I shake my head in disbelief that this has now turned into a family conversation.
‘Great memories, weren’t they, Lucy?’ says Michael.
‘Yes, they were.’Shame you had to go and ruin it all, I think to myself.
I watch Jasmine, Poppy and Michael as they laugh amongst themselves, chatting about their favourite family memories, and then I hear my phone ring.
‘Excuse me,’ I say, walking away from the dining table.
I pick up the phone, noting who is calling. I look back at the table where my family is smiling and laughing. I watch as Elias’s name rings out.
‘Is someone calling you, Mam?’ asks Poppy.
‘It’s nothing. I can deal with it later,’ I say, putting the phone back down.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Michael clearly doesn’t want to leave as he continues to try and make amends. I am struggling to deal with him, and if the girls weren’t here, I would insist he leave. However, they’re enjoying us all being together for the first time in a long while, so I bite my tongue, despite being fit to burst. I try my best to ignore him, but I resolve that this is the last time he is coming round. I will make sure of it.
‘Isn’t that new ITV drama starting tonight?’ says Jasmine.
‘I know the one. I was going to watch that at home on my own. It’d be much nicer to watch it with my girls,’ says Michael.
Jasmine takes charge of the remote control, switching the TV to the channel.
‘Dad, do you want me to get you a beer?’ says Poppy as she helps herself to the fridge.
She hasn’t asked me if I want anything. I make a face and tell her I’ll get my own drink. She smiles at her dad as she hands him one of the beers. At least he hasn’t asked to share the bottle of wine he brought over.
‘Ah, just like old times, isn’t it?’ says Michael.
‘Yes, well, you do love a good drama, Michael,’ I say with a hint of sarcasm.
‘Don’t spoil this lovely evening with one of your funny menopausal moods now, Mam,’ says Poppy.
I squint my eyes at Poppy in a bid to warn her not to dare go down that road.
‘Ooh, it’s starting,’ says Jasmine, turning the volume up on the remote.
I shake my head and take a big – make thathuge– glug of wine. I take another as I see my phone is ringing. I don’t need to look to know that it will be Elias trying again.
‘This looks good, doesn’t it?’ says Michael. I note how he sinks further into the sofa snuggled between Poppy and Jasmine, making himself ever more comfortable.
‘Isn’t this lovely, Dad?’ says Poppy, raising a glass to him.
I remind myself that this is their dad, who they love so much, as I look at the three of them in their element. Then I turn away and look at the TV in case I pop. I tell myself that it’s just for a bit longer, and then I can get him out of here.
During the adverts, I take my phone to the toilet with me. Locking the door, I stand behind it, checking my phone. Elias has called three times, and there is a message.
Tried calling a few times as agreed. Couldn’t get a reply. Maybe wecan talk in the morning? Sweet dreams, lovely xx
I quickly type back and plan a time for the morning and then return to the lounge, where Poppy has now opened some crisps and is sharing them around as they all noisily debate whether the main actress was from a soap they love or not. As I observe them debating and jokingly arguing between themselves, I start to feel guilty, as though I have been cheating on them. One minute I was enjoying being a free woman, and now it is as though I dreamed my trip to the French Riviera, where I felt so carefree. It’s obvious that the girls feel I should give Michael a second chance, and after just one evening, I am starting to feel like I am cheating on them by messaging Elias. What is goingon? This is ridiculous. Why did Michael have to decide he was sorry now? He wasn’t sorry when we went through the divorce. He carried on thinking it gave him freedom to do whatever he chose. Now he is making me feel as though it is my fault that he finally realises the grass isn’t greener out there. Somehow, after everything he has done,Iwill be the bad guy if I put an end to all this and the girls will blame me.
Poppy and Jasmine finally decide to head off to bed once the programme finishes, but Michael is still hanging around. It occurs to me that he has had a few beers in front of the telly and that he must be over the limit to drive home. I hope he is planning on a taxi and isn’t going to suggest staying here. I start to clear all the glasses and crisp packets up as a hint that it is time to leave. My yawns get bigger, and still he won’t take the hint, so I firmly tell him I am going to bed and he’ll have to call a cab. I have given him far too much of my patience for one night.
‘I thought I’d stay over if that’s okay? The girls are here, it’d be like being a family again all waking up together,’ says Michael.
‘I’ve only got two bedrooms. Where did you expect to sleep?’ I ask, coldly.
