The Playdate (32 page)

The house stood empty and quiet. Funny that. If a stranger walked in now they would see a home. But if you looked carefully you would start to see the big fat lie. It was just space. Space that lay between brick and plaster, glass and tiles. Space through which people moved, kidding themselves smugly that they had created something special out of all this air; meaningful and permanent. A home.

But this wasn’t a home. It was an illusion.

She sat on the stairs looking up at the photo of the three boys, and pulled the blue piece of paper out of her pocket for the twentieth time since yesterday.

A night drifted back to her from two years ago, when she had got drunk for the first time since she’d had the twins. She’d been sitting at her kitchen table opposite Callie, trying to keep her eyes open, as her new friend emptied their second bottle of wine and moaned about how tonight’s meeting with Tom when he came to pick up Rae had finally made her realize he would never take her back.

“I can’t believe he called me Callie,” she slurred. “He’s never called me that. Tom never calls people by their real names. When he heard my name was Calista, he called me Flockhart, like the actress, and then it was just Flock. And now tonight he called me Callie again, like we’re strangers.”

Callie had been so drunk, she had fallen asleep on their sofa. So drunk, Suzy thought, opening the blue piece of paper she was holding, that she had presumably forgotten what she told Suzy that night. Suzy had been sick herself that night, having completely misjudged how much alcohol she could handle after a long break. It was only now she remembered herself.

The plumber’s invoice stared back at her, “Flock Ventures” scrawled in the corner, with Jez’s address underneath. It had taken Vondra two minutes to confirm her worst fears, with a phone call to the plumber on his mobile. “Wanted me to make it out to her kid’s dad,” he shouted down the phone. “Thought I’d pop it through the door—save her a bit of trouble.”

Her kid’s dad.

Suzy looked up at the photo of the three boys, and at the soft curl of Henry’s lip. The one he shared with Jez. And with Rae. So obvious, now she saw it.

And she had trusted them both. Jez and Callie.

“You never learn, Suzy,” she whispered to herself as she stood up and walked into the kitchen.

40
Callie

Rae wants to go to the park, but I decide that another day on the sofa can only do her good. I know I’m just being anxious. I don’t care.

She lies there, watching the film Suzy gave her for the fourth time. Tom is due in five minutes.

I dry my hair, dipping my head forward so that the wet strands fall in front of my face like a curtain. I stay there as long as I can, running my tongue over the new bruise on my lip.

My eyes are puffy from where I haven’t slept. Where I lay in a waking nightmare of my own making.

“Mum! Dad’s here!” Rae shrieks.

I push my hair back and look at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are watery with fear. I hear Tom walk into the flat. I try to pull myself together. At least I can stop Tom from telling Suzy.

I walk to the hall to see Tom closing the door and giving Rae a big hug.

“So, how are you today, monster?”

“OK,” she murmurs, hugging his legs tight and peering up at him. “But Mummy’s making me stay in all the time.”

“Rae?” I say. Jesus. I don’t need Tom’s view of me tainted any more right now. “I just want to make sure you’re . . .”

“Mummy’s right,” Tom says, tickling Rae under the chin. “You’ll be back at school on Monday with all your mates. Now go and watch telly for a minute and let me talk to Mummy.”

“No . . . want to stay with you . . .” she whines.

“Off you go, mate,” he says, pretending to kick her bum. “I’ll come in a minute.”

I stand in front of him, feeling like a child myself. Defenseless, and dependent on his mercy. He motions me with his eyes into the kitchen, follows behind me, and shuts the door.

I walk to the counter and turn, arms folded in front of me, trying to control my nerves. Tom sits at the table.

“What?” he says after a second, when I don’t say anything.

“I need to know what you are going to do.”

“No cup of tea first?”

I shrug uncertainly, and switch the kettle on, noticing I am shivering. What is he doing?

“Oh, for God’s sake, Tom,” I say, spinning round. “Tell me. I need to know.”

He shakes his head. “What I don’t get, Cal, is—what are you doing with him? The guy’s a wanker. Not only is he married—to your friend, by the way—but those fucking suits and the hair gel, for God’s sake.”

I turn angrily, to see his hands at the sides of his head as if he is outlining a huge quiff. His sleepy eyes gently slope to the sides.

Is he teasing me?

For a moment, I allow myself to settle my gaze on his face. It’s a long time since Tom has teased me.

“Don’t judge,” I say, sitting down next to him and putting my head in my hands. “I’ve never judged Kate.”

“She’s not my best mate’s wife.”

“Suzy’s NOT my best friend,” I say defensively.

“Really?”

“No. She’s someone I rely on. Company when I’m lonely. I haven’t had much choice, you might have noticed.”

Tom watches me. “What about Sophie?”

I shrug.

He sighs. “It just fucking annoys me, Cal. Apart from the fact he’s sniffing round Rae, it’s the fact that he’s using you like that. He knows you’re on your own. He knows you can’t tell his wife. For fuck’s sake. When you were at Rocket you used to go up against the arsiest blokes in Soho if they tried to mess with your work. What are you doing letting him walk all over you?”

I shrug and keep my eyes down.

“He doesn’t walk all over me.”

“Sure?”

I sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“I bet it is. One minute you’re telling me he’s some bloke you had a one-night stand with the week before you met me. Then I find the guy living across the road, back in your bed.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” I exclaim, slamming my hand down on the table. “I’ve told you. It’s a coincidence. It’s all because of Guy. But if it makes you feel better, he didn’t recognize me.”

“So why the fuck did you tell him?”

“I had to! What if the twins had heart problems, too?”

“All right—so what’s he doing here late at night, if it didn’t mean anything?”

I pause.

“I don’t need to explain that to you.”

“Yes, you fucking do. When my daughter’s lying in the next bedroom, you do. When his wife’s across the road.”

His words hang in the air. The sharp click of the kettle breaks the silence.

“What, you think I’m breaking some kind of rule?” I snap, standing up and marching back to the counter. “You know, Tom, you’re talking to someone whose mother got the flu, and died. Someone who worries every single waking moment that her daughter’s going to be next.” I reach up and slam two mugs down on the tiled countertop with a crack. I throw tea bags into them and start pouring the hot water on so furiously that it splashes, and burns my hand with tiny hot stings. “I mean, what rules are these, Tom?” I ask, grabbing a spoon and squeezing the tea bags again and again. “Everybody around me—I see them, planning holidays, what secondary school, what book group, what car. And when I’m among them, it’s like I’m feral. I have nothing. A horrible flat. No job. No future. And they sense it. They didn’t even invite me to the parents’ class party last term. Do you know how that feels? They act like I don’t exist.”

I extract the squashed tea bags and throw them so hard into the sink that they smash onto the stainless steel and burst open to reveal a thousand tiny leaves. Next, I grab the milk out of the fridge and pour it in so fast it spills over the top. Without putting it away, I walk back to the table and bang the mugs down in front of Tom, and little beige streams of tea run down the sides. I stay standing, glaring down at him. “So, you see, it doesn’t feel like I’m breaking a rule because there aren’t any in this nightmare that I live in. I just scrabble around, borrowing money from Dad. Asking you for money to get the car serviced, Jez to get the toilet fixed. Being friends with anyone who is
vaguely kind to me—and believe me, there aren’t many. And in all of this mess, he’s the only thing that makes me feel good. Just for a moment.”

“Does he?”

“Yes.”

I stay standing. Furious. Watching him.

Tom takes a sip of his tea. Then there is a long pause. It looks like he’s trying to decide whether to say something.

“What?” I say.

He screws up his mouth thoughtfully.

“Hmm.”

“WHAT?”

“Think your milk’s off.”

“What?” I look down and see nasty white lumps floating in my own cup. “Oh, for God’s sake,” I shout, spinning toward the door. “Yeah, OK, you win, Tom. I’m a total mess. I can’t even make a cup of tea properly. So just fuck off!”

And I start to march toward the door. But before I reach it I feel his hand on my sleeve, pulling.

“Cal, stop it. Come here. It doesn’t matter. Look, sit down,” he says. I stay where I am, obstinately, taken aback at the hint of a smile I can hear in his voice.

I turn to check. He tugs my sleeve again, motioning with his head toward my chair. I roll my eyes and I sit down, biting my lip.

He sighs and runs his hands over his face. “Look, it’s not that I’m judging you, Cal. I . . .”

“Sounds like you are.”

“I’m not. As I say, it just pisses me off. That he’s taking advantage.”

It takes me a moment to realize that it is concern I can hear
coming out of Tom’s mouth. I watch, fascinated, as his nostrils flare in that way that used to make everyone laugh in the pub because we knew there was a joke coming.

“I didn’t tell you, but she got really ratty with me the other night, when I was putting her to bed . . .”

“Rae?”

“Hmm. She told me she was cross that I had carried her out of the hospital because it felt like I was treating her like a baby. And that she hates being small because everyone treats her like a baby. And she said that . . .”

“Uh-huh . . . ?”

“That she liked it when you went to work and she was cross with me for telling you not to.”

“Did she?”

Tom’s grin finally appears. I can’t help it. I smile back. Embarrassed, I cover my mouth with my hand. We haven’t smiled together about Rae for a long time. I shift uncomfortably on my chair.

“Tom?” I say. “If you are going to be kind to me, I’ve got to warn you that I’m going to cry. I am feeling like pretty much the worst person in the world at the moment.”

He screws up his mouth as if trying to decide whether to speak.

“OK. Well, look, Cal. I’m going to make you an offer, but it’s got conditions.”

“What?”

“Well, I was talking to Kate last night on the phone . . .”

“Yeah?”

“And . . . she said she thought you looked exhausted . . .”

“That was nice.”

“And that she thought you had too much to deal with.
And she said she’d be really pissed off if she had to give up work.”

Oh.

“In fact, she reminds me of you sometimes,” he continues. “She’s good, you know. And desperate to get on. I know she’s my girlfriend, but you should have seen her face when she realized she was getting to do some of my shots in Sri Lanka.”

That was nice. Of Kate.

“So . . .” he carries on, “I’ve decided . . .”

“What?”

“That when this Sri Lankan contract is done, I’m going to look for a studio-based job. Here.”

I stare at him.

“London?”

He nods.

“But you do wildlife. It’s what you do.”

“Yeah, well, as I say, I’ve decided. So, if I’m around a bit more, I thought maybe you could go back to work. I wouldn’t be earning as much, so you’d probably have to anyway.”

I can’t believe what he is offering. A rush of possibilities come at me. We could be a family again. Not in the same house, obviously. But a family who meets on Sundays for walks and Christmas and Rae’s birthday parties. And if Tom helped me more with Rae, I could take another contract with Guy. I could get out of this mess. Start to fix things.

I blink back the tears again.

“Everyone’s always asking me if you’re working again, you know. They still rate you. Ring Guy and see what he says. If you want, I’ll take a few weeks off and have Rae for the summer to get you going—then we’ll sort something out in September.”

The tears come. I lift my hands to cover my eyes.

“You don’t have to . . .”

“Yeah, well, she’s still my little girl.”

I keep my hands in front of my face. Because I know if I looked at him now I would see the pain in his eyes, remembering what I did to him.

*     *     *

It is a cold winter evening. Rae is three years old. I am cleaning my teeth in the bathroom mirror when the door opens and Tom walks in, removing his coat, his skin pink from walking along the freezing road from the Tube.

“Good night?” I ask, waiting for him to do his usual: shove his cold hands up my T-shirt to make me laugh, or kiss my head to say thanks for letting him have this Saturday night out with his old mates from the wildlife unit. “How was everyone?”

“Good,” he murmurs.

But he doesn’t come near me. Instead, he wanders around the bathroom as if he is looking for something.

I watch him in the mirror as I work the brush around my mouth. His face is unsmiling, his shoulders rigid as if trying to carry a heavy weight.

“You all right?” I mumble through the foam of the toothpaste. “What’s up?”

Tom avoids my eye. He turns round again, and again, restlessly, like a dog trying to find a comfortable spot, before finally sitting down heavily on the side of the bath. He leans forward and puts his head in his hands.

“Tom!” I exclaim, turning round. “What’s the matter?”

He shakes his head, eyes to the floor.

“Tom? What?”

He sits back up but keeps looking at the floor.

“Just something Gordon said.”

“Which Gordon?” I say, confused. “Vet Gordon off the program?”