‘There’s my girl!’ Dan gives Isla a hug.
‘Hello, Daddy.’
‘I’m sorry we’re early,’ Fiona turns to me hesitantly, ‘but we checked the timetable at the leisure park…’
‘And the slides shut at midday for the adult lanes so we thought we’d better get a move on,’ Dan finishes off her sentence, ruffling Isla’s hair before introducing her to Fiona.
Isla gazes at her, a finger pressed to her mouth.
‘What a pretty dress,’ Fiona exclaims, ‘and such lovely shoes.’
‘Dan tells me you’re a teacher,’ I say to Fiona, switching the kettle on. Unfortunately he said they had time for a quick coffee. I can’t stop staring at her. She’s dressed in skinny jeans and a sloppy grey mohair jumper that shows off a pale-pink swimming strap underneath.
‘That’s right,’ Fiona says, ‘I teach primary kids, for my sins.’ A pause. ‘And Dan tells me you’re an estate agent?’
I am reminded of Ward and our drinks last night and for a moment it makes me feel brighter. ‘That’s right.’ I grab some mugs. ‘For my sins, for my sins.’ I hate that phrase and somehow I’ve managed to say it twice.
‘Well,’ we all say at the same time, the kettle taking an interminably long time to boil.
‘I’ve heard the weather’s not too bad over the weekend,’ is the best I can do, looking out of the window.
‘May is such a beautiful time of year,’ says Fiona self-consciously, ‘when it’s getting much warmer with summer only round the corner.’ The telephone rings next door just as the kettle boils.
‘Take it!’ both Dan and Fiona urge.
I hesitate, before leaving it, wanting to get the coffee over and done with. ‘Probably a scam.’
‘I’m going to big school this autumn, Fiona,’ Isla says coyly.
The telephone clicks into the answer machine. ‘January, it’s me.’ It’s Grandad. ‘You’re probably out walking Spud. I know it’s the dreaded meeting later on this morning.’
Stop talking, Grandad.
‘Hope it’s not too awkward,’ he continues. ‘Call me later.’
Fiona’s cheeks redden. ‘Dan tells me you’re a brilliant artist and photographer too, Isla. And who’s this gorgeous little chap?’ She bends down to stroke Spud, not wanting to look at me.
‘You know what,’ Dan glances at his watch, ‘we’d better shoot.’
After I have waved them goodbye I walk back inside, pick Spud up and carry him on to the sofa, demanding he gives me a giant cuddle. Spud rests his head on my knee, looks up at me with his soulful brown eyes, then jumps up and licks my face when I begin to cry. ‘I’m being so silly, Spud. I knew the day would come when Dan met someone, but it doesn’t make it any easier, you know?’ He looks at me as if he knows exactly what I mean; I swear dogs understand more than humans. I scratch him under the chin. He lies down again, rests his head on my thigh. I take my locket off, open it to look at my mother and father, then close it, telling myself not to feel like this. I pick up the controls, turn on the television; it’s some cooking show. Before Dan came back into our lives, I used to fantasise about a weekend to myself, going to the shops, reading a book. When did I last read a book without interruption? But now that I’ve got the time I don’t feel like it. The house is uncharacteristically tidy, leaving me with nothing to do except call someone out to fix the hoover. I hope Fiona doesn’t let Isla run too fast around the pool and they must be careful going up the steps to the slides. Dan must have told her all about her CP.
Just as I’m about to take Spud for a walk, the telephone rings. I decide to screen.
‘Hi, Jan, it’s Lucas.’
I pick up.
‘Oh hi,’ he says, ‘you’re there.’
‘What do you want?’ I ask, before regretting sounding so harsh. But it has to be said, Lucas rarely rings for a chat.
‘Love you too.’
‘Sorry. It hasn’t been the best morning.’ When I tell him about Fiona and Dan he remains quiet. Lucas can’t do emotion. I remember Granny saying how alike he and my father were, that Mum had been clever at bringing out Dad’s softer, more human side.
‘Sorry, that can’t be easy.’ Long pause. ‘But you’ll meet someone, Jan,’ he adds, almost with affection.
I soften. ‘Do you want to pop over? I could do with some company. We could grab a takeaway—’
