‘So, when did he decide he was ready to be a dad?’ There’s anger in Ward’s voice.
‘It’s a long story,’ I say, relieved we’re nearly home. ‘You take a right here, and then I’m just over the road. Anywhere here is fine.’
Ward still seems preoccupied by Dan. ‘Where’s your house?’
‘This is great.’
Ward drives slowly down my road. ‘What number are you?’
Reluctantly I say, ‘Thirty-two.’ Finally he parks right outside my house. The lights are on in the sitting room. A tub of what looks like fried chicken is splattered outside my front door.
Ward leaves the engine running as I unclick my seat belt and thank him for the lift. ‘I’ll see you on Monday,’ I say, shutting the passenger door and yanking Spud away from the food on the pavement. I try to find my house keys that are, of course, hiding in the bottom of my bag. I wish Ward would go.
But then I hear a window being wound down. ‘January,’ he calls out.
I turn.
‘You’ll be fine. Remember, she’ll be just as nervous as you, if not more.’
14
The following morning Isla is watching television. I am rushing around the house in a cleaning frenzy while Spud yaps at the hoover. Suddenly the hoover makes an ominous conking-out sound that makes me groan and Spud duck under one of the armchairs. I try to get it to work but it won’t start. It’s dead. Fuck. This is when I could really do with another person around to fix things. I wheel my sickly hoover into the cupboard under the stairs, cursing its lousy timing. Next I’m on my hands and knees making sure there’s nothing dodgy lurking underneath the sofas, especially not one of Spud’s half-eaten rubber balls or chews. I throw Isla’s DVDs into the cupboard underneath the television.
‘Can you tidy your room before they arrive?’
‘Bear with,’ she says, her eyes still fixed on the television screen. She’s watchingDon’t Tell the Bride. ‘It’s, like, totes amazing.’
I switch the TV off, quietly amused at the teen language she must have recently picked up at school. ‘And make your bed.’
‘Mum! Why do I have to do it right now?’
‘Don’t ask why. Just do it.’
‘But Dad won’t be here for ages.’
‘And get changed too.’
I watch Isla lurch across the room, feet soon stomping up the stairs. ‘Your swimming towel’s hanging over the bath,’ I call after her.
I tackle the kitchen next, clearing up our breakfast plates. Earlier this morning Isla and I went to our local Tesco Express to buy some croissants and chocolate spread. I also ended up buying some rather tired-looking pink tulips, but they’re better than nothing, I think, placing the vase in the middle of the kitchen table, along with a couple of glossy fashion magazines. There. Much better. I can do this. Stay calm. Show maturity and be civil. Maintain eye contact. I chuck the plastic wrapping that came with the flowers into my white pedal bin, which is now full to the brim, topped off with last night’s fried chicken and rice that I’d scooped off the pavement along with the empty can of Red Bull. I lift the bag out, deciding now is as good a time as any to empty it. On my way out, I catch Isla halfway down the stairs, wearing her white and navy spotted party dress. Her long hair is swished into a bun; Ruki’s style is clearly rubbing off on her. ‘Isla, why don’t you save your dress for later?’ I suggest, trying not to sound impatient. ‘You need to wear your splints too.’ She’s wearing a pair of matching navy pumps, no tights.
‘But Mum…’
‘Please. Wear your tracksuit.’
‘But if I wear my tracksuit my legs will get all sticky after swimming.’
My arm is aching from holding the bin bag, plus it smells. Deep breath. ‘That dress is too smart for swimming and you can’t wear your splints with those pumps.’ I head outside with the bulging bin bag before stopping dead when I see a car parking outside. It’s Dan’s black VW Golf. What are they doing here so early? Quickly I shove the bag into the dustbin and squash the lid down. I haven’t even had time to change out of my leggings and T-shirt and I’m standing by a stinky dustbin. ‘Hi!’ I say over-cheerfully when they approach the gate. ‘Wow, you’re here!’
‘I called,’ Dan says. ‘Didn’t you get my message?’
I picture my mobile on my bed, used as my alarm clock. ‘Yes, yes I did.’ I look at Fiona. Dan knows I’m pretending.
‘January.’ He touches my shoulder. ‘This is Fiona.’
We shake hands. She’s petite, olive-skinned, with short dark hair tucked behind neat ears that show off diamond stud earrings. I wonder if Dan gave them to her? Stop staring, January. Act normal. Step away from the dustbin.
‘Well, come in, come in. Just doing all my boring old chores, as you can see.’ That they don’t need to hear about, I berate myself as they follow me inside. ‘Isla! They’re here!’ I call loudly when she’s only right in front of me.
