“Just about.”
“Let me teach you what we’ve been practicing. Dad, you can look after dinner while I show Simone this?”
I went to the kitchen counter, recognising my place. Besides, I wanted to see this. When Rebecca had been home, or even when Lauren had been little, she hadn’t danced with her daughter. Not because she hadn’t wanted to – God knows she’d tried – but because she couldn’t.
I carried on chopping the tomatoes for the Pomodoro sauce and watched as Lauren started to coach Simone through the moves. They were both laughing, pausing and rewinding the song until I was pretty sure that I’d have it as an ear-worm for the next week.
The song eventually changed, resulting in an impromptu jive that ended up with the pair of them nearly falling over, they were laughing so hard.
“You can really dance!” Lauren said, looking surprised.
She was right. Simone could.
“It was what I wanted to do at one point.”
“I remember you saying. Dad…”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Ask me later. Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.”
“I’ll come back and help.”
We stood side by side at the counter, Lauren back on her phone. It felt easy, happy. Normal. When Lauren was born, we tried, Rebecca and I, to be normal, but we were so different. Our relationship had been more of one of really good friends with benefits. Being together was easy, because we didn’t make huge demands of each other, each having our own independent interests. A baby didn’t change that. We simply had rotas to make sure we had all Lauren’s days and activities as she got older, covered. That way we could still be independent.
Did Simone want children? If she did, I knew she wouldn’t be waiting too long or maybe she hadn’t thought about it.
Lauren disappeared after stacking the pots in the dishwasher and going to check out the bathroom, which she’d declared to be her dream room. I had a feeling we might see her again a week on Thursday, if she hadn’t drained England of all its water supplies before then.
Simone topped up our wine glasses, a Spanish red she was considering for the Tipsy Toad.
“Thank you for coming over.”
“Thank you for having us. What do you make of the wine?”
“Good. Definitely one for the list.”
She sat down next to me on the sofa and leaned into me when I put an arm around her.
“You’re really good with Lauren.”
“Am I? I haven’t had much to do with kids before. Only my own experiences.”
“She likes you. Although I’m not sure about her going to that party.”
“If you don’t let her go she’ll end up saying she’s staying at a friend’s and go anyway. The best thing you can do is allow her to go with strict conditions. You need to trust her.”
“I do. It’s the others I don’t trust.”
“But you need to trust her to know what to do if there is a problem. Or someone acts in a way that bothers her. And she needs to be able to talk to you about it without being given a lecture.”
“How do you know this? Did you read parenting teenagers one-oh-one or something?”
“I was one. With a father who was controlling and bossy. We never had a relationship where I could tell him anything or seek his advice, unless it was about the combination of foods on a plate.”
“Do you want kids?”
She moved away suddenly and regarded me like I just suggested she travelled to the moon.
“I’m not sure I’d know what to do. The only baby I’ve held has been Vanessa’s Teddy.”
