Jake laughed, without getting the reference to TLC’s ‘No Scrubs’. He never really listened to music, preferring sports commentary and talk radio, but they did share a love of Oasis.
‘We shall examine the women in question,’ Jake said, pulling her over his lap so that she was sitting astride him. ‘And if we find them wanting, we shall refuse to buy their car.’
They kissed, and when she pulled back and looked at his handsome, open face, Kate thought to herself that she had never liked anyone thismuch. She loved him, of course, but often being in love with someone did not translate into liking them. With Jake, she felt both love and like.
When they turned up to a low-rise 1950s apartment block in Lambeth to buy the car, there were no women in sight. It was a man who took their money and handed over the keys.
‘And that, my friend, is how the patriarchy works,’ Kate said, sitting in the passenger seat as Jake reversed out of the parking space.
‘Is it OK for me not to care about the patriarchy for just one day if it’s got us a good deal on a car?’ Jake asked, letting the steering wheel spin back on itself.
‘I’m not sure it is, but I won’t report you this time.’
She had traced her fingertips along the line of the freckles on his bare forearm and, later, they’d had sex and she imagined herself sprawled across the car bonnet, feeling the heat from the engine against the small of her back as she came.
She thought of this again on the drive to meet Jake’s parents. They had never actually had sex in the car. It would be too small and uncomfortable, she knew, but still she liked the idea. She would be embarrassed to suggest it to Jake in case he laughed at her and thought her perverted. His attitude to sex was similar to his outlook on life, which was the fewer unnecessary complications, the better.
She turned to look at Jake in profile in the driving seat – he always drove because he was better at it. His face had caught the sun from yesterday’s picnic in Battersea Park when they had taken a blanket, a bottle of rosé, a baguette and a tub of supermarket hummus and got tipsy through the warmth of the afternoon.
‘You OK?’ Jake asked.
She nodded.
‘Don’t be nervous. You look great.’
Kate wasn’t nervous although she supposed she should be. She could be polite and charming and do her duty, but beyond that she felt it was wiser not to attempt to win over Jake’s mother or establish a false intimacy with her. She had a hunch it would be better to keep Annabelle at arm’s length.
She switched on the radio to avoid any further chat. A pop star’s voice, heavy on the reverb, snaked into the car. But although she didn’t feel nervous, she had taken great care with her clothes. It was not that she needed to impress Annabelle, rather that she wanted to feel as confident as she could and for this reason, she had worn her favourite cropped jeans, dressed up with a pair of block heels, and a silk mustard-coloured shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a chunky gold necklace. She used the hairdryer this morning, so her hair was smoother than usual, the familiar choppiness now tamed into a sleeker bob. Red lipstick, dark mascara, a hint of blush on the apple of each cheek and that was it. She knew Jake liked red lipstick. He said it made her look Parisian and every time he said it, she laughed at the blinding obviousness of male desire.
It took them three hours to get there, through the Chiltern Hills and the endless roundabouts of Swindon and then into the mottled buttery houses of the Cotswolds before finally Jake indicated and they turned off into a short driveway, emerging into the courtyard of an imposing red-brick house. When Jake talked about his childhood home, he referred to it as a farmhouse, but looking at it, Kate realised it wasn’t a real farmhouse as much as a posh person’s version of what they believed a farmhouse to be. She could count four chimneys on the roof and there were stone carvings around each of the windows. The front door had two perfectly pruned miniature trees on either side of the entrance, the leafy branches obediently cut into glossy green spheres. The gravel on the driveway looked so clean it seemed staged. The house was surrounded by fields and woodland and Kate emerged from the car to the sound of birdsong.
‘You are taking the actual piss,’ she said, as he held out his hand for her to take.
‘What?’
‘This is beautiful.’
He blushed. ‘Thank you.’
She hadn’t meant it warmly. Beautiful was the wrong word, she realised. It was intimidating and she hated herself for being intimidated.
The door opened before they had pressed the ornate Victorian bell button.
‘Darling!’
Annabelle swept out and hugged Jake close, burrowing her head into his neck. The clinch lasted for several seconds before she let him go.
‘And this must be Kate.’
Annabelle stepped forward, taking both Kate’s hands in hers.
‘Let me look at you,’ Annabelle said and she allowed her gaze to travel over Kate’s body. ‘You’re verythin, aren’t you?’
Jake laughed.
‘Mum, stop! You’re so obsessed with weight.’
‘Oh, I’m only joshing. It’s a compliment for us girls, isn’t it, dear?’
