked up into his eyes, they were dark and dilated. ‘Polly?’ he began… but that was when the phone in the hall started ringing.
When she returned to the kitchen, her face was deathly pale.
‘That was Brian,’ she said, clearly shocked. ‘It’s Suze.’ She grabbed hold of a chair as her knees didn’t feel capable of keeping her upright. ‘She’s had an accident. Nearly drowned. Is in hospital. Brian said there’s nothing we can do tonight. And to come down tomorrow. Oh, Spike.’ He caught her just in time and held her tightly to his chest, as she cried.
‘Shh, shh,’ he said, reminding her of the sound of waves coming in on the shore.
All that night, she tossed and turned as if approaching the eye of a storm. While Spike slept below, like a sailor preparing to steady the helm of a ship.