‘I guess those are the perks of being self-employed – all that flexibility.’
‘I still actually have to work though, Remy. I’m a mechanic, in case you’d forgotten, and all them cars aren’t going to fix themselves.’
‘I know, but you’ve got Lincoln to help you. He can hold the fort, can’t he?’
‘He’ll bloody have to, won’t he?’
‘It’s only for today, then I’m back to my usual shift from tomorrow onwards.’
‘Remind me why you’re doing earlies and a double shift, again?’
She held his eyeline; he knew full well. ‘Because I work for a dickhead, and I don’t want to lose my job.’
‘Got it.’ He nodded.
‘Oh, and Sophie’s coming home with us after her end-of-term show on Friday. She was thinking of going to Newquay with some of her friends, but instead she’s got some shifts at the petrol station next week!’ She clapped, delighted at the prospect, and happy Sophie had her head screwed on enough to know that earning money was more useful than a drunken weekend at the seaside. Plus, when Sophie was home, Remy slept differently, knowing her daughter was safe.
Oi!It was her worst nightmare, the thought of something bad happening to Sophie in the way it had her, knowing how it could alter the course of a life.
‘Great.’ Midge huffed. ‘Well, that’s my weekend viewing scuppered. I had it all planned. Six Nations on the Saturday and Sunday, with F1 qualifying early hours Saturday, although I don’t know why I bother watching, Schumacher’s pretty much got it sewn up with Ferrari – and now I’ll have to wrestle a space on the sofa while you and Soph huddle under a bloody blanket and cry into tissues while Leonardo Di whatever his name is, floats away from a sodding door! It’s not like you don’t know it’s going to happen, and yet still the tears!’
‘You have no heart!’ she yelled.
‘And you have no taste when it comes to movies!’ His counter-argument was predictable and weak. But my God she loved him, that was the simple truth of it. Theirs had not been the bumpy start for many who fell in love with someone who was already a parent. Quite the opposite: he saw the addition of Sophie as an absolute bonus and stuck to his belief that as long as he didn’t try to be her dad – the girl already had one of those – they would be fine, and it had worked. More than worked; he adored the girl, and she him.
‘Oh, and I meant to say, Jamie asked if he could come to her showcase.’
‘Fantastic!’ He gave a forced grin and a limp thumbs-up.
It was a delicate balancing act, allowing Jamie, who was still a sporadic figure in Sophie’s life, enough access to preserve the father/daughter relationship, while doing her best to preserve her own marriage, as Midge, quite understandably, thought Jamie was a knob.
Midge leaned in the kitchen doorway and gave her an approving look, the way someone did when they liked what they saw. It made her feel good, sexy, and confident, a lovely boost, no matter that she sported messy hair and crumpled Uggs.
‘Lamborghini!’ he suddenly yelled.
‘What the—?’
‘A villa in Ibiza!’ This time, louder, and she worried that Mr and Mrs Smith next door might bang on the wall. Again. ‘A fridge that doesn’t make that humming noise, and a hot tub in the back garden with a beer fridge by the side of it!’ he screeched.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ She stared at the man, who was clearly having some kind of an episode.
‘I’m manifesting.’ He chuckled. The idiot. ‘Go get ’em, tiger!’ he called.
‘I bloody love you.’ She smiled, grabbing her bag, as she opened the front door.
‘Come on, Dad! I can’t go to school if I don’t know where Morty is!’ Bertie called down the stairs.
‘Good luck.’ She blew him a kiss. ‘See you in a bit.’
‘See you in a bit, Ren.’ He smiled, as she made her escape.
Ashleigh
Ashleigh stood with her face turned up towards the shower, letting the hard jets pummel her skin and wash away the sweat of exercise. She liked this time in the morning. These few unallocated minutes when she had already achieved so much, a six-mile run, her suit for the day selected, blouse pressed, muesli consumed, and now a hot, restorative shower.
Running her fingers over the slippery wall of the wet room, there wasn’t a day she regretted the upheaval, mess and huge expense of the building work that had created this incredible home. It still thrilled her, to arrive home after a long day and park on the gravel driveway, looking up at the Crittall windows and the soft honey-coloured lighting coming from within, knowing this was her house! She loved nothing more than giving her address:
‘Oh, we’re on Clarendon.’
