‘What do you mean,if? Why wouldn’t she?’
‘Why wouldn’t she what?’
‘Fabian, you’re not listening to a word I’m telling you.’
‘I am, I am. It’s all a bit sudden, isn’t it?’
Robyn found herself growing irritable on Lisa’s behalf. ‘Well,I’dhave said yes ifyou’daskedmeto marry you afterwe’dbeen together three months…’ Robyn trailed off, hiding her scarlet face in the fridge as she replaced the bottle of wine. Jesus, what was the matter with her? Had she just proposed to Fabian?
‘Sorry? What was that?’ Fabian was still studying his phone.
‘Nothing, nothing.’ Robyn took a sideways glance at Fabian. ‘WhenMum marries Kamran, what does that make the obnoxious George and me? I mean, Jess really disliked him. I think that’s why she drank so much.’
‘Not because that pillock of a husband of hers was practically fornicating on the other side of the table with George’s date? I don’t know why she didn’t just throw a glass of wine in his lap.’
‘Too busy getting it down her neck.’ Robyn attempted humour and then sighed. ‘She’s got used to it over the years. She’ll never stop loving Dean, wanting him. Bit like Mum and Jayden really. You know, before Kamran came along?’
‘George’ll be your uncle.’
‘My uncle?’ Robyn stared. ‘He’s only a few years older than me.’
‘Well, your step-uncle, I guess. I don’t know why you’re getting so uptight about all this.’
‘OK, OK,’ Robyn said, sniffing the air and looking round the kitchen. ‘I’m starving. What, oh househusband and fabulous cook, have you prepared for us tonight?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Fabian, for heaven’s sake… What are we having for tea? OK, in your southern parlance, what’s for supper…?’ She trailed off as yet another message came through on his phone.
‘Beans on toast, I’m afraid.’ He stood abruptly. ‘Need to go out.’
‘Out? Out where? It’s Monday evening.’
‘Got to meet up with a couple of suppliers.’ He reached for his jacket. ‘Won’t be long.’
‘Suppliers? Now? Well, shall I come with you?’ Robyn reached for her own jacket.
‘No! No need.’ Fabian walked to the door without a backwards glance. ‘Won’t be long. I’ll grab something to eat somewhere.’
And with that, he was off.
7
JESS
How can one possibly feel lonely when there are two others in the house? I’d got up early as usual, laid the breakfast table for Dean and Lola and then, once the pair were down, breakfasting together, their two dark heads bent in harmony over poached eggs, I’d left them to it, going back upstairs for a long soak in the bath. When Dean had knocked on the locked bathroom door, shouting that he was walking the few hundred yards down to school with Lola for some reason, I’d ignored him, lain back and held my head under the bath water, holding my breath while wondering what it would be like to just float away from it all.
So why? Why on earth did I feelalonewhen Dean was back, telling me I was all he’d ever wanted? Because I didn’t believe him. Didn’t actuallywantto believe him. I’d let him back into our life for Lola’s sake but, let’s face it, because I was lonely. And now there was the additional problem of a dog in the house as well. I didn’t want a dog. Well, I hadn’t thought I did. But Arthur had been on his best behaviour since his arrival and he really was rather a pleasant creature. He appeared almost grateful to be here with us, trying not to get in the way, trying to catch my eye while looking up apologetically at me as if knowing I didn’t really want him there. Did dogs know when they weren’t wanted? More so than Dean did, obviously. I guessed dogs, intuitively, knew when they weren’t welcome, whereas Dean was so thick-skinned, so self-assured, so bloody arrogant and took it as a given – as his right – that he was wanted, would be welcomed and admired wherever he went.
Feeling totally guilty that I’d not made the dog more welcome, I bent down and stroked Arthur’s ears and he moved closer to me, appearing to need comfort.
‘You feeling homesick, dog?’ I murmured, because that’s how I felt myself. A sort of homesickness and need for my previous life, without the scary, unpredictable future that was waiting for me at The White House. I was feeling sick and anxious at the very thought of poking an – unpedicured – big toe into this new venture with The White House.
In a fantasy world, I was slim, confident and without a big bum. I had minions in The White House kitchens adoringly shouting ‘Yes, Chef’ in my direction as I patiently – and kindly – took over the preparation of fiddly scallops and sea urchins from bumbling fingers.
Tutting at the ridiculous picture of myself in immaculate chef’s whites, not a bead of sweat breaking on my brow as I coaxed and encouraged the young sous chefs with a professional, yet maternal smile, I turned back to Arthur.
Arthur got to his feet, shook himself and moved without any fuss to the kitchen door, waiting almost apologetically to be let out. He certainly wasn’t a barky, fussy creature and I followed him, opening the door onto my small garden. What was going to happen to next door? Would Jayden and Mum put it up for sale? Well, of course they would: Jayden came back so rarely these days; I couldn’t see him insisting on keeping a pied-à-terre in Yorkshire for if he just happened to be in the area. Or would Dean be in there with a bloody great sledgehammer, knocking through both cottages to create the fabulous house he felt he deserved?
