‘I’ll make sure to,’ I assure her, and turn to follow Mark, who’s pointing the key fob at the wrong car.
‘Mark, ours is two behind.’ I sigh again, and bend to pick Kai up.
‘Here, let me.’ I hear a voice behind me. Jack, I realise.
‘Thanks.’ I give him a smile as he relieves me of Kai and heads towards my car, which, thankfully, my husband has found his way to.
Mark’s gaze is frosty, I notice, as Jack reaches him. ‘Cheers. I’ll take it from here,’ he says, holding out his arms for Kai.
‘I’ve got him.’ Jack exchanges a concerned glance with me. ‘Why don’t you open the door and I’ll strap the little guy in.’
Mark obliges – reluctantly, judging by his grumpy expression.
Once Kai is safely strapped into his seat, I give Jack another grateful smile. ‘Thanks, Jack. That’s really kind of you.’
‘Any time,’ he assures me, his eyes lingering on me for a moment before heading back towards Jemma’s house.
‘Regular white knight, isn’t he?’ Mark mutters as I climb in the driver’s side.
‘Could you close your door, Mark, please?’ I nod towards it and reach to help him with the seat belt he’s fumbling to fasten.
Looking as if he’d forgotten there was a door, he obliges, and I start the car, trying not to mind that he’s over-imbibed. With the barn conversion finally completed, we’re supposed to be celebrating too. We’d hit a few snags along the way, but with Jack’s help, we got there. It’s a stunning property now, a real roses-around-the-door rural retreat. Originally an eighteenth-century building, purchased for a snip of its current valuation, it’s going to make us a fair profit. I almost wish we didn’t have to sell it, though, and that we could move into it ourselves, especially now that Jemma and I have become friends.
As I drive towards the motorway back to Worcester, I contemplate the feasibility of moving here – having been buying and selling on for a while, we’re not exactly strapped for cash. It would mean taking a loss, but it would be worth it, I think. Our forever home, I muse, wondering whether to mention it to Mark in the morning.
‘Are we nearly there, Mummy?’ Kai asks, now sounding miserable. He’s overtired, poor mite, rubbing his eyes, I note in the rear-view mirror. ‘We’ll be home soon, sweetheart,’ I tell him. ‘Louie will be tucked up all warm in your bed waiting for you, don’t worry.’
‘We should have organised a babysitter,’ Mark says, as if this thought hadn’t occurred to me.
‘I tried. She had a family emergency,’ I remind him. ‘He’s just fractious because he’s tired.’
‘He’s probably picking up on the vibes.’ Mark sighs.
I frown in confusion. ‘What vibes?’
He answers with a shrug, and I don’t push it. If there’s one lesson I learned in childhood, thanks to my father’s propensityto imbibe too much, it’s never to get into an argument with someone who’s been drinking.
I’m turning onto the motorway when he asks, ‘Are we good, Kara?’
Taken aback, I glance at him curiously. ‘Of course. Why?’ It’s true I’ve been exhausted since we started our business renovating properties – flipping properties, I suppose, which some people might frown on. Old properties are Mark’s passion, though. He’s always adamant about not over-modernising and ripping the heart out of a house. And with my background in interior design, it makes sense. It’s a risky business, with high rewards and high risks financially, but we’ve been successful. It’s also damn hard work. Throw parenthood into the mix and I wonder how I stay sane sometimes. I’ve probably been a bit snappish while performing juggling acts lately, but we are good together. Still in love with each other. At least I am with him, very much. So what’s this all about? His moodiness and his drinking, something he doesn’t do often but which he knows, because of my childhood, greatly concerns me.
‘So you’re not going to run off with the good-looking builder then?’ he asks.
I baulk. ‘Mark, what on earth are you talking about?’
He shrugs. ‘Well, you did spend all night talking to the bloke. And he is good-looking, as far as I can judge good looks in a man.’
I laugh in astonishment. ‘I did not.’
‘That’s not how it seemed from where I was standing… on the sidelines. I might as well have not been in the room,’ he replies despondently.
I flick my gaze towards him, noting how he’s slumped in his seat. He’s serious, isn’t he? He’s actually jealous. ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Mark, we were just talking.’
‘Scintillating conversationalist as well, is he?’ Mark mumbles sullenly.
I emit another heavy sigh. I’m beginning to feel a bit peeved now. Also guilty. Was I really paying the man too much attention?
‘It looked to me like you were enraptured by his obvious charms,’ Mark goes on.
