asks, looking amused.
I shrug. ‘Oh, you know,
it’s
weird, I mean. Life’s weird. You’re a dad; Dready Eddy is a dad. And I’m, well, I’m living in my granny’s
bungalow.’
Eddy shifts from foot to foot on the paving stones. ‘Yeah, sorry, I heard about, er, your husband.’
‘It’s fine,’ I say, glad he’s brave enough to say it straight out instead of hedging with euphemisms and platitudes, like most people. ‘Not every marriage is meant
to last.’
He barks a sharp laugh, as if it’s been punched out of him. ‘No.’
The youngest girl comes running up to us, breathless and excited.
‘Daddy, can we stay here with the puppy? Can we?’
Her sister, who can’t be more than eight, rolls her eyes in a distinctly teenaged manner.
‘Grace, we have
things to do
. Don’t we, Daddy? It can’t all be fun and games.’
I stifle a smirk at her world-weary air.
‘Charlotte’s right, sweetheart,’ says Eddy, pulling gently on Grace’s plait. ‘I’ve got to get you back to Mummy’s house by eight thirty so she can take
you both to ballet.’
‘But I don’t want to go to ballet,’ wails Grace, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I want to stay with you, and with the puppy.’
Eddy tenses up next to me. Back to Mummy’s house? He offers me a rueful half smile.
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Life is weird. Come on, girls. We have to go and say goodbye to Great-grandma or we’re going to be late.’
‘Can we come and see the puppy again?’ asks Grace, clutching at my hand and gazing up at me imploringly. Charlotte tries to look more aloof, as if she doesn’t care, but I can
see that she’s every bit as keen to be invited back. Acting cool doesn’t fool me; I’ve done too much of that myself to fall for it from other people.
‘Of course you can,’ I say. ‘Next time you visit we can take her for a walk, if you like.’
Eddy’s already at the side gate. ‘Stop bothering poor Kate, girls,’ he calls. ‘Off we go.’
They run out of the gate, waving, and I have to catch Minnie by the collar to stop her from following.
‘Sorry, Mins,’ I say. ‘You’ve got to stay here with me.’
She whines as the gate closes, and I feel like whining too. I’d rather be off with Eddy and his children, chaotic and complicated as it all sounds, than here alone with another day to
fill. I wonder how different things would have been if Matt and I had had children. We weren’t torn apart by the pressures of a young family. No, we didn’t have that excuse. We
can’t blame the failure of our marriage on anyone but ourselves.
8
When I left every means of communication on the kitchen table in London, it had felt like a dramatic statement of intent. Screw you, Matt Martell, you have no way of contacting
me ever again. But, like most dramatic statements, one short week later it feels like lunacy. Of course it has kept Matt away from me, but it has also kept me away from everything else. It’s
not like I was expecting the emails to have built up or anything, or as if I had important business to attend to – let’s be honest, the most urgent emails I receive these days are ones
about the Ocado delivery – but I hadn’t remembered that I’d need to check my bank account, if only to watch the money drain out of it, and pay bills and generally remember that I
am actually a grown-up and not the Lyme Regis teenager I once was.
I left Minnie at home this morning while I trawled the streets of Lyme to see if I could find an internet cafe. Yes, I know, the internet cafe has gone the way of AOL and Yahoo Answers, but this
is Lyme Regis and I lived in hope that there might be a fossilized millennial internet cafe somewhere around, even if it was just in the Senior Citizens’ Centre. Mum offered me the use of one
of the work computers, but when I realized she meant I’d have to come into the office I decided I’d rather take my chances elsewhere. Somewhere I might get a bit of privacy.
It seems
I shrug. ‘Oh, you know,
it’s
weird, I mean. Life’s weird. You’re a dad; Dready Eddy is a dad. And I’m, well, I’m living in my granny’s
bungalow.’
Eddy shifts from foot to foot on the paving stones. ‘Yeah, sorry, I heard about, er, your husband.’
‘It’s fine,’ I say, glad he’s brave enough to say it straight out instead of hedging with euphemisms and platitudes, like most people. ‘Not every marriage is meant
to last.’
He barks a sharp laugh, as if it’s been punched out of him. ‘No.’
The youngest girl comes running up to us, breathless and excited.
‘Daddy, can we stay here with the puppy? Can we?’
Her sister, who can’t be more than eight, rolls her eyes in a distinctly teenaged manner.
‘Grace, we have
things to do
. Don’t we, Daddy? It can’t all be fun and games.’
I stifle a smirk at her world-weary air.
‘Charlotte’s right, sweetheart,’ says Eddy, pulling gently on Grace’s plait. ‘I’ve got to get you back to Mummy’s house by eight thirty so she can take
you both to ballet.’
‘But I don’t want to go to ballet,’ wails Grace, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I want to stay with you, and with the puppy.’
Eddy tenses up next to me. Back to Mummy’s house? He offers me a rueful half smile.
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Life is weird. Come on, girls. We have to go and say goodbye to Great-grandma or we’re going to be late.’
‘Can we come and see the puppy again?’ asks Grace, clutching at my hand and gazing up at me imploringly. Charlotte tries to look more aloof, as if she doesn’t care, but I can
see that she’s every bit as keen to be invited back. Acting cool doesn’t fool me; I’ve done too much of that myself to fall for it from other people.
‘Of course you can,’ I say. ‘Next time you visit we can take her for a walk, if you like.’
Eddy’s already at the side gate. ‘Stop bothering poor Kate, girls,’ he calls. ‘Off we go.’
They run out of the gate, waving, and I have to catch Minnie by the collar to stop her from following.
‘Sorry, Mins,’ I say. ‘You’ve got to stay here with me.’
She whines as the gate closes, and I feel like whining too. I’d rather be off with Eddy and his children, chaotic and complicated as it all sounds, than here alone with another day to
fill. I wonder how different things would have been if Matt and I had had children. We weren’t torn apart by the pressures of a young family. No, we didn’t have that excuse. We
can’t blame the failure of our marriage on anyone but ourselves.
8
When I left every means of communication on the kitchen table in London, it had felt like a dramatic statement of intent. Screw you, Matt Martell, you have no way of contacting
me ever again. But, like most dramatic statements, one short week later it feels like lunacy. Of course it has kept Matt away from me, but it has also kept me away from everything else. It’s
not like I was expecting the emails to have built up or anything, or as if I had important business to attend to – let’s be honest, the most urgent emails I receive these days are ones
about the Ocado delivery – but I hadn’t remembered that I’d need to check my bank account, if only to watch the money drain out of it, and pay bills and generally remember that I
am actually a grown-up and not the Lyme Regis teenager I once was.
I left Minnie at home this morning while I trawled the streets of Lyme to see if I could find an internet cafe. Yes, I know, the internet cafe has gone the way of AOL and Yahoo Answers, but this
is Lyme Regis and I lived in hope that there might be a fossilized millennial internet cafe somewhere around, even if it was just in the Senior Citizens’ Centre. Mum offered me the use of one
of the work computers, but when I realized she meant I’d have to come into the office I decided I’d rather take my chances elsewhere. Somewhere I might get a bit of privacy.
It seems
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