“I mean, we go back and we strategize, work out how to prove Champ was nowhere near Tess when she’s claiming he bit her. We—”
“No.” Shutting him down whenever he says this has become part of Sally’s daily routine.
“Let’s not have this argument again,” says Tobes, and Sally thinks:From schoolyard brawler to diplomat.“Your turn, Dad. What’s your worst, most difficult truth to admit?”
“Here’s one you’re not going to like,” says Mark. “If I were back at the Hayloft now and it was still yesterday, I’d refuse to leave. I certainly wouldn’t agree to leave my car behind, or my phone.”
“Oh, like we didn’t all totally know that already.” Ree groans. “What a stunning revelation.Not.Okay, I’ll do one, but don’t go mad, Mum. I made a little video on my burner phone of me singing Champ’s night song, and… Well, put it this way: I posted it online.”
“‘Land of Cute and Furry’?” Sally smiles. “I thought it was so embarrassing, I wasn’t allowed to sing it in front of anyone you knew.”
“Yeah, that was before. Anyway, I posted it, and this really cool thing happened. Other people—my friends—all decided…” Ree breaks off.
Sally looks in the rearview mirror but it’s dark and she can’t see much. She hears Ree and Tobes mumbling to each other but she can’t make out the words. “What?” She turns round in her seat to inspect their faces. Did Toby just stop Ree from saying something? “What’s going on?”
“Just online stuff, Mum,” Tobes says with a reassuring smile. “Some of our friends saw Ree’s video and made videos of themselves singing ‘Land of Cute and Furry’ too. You know, in support of Champ. That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Which friends?” asks Sally.
“I’ll tell you all about it later, okay? Don’t worry, Mum.” Tobes leans forward and pats her arm. “It’s all good, trust. Champ’s got a solid posse behind him. That’s the main thing.”
“Then let’s go home and—” Mark tries again.
“Dad, for God’ssake!” says Ree. “We’ve just driven all the way to Norfolk.”
“Yes, which I knew was a big mistake before we set off.”
“Then you shouldn’t have come with us, should you? You numpty.”
“Do not call me a numpty, Rhiannon. I’m your father.”
“I mean… Do you have to rub it in?” she says. “That’s just sadistic.”
This is typical Mark, Sally thinks. Regretting things is a bit of a hobby for him, though he’d never admit it. No sooner has he put on a jumper or chosen a route than he starts to say plaintively, “I should have worn my blue jumper—it’s warmer,” or “Damn, I knew it was a mistake to go this way.” In the early days of their marriage, Sally used to try to investigate these little mysteries. She would saythings like, “I don’t understand. If youknewit was a mistake, then why didn’t you choose to go the other way, the way you thought was better?” Mark would get flustered and say, “I don’t know!” as if she’d presented him with the most impossible conundrum in the world.
“Right, your turn, Mum,” says Tobes. “Tell us something about you that’s true that we don’t already know.” Sally would rather get to the bottom of why he was being so suspiciously reassuring a moment ago, but she knows that to say so would lead to her being labeled a fun sponge.
“Once I pretended to walk Champ at 2:00 a.m.,” she says.
“What?” says Ree. “Why?”
“I mean, I didn’t really pretend—I did take Champ out at two in the morning, that bit was true—but it wasn’t because he needed or wanted a walk. I had to wake him up. I felt terrible for days afterward for interrupting his sleep.”
“Then why did you?” says Mark.
“I wanted to go and see Shukes.”
“In the middle of the night?”
Sally nods. “Henry Christensen was fast asleep, poor chap. I woke him up: kept ringing the doorbell till he came downstairs. In my defense, I was in a state and not thinking straight. I’d had a dream—”
“Sally, what the hell were you thinking?” Mark is irate.
“Relax, Dad,” says Tobes. “Jeez. Everything’s fine. Carry on, Mum.”
Ree says, “Please don’t be about to tell us you cheated on Dad with Mr. Christensen, because if you are? That’s a confession you should make privately first, just to Dad.”
“Of course I didn’t do that,” says Sally. It baffles her the way her children occasionally suggest she might have some kind of bit on the side. Even if she ever saw a man she desperately fancied, which hadn’t happened for at least ten years, she’d be happy simply to imagine his face and think about the sound of his voice. That would be far more pleasurable than actually engaging with the reality of him and discovering all the infuriating nonsense clogging up his mind and life that Sally knew she’d be unwilling to make room for.
