‘I don’t know,’ Joel blusters. ‘Late, probably. I think there’s an after party.’
‘An after party?’ Martha crows from the landing. ‘At an art exhibition?’
‘Well,afterit,’ Joel mutters, blushing.
‘I thought you said it was going to be boring?’ Fin remarks.
‘It will. It’ll probably will be deathly dull. You know these things.’ His kids stare at him. They don’t know these things.
‘If it’s going to be so bad,’ Martha says with a sly edge to her voice, ‘then why are you bothering going?’
‘I just feel obliged to,’ he says hotly, as if he is the teenager being grilled.
She smirks. ‘Dad, you look really freaked out. Like, you’re sweating. Are you worried about us being home without you?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘We’ll befine,’ she declares. ‘I’ll put him to bed at seven-thirty?—’
‘You willnot,’ Fin exclaims.
‘Six-thirty then.’ She sniggers.
‘Shut up, Marth!’ He runs upstairs to meet her on the landing where they launch into a ramshackle play fight which Joel senses is being acted out for his benefit.
‘Stop it, you two.’ He glares up as they swing each other around ineffectually. ‘Is this what’s going to happen when I’m out tonight?’
They stop instantly. ‘No,’ Fin mutters.
He can sense Martha studying him from her vantage point. ‘So, you won’t be back until morning, then?’
‘Maybe. Not definitely. But it’s a possibility…’ Joel winces as if to underline the fact that the event he’s conjured up is an utter inconvenience to him.
‘Are you going to “get on one”, Dad? Like, take a pill?’ Martha teases, and his cheeks flare.
‘Don’t be silly. It’s a cultural thing.’
‘Oooh,’ she teases. ‘Cultural!’
Ignoring this mockery, he pushes back the slightly thinning hair that he still wears a little bit spiky, styled with gel. ‘I’ll message to let you know if I’m staying over. Is that all right?’ he asks.
She gazes down at him with an inscrutable look on her face. Smart, sassy Martha, who seems to have given up on school of late, but could run rings around many of her teachers with her intellect. ‘Sure, Dad,’ she says, eyes glazing now, signalling that she has lost interest in his evening plans already.
‘So, lunch!’ Joel announces with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. ‘How about I order us a Nando’s?’
‘Forlunch?’ Martha gasps.
‘Can we have KFC?’ Fin asks, and Joel sees a glance exchanged between brother and sister.
‘All right,’ she concedes, as if it’s her who’s paying.
‘Okay, why not?’ Joel swaggers up to the landing and pulls up the menu on his phone. An extensive order is placed – mains, sidesanddesserts, for lunch! Are they taking the piss? Then the kids disperse to their rooms and Joel heads back to his preferred stretched-out position on the sofa, telling himself that sixty-five quid should settle his guilt about heading over to Carmel’s tonight. He’ll leave them money for a McDonald’s later too. They’ll be wishing their mum went away more often.
Now Joel checks his phone again for the umpteenth time, to see if Carmel has messaged – she hasn’t – and reassures himself that Fin and Martha are capable of looking after themselves for one night. In recent times, Joel and Shelley have occasionally left them alone, when there’s been something like a big birthday party out of town (there’s been a raft of fiftieths lately). Shelley has checked in with the kids throughout the evening, and everything has been fine. But on this, the last Saturday before Christmas, something feels off kilter. Slightly anxiety-making, as if Joel would actually be better off cancelling his overnighter with Carmel and staying at home instead – or at the very least popping an extra Citalopram. Because something is happening inside his brain, whether serotonin-related or due to something else. And he can’t put his finger on what it is.
He leaps up when the delivery guy arrives and summons his kids downstairs for their feast. However, even as Martha and Fin tear into their chicken and fries like starving street dogs, the conscience-clearing effect hasn’t quite worked in the way that Joel hoped it would.
Food devoured, the kids scarper, leaving him with an explosion of boxes and smeared paper napkins and greasy bones. Joel is seeing Carmel tonight so he should be deliriouswith excitement. But something is sitting uneasily in his gut, and it’s not just the fried chicken. For the first time since the affair started, Joel seems to have swallowed a side order of guilt.
