As Good As It Gets? (43 page)

‘
Can
it work?’ I ask, my voice cracking. ‘With us, I mean?’

His arm curls around me. ‘Of course it can,’ he says.

Chapter Forty-Three

‘Don’t worry,’ Will says as we stroll aimlessly around Soho on a muggy Saturday afternoon. ‘She’s old enough to make decisions and we had to let this happen. All that really matters is that she feels okay.’

‘Yes, I know.’ We have been back from Scotland for two weeks now. This is the first time Fraser has had a ‘window’ in which to meet his daughter. ‘Crazy at work,’ he said in his last email, thankfully omitting to mention what happened between us at his flat. I haven’t told Will that Fraser and I kissed, although he does know about our day together in Brighton. There’s no need, I’ve decided, not when it didn’t mean a thing.

Will, Ollie and I parted company with Rosie over an hour ago. Unable to settle to anything, we buy takeaway noodles to eat on a bench in Soho Square.

The park is filled with family groups, tourists prodding at their phones, and a large, excitable French school party who have descended with their packed lunches. I look at Will and Ollie, who have fallen into a discussion about microscopes. I am hugely impressed by Will’s ability to give his full attention to our son’s forthcoming present, even though Ollie’s birthday isn’t until December. No one but me would detect the hint of anxiety in his blue eyes, or notice the way he keeps glancing around the park to see if Rosie’s coming. I’ve texted her to let her know where we are, and to ask her to meet us here, half-hoping she’d hint how things were going when she texted back.
Great,
was all she said.

‘Sure you still want one?’ Will is saying. ‘It’s a serious piece of kit, you know. D’you think you’ll actually use it?’

‘Yeah,’ Ollie replies, although there’s a trace of something in his voice – a slight waning of the enthusiasm he’d displayed a few weeks ago. ‘Or,’ he adds, ‘maybe I could have an iPod instead.’ Catching the look of disappointment on his dad’s face, he grins and says, ‘Or both! That’d be great …’

‘Still four months to your birthday,’ Will says quickly, catching my eye. ‘Plenty of time to decide … look, there’s Rosie!’ He gets up and waves, and she hurries towards us.

‘Hi,’ she says with a smile.

‘How did it go?’ I ask in an overly casual way, as if she’s just met a friend from school.

‘Okay,’ she says briskly. I glance at Will as we leave the square, still in awe of how he is managing to hold it together today.

‘We were talking about what Ollie wants for his birthday,’ he says in an overly jovial manner, falling into step beside her.

‘But it’s not for ages,’ she remarks.

‘No,’ he says, ‘but we were just, you know …
thinking
…’

‘Anyway,’ I add, ‘yours is only two weeks away and you haven’t said what you’d like to do.’
What did you think of him?
I want to ask her, so desperately it’s making my heart race.
Were you disappointed? Was it an anti-climax? Or were you so bowled over by him you’ll become super-close and won’t have time for Will, who’s your real dad, let’s never forget that …

I can almost
see
the tension radiating from Will. ‘There’s that new Japanese place, Rosie,’ he says lightly. ‘Maybe we could have a quick look today, see if you fancy it?’ I sense him catching himself as we make our way along Old Compton Street. ‘I mean, that’s if you want
to go out with us for your birthday. Maybe you’d rather just do something with your friends? That’s okay. I mean, I’m not
assuming
…’

‘It’s fine, Dad,’ she says.

He glances at me as we walk, then turns back to Rosie. ‘I don’t want to force a family outing on you …’

She laughs. ‘It’s
fine
. Really. Stop going on.’ We check out the restaurant. With its deep red walls and black lacquered tables, it meets with Rosie’s approval.

‘Is it all raw fish?’ Ollie asks glumly, staring in.

‘No, of course not,’ she retorts. ‘Who says you’re coming anyway?’

They start to bicker, and I catch Ollie muttering, ‘Did you like him then? Or was he weird? Why haven’t you said anything about him?’

‘Just leave it,’ she snaps.

I reach for Will’s hand. ‘Listen, you two,’ he says, a trace of tension in his voice, ‘I’d planned a treat for this afternoon but if this is the mood, perhaps we won’t bother …’

‘What is it?’ Ollie asks.

‘Never mind,’ Will says. ‘Anyway, let me know how many are coming, Rosie. You can bring some friends, maybe Nina or Zach or …’ He tails off. Either he can’t remember Delph’s name, or is hoping Rosie won’t notice the admission. ‘Bring anyone you like,’ he adds, coming to a stop outside a smart boutique hotel in Dean Street. ‘We don’t need to come at all …’

‘Dad,’ she says, frowning now, ‘I’d love us to go out as a family for my birthday like we always do. But yeah, it’d be nice to ask Nina too. I feel bad, y’know, after that night at Zach’s gig. We haven’t spoken since then. I’ve tried to call but, I don’t know, her phone’s always been out of charge or something …’

‘Maybe you should go round to see her,’ I suggest. Rosie nods.

‘See if she wants to come, then I can book it,’ Will adds, clearly as desperate as I am to know about her meeting with Fraser. Why can’t she just
tell
us?

‘Er, why are we all standing here?’ Ollie asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Will nods towards the hotel’s elegant facade. ‘I, um, booked a table for us in here. I heard they do a lovely afternoon tea.’

‘Really, Dad?’ Rosie asks, clearly delighted as we all file in.

We have tea and tiny cucumber sandwiches and miniature scones and cakes, all presented on multi-tiered stands. ‘Oh my God,’ Rosie exclaims as tiny French pastries arrive, ‘this is heaven, Dad. What made you think of it?’

‘I just thought we all deserved a treat today,’ he says simply, and I realise now why he planned this: to make today, meeting-Fraser day, seem like a special thing, something to celebrate. He’s done it to show that he’s fine about everything, and that he’s not going to sulk or make things difficult. I reach for his hand and hold it tightly.

‘So, um, how are things going with Zach?’ I ask, to fill a lull in conversation. She has still told us precisely nothing about her meeting with Fraser. I sip my tea and try to look relaxed, as if today is nothing out of the ordinary at all.

Rosie sighs, biting into a tiny chocolate éclair. ‘He’s all right. We’re just friends, though …’

‘I thought you seemed keen?’ Will says, then corrects himself. ‘But of course it’s none of our business—’

‘Dad, are you all right?’ she asks, frowning.

He gives her a bewildered look. ‘Yes, of course, I’m fine.’

‘You seem a bit nervy, that’s all …’ Hmm, and why might that be? Doesn’t she
realise
?

She grins at me. ‘Zach’s sweet and everything, but he’s a bit of a stoner, Mum.’

‘Yes, I know he likes his pot,’ I say to amuse her.

‘You mean his cheese
,
Mum,’ Ollie sniggers. ‘His
assassin of youth.
’

Rosie looks thoughtful. ‘But it’s not just that. He’s …’ She tails off. ‘He’s a bit, well …’ My mind races. Pushy, persistent? I glance at Will, imagining him mentally preparing his 200-page prospective-boyfriend-of-darling-Rosie questionnaire.

‘A bit what?’ I prompt her.

She exhales loudly. ‘A bit thick, to be honest. We were round there, and Sabrina and her friend Abs were watching a DVD. Me and Zach stood there watching it for a minute and he said, “What’s this?” And his mum said, “
Titanic
.” You know the film one with Leonardo diCaprio?’

I smile. ‘Yes, of course I do.’

‘Well,’ she adds, laughing now, ‘he said, “Oh, one of them stupid romcoms, they’re so predictable – everyone knows they’re gonna survive.”’

I blink at her. ‘You mean he didn’t know it actually happened?’

‘No! That’s the thing, Mum. He’d never heard of it. Well, he had, but he thought it was just a made-up story about Leonardo diCaprio and Kate Winslet kissing on a ship …’

‘My God,’ Ollie scoffs, ‘I’ve known about the
Titanic
since I was, like, five years old!’

‘Yeah,’ she sniggers, ‘you know everything, genius boy …’

‘Who
doesn’t
know that?’ he retorts. I glance at Rosie as they fall into teasing each other, wondering when she’ll divulge at least
something
about meeting Fraser today. I can’t understand it at all. We polish off every morsel from the stand – at least, Rosie and Ollie do; Will and I barely eat a thing – and by the time we leave, Fraser’s name still hasn’t come up.

‘So, how did it go today?’ It’s Will who asks her as we step out into Dean Street.

She gives him a bemused look. ‘What, with Fraser?’ His name hangs like a smell above us.

‘Yeah,’ he says casually.

She bunches her hands into the pockets of her skinny black jeans. ‘He was all right. He was nice. We chatted a bit, you know?’

I glance at her, trying to detect any hint of upset, or a sense that it was too overwhelming and that she needs time to think, to process it all … but there’s nothing. She links an arm through Will’s as we head for the Tube. ‘He’s a nice guy,’ she says lightly, ‘but he’s not you, is he? I mean, I’ll never know him like I know you. You’ll always be my Dad.’

I get a sense then that I should hang back, and give them a few moments together without me chipping in, wanting to know every detail. As Ollie and I fall a little way behind, I see Will kiss the top of Rosie’s head. They are chatting as they walk, all awkwardness gone. I wish I could see his face. But this is their moment, and I slow my pace even further to give them the chance to talk.

Realising Ollie is no longer ambling along beside me, I glance round to see that he’s hanging back too, as if to disassociate himself from us, his mortifying family.

‘Come
on
, Ollie,’ I call back.

He looks away, his flat expression telling me,
I don’t need to walk with you, Mum.
I’m not going to get lost, you know. I’m not going to run into traffic.
So I’m alone now, although not in a bad way. My family are here; it’s just that everyone needs their little bit of space.

Up ahead, a slender, olive-skinned woman with swathes of dark glossy hair is hurrying towards Rosie and Will. She calls out and waves to attract their attention. Ever the nosy mother – I know, I can’t help myself – I quicken my pace to catch up. Will and Rosie have stopped chatting and are looking expectantly at her.

‘Excuse me,’ the woman says, catching her breath as she turns to Rosie. ‘I hope you don’t mind me stopping you, but I work for a model agency called Carol Mortimer Management. Have you ever thought of being a model? I think you’d be perfect for a fashion agency like ours.’

Rosie hesitates, then a big, bright smile lights up her face. Sometimes, her loveliness knocks the breath out of me. Will takes my hand and threads his fingers through mine.

Rosie glances at me, then back at the stranger. ‘Thanks,’ she says, ‘that’s a really nice thing to say. But I really don’t think—’

‘Oh, please consider it,’ the woman says, already pulling out a card from her bag. ‘You have the face, the height, and your eyes are amazing—’

‘No, really, it’s not for me,’ Rosie says, leaving her looking a little crestfallen as the four of us stroll away, all together now, on this beautiful summer’s afternoon.

Chapter Forty-Four

I set off for my interview, not in a gloomy grey suit this time but a smart red shift dress from Hobbs, low, elegant black heels (lent by Sabrina) and a smart black jacket I found lurking in my wardrobe. My hair has been coloured to great effect by Rosie, banishing the last traces of aubergine. So it’s been a sort of team effort. I’m a little jittery on the way into town, but it’s okay. There are no sweaty hands this time, and I’m not having to pretend that I don’t care about this job.

I do, very much. And I’m fine with the size of it. It’s huge, actually; a high-profile launch of a digital magazine, and they need a Marketing Director. I’ve been putting in a few hours a week helping Sabrina to publicise Crystal Brides. But while I’m happy to help her out, I’m looking to get stuck into something new and exciting that’ll really push me.

‘About time you got yourself a proper job,’ Rosie teased this morning. I could have leapt on the defensive, and reminded her that my
un-proper
job has funded everything from school trips to every stitch of clothing she wears, not forgetting the tiny things like hair clips and deodorant and scented candles. But I didn’t. I just laughed and kissed her and set off.

I arrive at the offices just off Bond Street. It’s a huge, golden sandstone building, and extremely well-groomed men and women are striding in and out. They look confident and purposeful. It’s a fresh, breezy morning, and the sun is beating down from a clear blue sky. Taking a deep breath, I hold my head high and walk in.

The interview is long and intense and, when I finally come out, I am dizzy from talking about myself, and running late. In fact, when the interview was arranged, I’d been tempted to say the date wasn’t suitable, as it was my daughter’s birthday – but of course the woman from Deacon Publishing didn’t need to know that. So I’d said it was fine, and now I’m running through Soho, all in a sweat.

By the time I reach the restaurant for lunch, everyone is already there: Will, Rosie, Ollie and Nina. We have invited Gloria too, but she is running even later than me. ‘Mum’s held up at the hairdressers,’ Will says with a grin, getting up and kissing me. ‘So, how did it go?’

I exhale loudly. ‘God, I don’t know. It’s so hard to tell. But I think it went well …’ I turn and hug Rosie. ‘Happy birthday, sweetheart. Sorry I had to rush off this morning.’

‘That’s okay. You look great, Mum. Bet you’ve got the job …’

‘Well, let’s hope so,’ I say, as the waiter comes over to talk us through the incredibly complicated menu: none of us has the faintest idea what anything is. But it’s all beautiful – so pretty to look at that we all hesitate before piling in (except Ollie, who dives in as if he hasn’t been fed for weeks). We are just finishing off when my mobile rings.